Jim Moriarty's Right and Left Hands: One for Death, One for Sex
by LornaHarrisonStan
Summary: Jim Moriarty's employees have to be managed by somebody, and his two top lieutenants are Sebastian Moran, sniper extraordinaire, bodyguard, and head of staff, and Lorna Harrison, master manipulator, spy, and alcoholic. She's got an addictive personality and he's got intimacy issues. Against all reason, they fall together anyway.
1. Never Play Poker With A Career Killer

_A/N_

Sup guys - this is a conversion of a rp with a friend that has been going on for several years. The writing of about the first four chapters is a little janky because its so old - once you get past those, though, I promise it picks up. I hope you all enjoy - and if you do, comment! Helps me keep updating!

* * *

 _Moran, the boss is going to be so pissed if you don't get your ass back here. Seriously. -LH_

 _I know how to do my job, shrimp. And I know how to handle Moriarty. -SM_

 _Did you just call me shrimp? Just because I'm 5'4 to your, what, 6'2 doesn't make me a shrimp. Jesus Christ, you're in a bad mood today. Bad hair day or something? LH_

 _Watch your step. Your track record isn't stellar, and I'm in charge of staff. If I want you replaced, Jim won't question me. -SM_

 _Who's going to replace me? Kelly? He's blown his cover four times and he's worked with us for almost two years, and the next spy_ _below him can't compete with him. Don't be an idiot. Just because you're his favorite doesn't mean he'll throw out something valuable. I've worked hard for my standing. You're just a good shot. LH_

 _Yes you have, don't blow it now. I'm home now, mom. That was sarcasm, in case you were having difficulty. SM_

 _That's funny. So is it just a bad hair day, or did Jim get pissy with you earlier...? LH_

"Bad hair day." A gun pressed to the back of her head. "Watch your step, as I said. Nothing ruins one's day like stepping in shit." His voice was dripping sarcasm. The gun dropped and he walked around her, heading for the base's kitchen.

Lorna was too used to having guns pulled on her to do more than tense up slightly as he pulled that, smirking slightly as he walked by before following him with a spring in her step. Nothing made her day more than exasperating Moran. Annoying was too strong of a word - she never let it get that far, because she knew that he was a very dangerous man, and she had too much respect for him for it to get to annoying. "There's fresh coffee. And liquor, in case you want to live up to your Irish roots. Your hair is actually fine, by the way. I think maybe you should freshen up your personality, though, just a suggestion," she shrugged, giving him a wide smile.

He poured whiskey into a mug, then filled it with coffee, taking a long sip, watching her with a raised eyebrow. In truth, he was about as fond of Lorna as he could be of a co-worker, which was fond enough to want their advancement but detached enough to kill them if required. She had potential. "I think I'll keep it the way it is, thank you."

"Mm. You're probably right. I think your skills come less from your steady hands and more from your ex-military aura. You'd probably have to be, like, a rock star or something boring like that if you had a better attitude," she chuckled, making the same drink for herself and taking a sip smugly. She enjoyed her conversations with the sniper, mostly because he never got sore about her teasing. Everyone else either liked it too much or got huffy.

"Hilarious. Have you considered stand up comedy? Would be ironic if you couldn't stand up. I could help with that." He took a long sip of the bitter drink, hardly blinking as the whiskey burned his throat.

Lorna shrugged. "No, no, I already tried not standing up. Yeah, some mafia guy helped me with it before I started working here. If I wanted to do that again I'd just ask him." She gave him another smile and then grimaced down at her mug. "I think I overdid the coffee on this one. Not enough whiskey."

He passed the bottle her way. "The faster your liver fails, the faster you stop being a pain in my arse."

"It's nice to know that I have a coworker I can truly count on to look after me," she hummed, uncapping the bottle and unceremoniously making the coffee-to-liquor ratio about 50-50. At this rate, he wouldn't have too long to wait. "By the way, did you hear about the new hire in the hitman department? Wait, yeah, you're chief of staff, sorry. Either way, I...well," she frowned, suddenly serious. "I don't have a good feeling about him. He's familiar somehow."

He raised an eyebrow, though that was his only reaction. He took such information seriously, but didn't let any concern be known to subordinates. "Elaborate."

She shrugged again, tapping the edge of her mug noiselessly. "He makes me feel like I'm on a job assignment, you know? Normally I wouldn't think too much of it, except he starts getting twitchy when you look at him too long. I think someone should do a second background check. Make sure he's not here to cause trouble for us," she sighed, glancing back at Sebastian with a cautious expression.

He considered her for a moment, then drained his coffee, pouring in another shot of whiskey. "You said he's familiar. You worked with him before?" He topped off her mug with whiskey, then closed the bottle and put it in the cabinet.

"Maybe. I'm not sure if it's that or if I've met him on a job," Lorna shook her head, leaning back against the counter, gray eyes troubled. "I'd know him if I knew where I've seen him, but other than that, I can't tell you. Thanks, by the way," she added, sipping at her now 70-30 drink.

He put back about half his shot of whiskey, wrinkling his nose a bit at the dregs of coffee mixed in. "I'll look into him. Until then you don't make any moves. Tell me if you find out anything else."

"Understood," she nodded. She was a sarcastic troublemaker, but she knew when to obey orders. It was the only reason she'd survived for so long in Moriarty's network, after all. She might have been the second-longest surviving employee, after Moran. It occurred to her that there was probably a way to check.

He nodded a bit, then turned and headed out of the kitchen in the direction of Moriarty's quarters. "I marked how full the bottle is, shrimp. That's enough imbibing for the evening," he called back.

"I'd prefer something a little more height appropriate in terms of a nickname! And that's rude, because I paid for this bottle myself!" she called after him, looking a little disgruntled as she settled back against the counter to finish her drink. Best not to follow him to Moriarty's office.

He ignored her with a smirk, and took the lift up to Moriarty's office, knocking on the boss's door lightly.

Jim was working. All of his employees who valued their lives knew his working hours, and so that meant only one thing - it was Moran knocking at his door. "Come in, Sebastian," he said, just loudly enough for it to reach the door.

He opened the door just before Jim finished talking, to push the edge a bit. He gave his employer a casual salute. "How's the evening, sir?"

Jim glanced up from the screen of his computer, raising his eyebrows. "Could be better. Some low-level _idiots_ fucked up a job and now I have to clean it up before it collides with other plans of mine. But you needn't be worried about that. Actually, I wanted you in here so you could look at a picture and tell me how many potential sniper hideouts there are. You're best qualified."

"Of course, sir," he said, walking forward and leaning against the desk. "Let me have a look."

Jim finally stopped typing away at his keyboard to pull up a picture of a rather ridiculously opulent country club, tilting the screen towards Sebastian. "Any and all points that would be a potential perch, point them out. I'll have them filled with security guards. I'm throwing a small... _party_ , I suppose, for my biggest clients, and I can't have any of them killed. I won't be there, of course, but they're rather our income, hm?"

He nodded, scanning the building with quiet concentration for a few moments. "It's a horrible building, lots of curves and corners, hard to get a clean shot," he said quietly. "Which narrows it down. These two east windows and the treeline with vision to them are the clearest shots, I'd have a sentry along that line, maybe two, it's large, and one in each window. The only other real shot is this northwest corner, with the bay windows. If you can cordon off that corner of the club I would. If not, then curtain the windows. "

"That's helpful, thank you," Jim replied curtly, eyes flicking to each of the places the sniper had mentioned and storing them away. He knew many things about the business of crime, but he didn't have the particular skill set that Moran was so good at, so he gave credit where it was due. He didn't thank everyone. "I'll have a job for you in a few days. That's all I need you for right now, if you don't have anything you need from me," Jim murmured, closing out the picture and beginning to type furiously on the keyboard again.

"One thing, sir, if you're not too busy," he said, straightening again. "There might be a small staffing issue which I should make you aware of for security reasons. Harrison's indicated that one of our new hires seems off. I believe his name is Salvos. Just be aware that he's currently flagged by me until I clear him."

Moriarty glanced up at him for a moment, an eyebrow raising slightly before he returned to his work. "Harrison, really? Knew there was a reason I pay her so much. Keep me informed on this. I expect you'll be able to handle it," he sighed, frowning at the screen. He'd had his suspicions that somebody under his employ had ulterior motives, but not many people ever got to actually see him, so finding out who it was on his own was difficult.

"Of course sir. Was just making you aware of the threat." He turned to head for the door. "When was the last time you ate, sir?" he put in as an afterthought.

"This morning," Jim said crisply, eyes flicking up towards Moran again. What a strange question. Was that concern? "When was the last time you drank? You smell like whiskey."

"Five minutes ago," he said with a smirk. "And don't look so surprised. If you drop dead I have to do your damn job. You want steak?"

"What I _want_ is a five-star sushi dinner, but I have another hour before I can do that, so I'm afraid not. I'm saving space. Business meeting," he shrugged slightly, not bothering to inform Moran that if he dropped dead there would be only one person qualified to do his job, and no one would be able to convince him to do it. "I... appreciate it, though."

He just nodded. "Of course, sir. Let me know if you need anything." He stepped out and closed the door.

"I always do," Jim muttered to himself, shaking his head as he returned to work.

Outside, Lorna was waiting with her back to the wall by the door, a thick manila folder in her hand. "I have a report for you. Aren't you lucky."

"Thrilled," he said, back to deadpan, reaching out for the report. "What is it?"

"Some mid-level target killed. A few complications. I think McKinnon is in the hospital. I don't know, I only skimmed through it, which I'm not even supposed to really do," she shrugged, handing it to him.

He sighed. "Must have been what the boss was pissed about." He sized up Lorna, then made a decision. "Hell, I don't want to go through this crap." He handed it back to her. "Take a look through it. I want a briefing in twenty minutes. Impress me." He headed for the den.

Lorna held the file on her fingertips, looking after him with a slightly stunned look on her face, mixed with a tiny bit of disgust. Oh, god, she was considered responsible enough to handle this? What had she done wrong? Was it something she'd said? After a minute of being frozen with regret, she sighed and sagged, tucking the file under her arm and heading for the kitchen. Time to slog through the thing in ten minutes. Then she'd have a little time to... well, do nothing.

He turned the TV on low, watching the time pass. Lorna had been here long enough to start taking on more of a leadership role. It'd be good for her, especially if she ever wanted to head a security web. After only fifteen minutes he called "Time's up, shrimp. Get in here."

She'd been done for ten; it turned out that she'd covered a lot more ground in her skim than she'd thought she had, and had been entertaining herself doodling for the rest of her time. "Please stop calling me that," she groaned as she walked into the room, thunking the folder down onto the coffee table with an exasperated expression. "What do you want, here? Just the basics, or details, too?"

"Tell me what you think I need to know. I'll let you know how you do." His expression gave no clues.

Lorna hadn't really expected any differently. He was intentionally difficult, and she still wasn't sure if it was just with her or if it was to all his colleagues. "Alright. Fine. McKinnon was assigned to shoot and kill a Mr. Harold Baxter, involved in insider trading and corruption at a high up bank here in London. McKinnon broke into Baxter's house at 1:30 in the morning last night and promptly got _himself_ shot by security. He took care of the security guards, limped his way to Baxter's bedroom, and killed the man where slept. The cleanup crew made it look like a regular robbery - we have possession of quite a few Rolexes now - and McKinnon got to the hospital. Claimed a mugging gone wrong. If the cleanup crew took the security guards' guns, that should be the end of it. If not, the slug in McKinnon might be traced back to Baxter's. If that happens, I suggest we cut our losses." She folded her arms over her chest as she finished speaking and raised an eyebrow at Moran. "So?"

He reached a hand out for the report, flipping it open and skimming over the file. "Next time mention who heads the cleanup crew. I want to know what standard mistakes to expect. And get to know those mistakes. Preempt them. For instance, Wallace was heading this crew. He's never had a problem with guns before. Prints, he tends to have an issue with, but McKinnon isn't in the system, so even if that were a problem, it isn't one."

She nodded slowly, quietly appreciating his lack of sarcasm. "Alright. I'll watch for that," she murmured, running a hand through her dark hair. It was a habit of hers, something that she did whenever she felt she'd had a near miss. "Who's going to fill McKinnon's place while he's in recovery?"

He sat back, considering. "McKinnon's job description, do you know it?"

"Yeah, I know the basics. Mid-level targets, nothing fancy. Basically an up-close sniper who occasionally picks up some intel on the way out. I like my job more." Lorna shrugged, rolling her shoulders. She often got tense shoulders - probably from day-to-day worries about the safety of her life.

"I know the basics," he said dryly. "I was ensuring you did. Take a look at things, find a replacement, and run it by me."

She sighed heavily, looking just as dryly at him. "I already know who. Williams. His reflexes aren't as fast, but he's cautious and smart and I think he can handle it. I _do_ pay attention, you know. I fraternize, unlike you," she pointed out, although not unkindly. She didn't do so in the interest of making friends, not really, although that sometimes happened. She just needed to know who was a potential threat. Of course, these days it happened a little less. More responsibility was being foisted on her, and she didn't have the time for it like she used to.

He nodded. "Williams is a fair choice, if an obvious one. You didn't do as terribly as I expected you to." He stood, tossing the file at her. "Brief him tomorrow. And you don't read files without my permission, are we clear?"

Lorna rolled her eyes, catching the file one-handed. "If you wanted me to stop you should have noticed three months ago. But yeah, whatever, fine. Less work for me, anyways," she waved a hand at him dismissively, then lowered herself into a nearby armchair, the file in her lap. "Why are you doing this?"

"So that you can try to take my job and I have an excuse to kill you," he deadpanned, his attention back on the television.

"That's stupid. I don't want your job. My job is actually fun," she shot back, resting her head back against the chair and closing her eyes. She could sneak a nap in here. The only people likely to be even remotely comfortable waking her would be Moran or their boss, and neither were really concerned with her.

"My job is fun. And pays about five times as much. Plus I get to boss your lazy arse around."

"Your job is lame. You sit on rooftops and stare through a glorified monocle at people until you kill them. I get to pretend to be other people and drink on the job and sometimes _actually_ deliver heads on silver platters, so, I don't know, that sounds like a lot more fun to me," she hummed, smiling to herself. "Sometimes I hum the mission impossible theme song to myself."

He raised an eyebrow, glancing over at her. "If I had any respect for you, it would have just been lost," he intoned dryly, returning his gaze to the screen.

"I don't need your respect. I only need you to hate the other coworkers a little more than you hate me," she shrugged, yawning. She would just go home, but she was on-call for any quick jobs that needed doing. Sometimes she thought it was unfortunate that she had a wide skill range.

"Oh, I loathe you all equally, that's what makes me such a fantastic boss," he muttered.

"Damn. I guess I need you to just not shoot me without undue reason," she sighed, shifting from her upright position to her head over one arm of the chair and her legs slung over the other.

"I'll consider it," he said, standing with a grunt and heading for the kitchen.

She stayed where she was, folder tucked in-between her and the chair for safe-keeping. She didn't think that Moran thought all that highly of her, but she didn't think it was worth it to try and raise his opinion. As long as they paid her and left her largely alone, she was happy. All she needed was her liquor.

He returned a few long minutes later with steak tips and peppers in a bowl, sitting on the couch and digging into the hot food quietly.

"Try not to waft that over here. I'm saving myself for a beautiful little bottle of bourbon later tonight and I'd hate to waste all that space on food," Lorna muttered, cracking an eye to look over at him.

He waved a hand in her direction, intentionally pushing the smell her way. "Suit yourself."

Lorna sighed. "Sometimes I picture you fat and bald just so I can keep myself from pulling a knife on you. Don't let yourself go. You'd look terrible."

"Sometimes I picture you dying of a mix of malnutrition and alcohol poisoning because I find it entertaining. No warning, you might even look better, but then, I have odd tastes." He took another bite of food.

"Mm. I expect that I'll be held up to all the med students a prime example of liver failure. I'll be such an attractive corpse, though," she snorted, unsurprised with his statement. She checked the clock, sighing in relief. "Alright, I'm out of here. Please, definitely hesitate to call if you need me."

"I won't," he said with a smirk, turning off the television. "I might have an impossible mission, shrimp. Who knows when I'll need you."

"If you call me that again I promise physical repercussions," she rolled her eyes as she stood, bringing the folder with her. She was half serious. "See you, Moran," she waved, heading for the door. God, she just wanted to get home and sleep. Although she had to file this folder first.

"See you, shrimp," he said with a laugh, standing and stretching.

She stopped by the door, looking back at him. "I'm serious, you know. Don't call me that. Okay?" She had her reasons for this not becoming a permanent thing. And it wasn't something she wanted to get into.

He raised an eyebrow, but knew enough to sense a line. "Fine," he said, shrugging. "And here I thought you were gonna make good on that promise." He snorted, heading down the hall towards his on-site room.

Normally, she would have, but she wasn't too eager to go toe-to-toe with Sebastian Moran when all she had on her for a weapon for a rather thick folder. She just needed sleep - actually, now that she thought about it, she hadn't slept in 48 hours. She had a room here, if she wanted it, but she preferred to sleep at her own place. It felt safer.

He closed the door of his room, walking over to sit on his bed and pull off his shoes. He lay back, still in his typical uniform- black dress trousers and a crimson shirt to hide any blood. He stretched out with a yawn, looking over to make sure the intercom light was blinking, meaning Jim could reach him if he wanted to. Then he closed his eyes, drifting off.

Lorna had a short walk home to her own flat, since it was just down the street. She dumped her keys on the hall table as she closed the door and then shuffled off to bed, not even bothering to get out of her work clothes first. Forty-eight hours worth of exhaustion didn't allow her to.

* * *

Sebastian was roused by the buzz of the intercom. He opened his eyes, a hand on the knife under his pillow as he scanned the room, before leaning up to press the button. "Yeah, Boss?"

"The business meeting fell through. A menial car crash. Ironic, if things hadn't gone my way I would have arranged for one myself. Come for sushi. I don't enjoy eating alone." Jim said over the intercom, pressing the button with his elbow while he straightened his cuffs. Dinner with Sebastian was always amusing.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. "Yes, sir." He sat up, checking in the mirror to ensure his shirt wasn't wrinkled and his short-cropped hair was neat. He combed down a portion of hair that was sticking up, before strapping on his side holster and pulling on a blazer to cover it. Never go out unprepared. Especially when somewhere where the boss could be threatened. He turned and headed for the door, taking the lift up a floor and then walking down the hall to knock on the door to Jim's office.

"It's open," Jim replied, standing from his death and gathering his own jacket. It didn't bother him that he'd likely woken Sebastian up; he paid a lot for Moran's services, and he would use them whenever he liked.

He walked in, looking crisp and clean, as though he'd never been asleep. "Though I'm going with you, I'm not going to cancel your other security assignments for this evening, sir. I don't like that a potential non-ally will know your whereabouts," he said first thing.

"I won't argue, I trust your instincts," Jim agreed easily, heading for the door. Hell, those instincts had saved him more than once. Credit where credit was due. "Do you want to drive the Jag? It's not the Autobahn, but there ought to be a few open stretches of a road between us and the restaurant."

Moran grinned. Jim seemed to be in a better mood. He was well aware that the Jaguar was his sniper's favorite of the cars. "I certainly won't argue that, sir." He touched a button on the side of his watch, activating the mic to the garage. "Malcolm. Sweep and prep Mars," he said calmly, using the car's code designation. "Anything else before we go, sir?"

"Yes, any reports come in? Last I checked was noon today," he nodded, opening the door and stepping into the hall. The building was always quiet at this time of night, something he appreciated immensely. It was why he worked late nights instead of early mornings.

"The report on the McKinnon situation, sir," Moran said, opening the next door for his employer. "I assumed you were aware of the details given your mood, but I'm prepared to brief you if you prefer."

Jim sighed, walking into the stairwell with a suddenly sour expression. "My mood was due to another report. I don't know the details of McKinnon's job other than what I told him to do. The quality of work around here seems to be getting _poorer._ Why is that?"

"No excuse, sir. I'll work on improving it," Sebastian said smoothly, though his eyes were dark. "What other report was unsatisfactory? I'll see to improvements personally."

"The intel-gathering on our neighborhood drug lord. It was a botched assignment and Kelly nearly blew our cover. When someone nearly finds out about _me,_ I get a little upset," Jim replied levelly, although there was a dangerous quality to his voice that smart people were wary of. They entered the garage, the door clanging shut behind them with a resounding echo. For Malcolm's sake, the car better have been swept. "Let Kelly know that the next time he has to bring in another, higher-ranking _agent_ to get him out of trouble that he'll be talking personally to me. And he doesn't want that."

"I'll make sure to inform him," Sebastian said crisply. Malcolm was waiting by the car, standing at attention. "I swept the car, sir. No sign of any interference." He looked to Jim. "Will you be driving tonight, sir? Or will Moran?"

"Moran. Might be subject to change, depending on how much sake he drinks," Jim fired off, tapping his fingers impatiently on the trunk of the car. "Shall we?" he raised his eyebrows. He was not keen to be held up.

Malcolm hurried to open the passenger door for Moriarty, while Sebastian walked around and climbed into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition and smiling as the car rumbled to life. He strapped his seat belt into place and glanced over just long enough to ensure that his charge had done the same. He touched his watch. "Mars leaving with Jupiter. Satellites follow in two minutes." Then he took off out of the open garage with a grin and a roar of the engine.

"If you ever wondered why I chose the codenames of all this to be space related, it's because of Holmes. The man hasn't a clue about the solar system," Jim muttered, smirking slightly as he looked out the window. "Just a fun _fact."_

"Very clever, sir," Sebastian smirked. "He's a royal idiot about the oddest things, from what I've picked up."

"You're not _wrong,"_ he chuckled, pausing to give Moran directions to the restaurant in case he'd forgotten where it was. Ordinary people did that sometimes, annoyingly. "So, tell me what happened to McKinnon."

"Botched the job," he said, relaxing a bit as they hit a motorway and easing onto the gas. "Got himself shot by security. Took them out and went through to deal with Baxter, which he did. Cleanup dealt with the situation, made it look like a break-in. McKinnon's in the hospital on the premise of a mugging. The slug in his leg shouldn't match anything, but I'll have the tech boys alter any info the police have tomorrow morning just in case."

James glanced over at him, looking mildly amused. He didn't mind that McKinnon had gotten himself hurt - he'd finished the job, after all. The bullet in his leg would be punishment enough. "You didn't read that report yourself, did you?"

"No sir. Had Harrison read it and brief me, figured she needed the experience. Is that a problem, sir?" He shifted lanes, heading for their exit.

"No," he shrugged nonchalantly, straightening his cuffs. "I just find it... curious." Sebastian was perfectly suited for his job. The fact that he was training someone else to take over a part of it was definitely curious.

"In what way, sir?" he asked, starting to navigate the busy London streets, hazarding a glance at Jim.

Jim looked over at him, folding his hands in his lap. "You have the standard trust issues of an ex-military man, you easily and efficiently complete all the duties of your job, and you distance yourself - perhaps unintentionally - from the rest of your colleagues, _yet_ you've decided to entrust a career spy with some of your responsibility. I think that's interesting."

"It's part of my responsibility to my position, sir," he said, stopping for a light. "She has potential. I'm not giving her any vital information, and she'd be a fish out of water if she tried to take over my position, not to mention dead. But I learned from my superiors, which is how I gained my position with you. I don't trust her, and she will not be taking over any of my responsibilities. However, I've decided to give her a bit of training, so that should she gain employment elsewhere, she will have a bit of footing, and I'll have someone in a good position who owes me." He accelerated as the light turned green, turning onto the street the restaurant was on.

He let out a small snort, pulling out his phone to check the news absently as Moran continued driving. "That last part won't happen and you know it. If she tries to leave, kill her. No one gets to me, Moran. That goes for any high-ranking employees." No, no, he couldn't have anyone who knew and talked to him leaving, they would know too much. The ones with above-average intelligence knew that.

He smirked slightly. He should have known better than to try and cloak his reasoning. "I'm aware sir." He pulled into the parking lot, parking cleanly and climbing out, walking around to get Moriaty's door. "My main line of consideration is more tactical. Eventually, my job will catch up to me. I figured it might be useful to have someone prepped for you who knew the business. I haven't finished giving her my trials yet, though, sir. I wasn't going to bring the idea to your attention until I was sure she was a viable option."

Jim stepped out of the Jag with an appreciative nod, buttoning his suit jacket as he started leading the way towards the restaurant's doors. "Mm. I have high hopes for her. Still, don't get yourself killed. That would make so much extra work for me. And the alcohol in the kitchen would really pile up."

"I wasn't planning on it, sir," he said, straightening his jacket and stepping ahead to get the door. "Though I believe Harrison would have no problem with the alcohol."

"I seem to hire a lot of alcoholics," he muttered, stepping through the door. The place was nearly empty, as it always was when he went here; he chose hours least likely to have people and then made sure there were no people by renting the place out. Other people's conversations were distracting and irritating.

"No, sir, you hire special operatives and soldiers, a high percentage of which happen to be alcoholics. It's the same anywhere else in the industry," he said with a touch of amusement. He hung back just behind Jim, letting him deal with the staff however he pleased while Sebastian scoped the place out, looking for any potential threats.

"The usual table, Billy," Jim waved to the waiter, who led them to a secluded booth in the corner next to a tastefully-decorated aquarium. "Yes, I suppose you're right, Moran. Not many of my operatives have a background like her, though. Hmmph. I recommend the sashimi here, it's excellent."

He nodded, glancing over the menu. "It's unusual, yes, but it hasn't affected her quality of work as of yet, so I'm inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt."

"Give it another five years. I think she'll snap under the mental strain, personally," he hummed nonchalantly, summoning Billy over with a polite wave of his hand. Even if he was rude to the young man, he was always compensated, so Jim didn't feel like he had to be too careful. "I'll have what I usually have, thank you, Billy."

Seb glanced up from his menu. "I'll have the otoro, and two spicy salmon rolls. And a bottle of whatever your best sake is. Japanese, not any of the domestic shit," he handed his menu over.

Jim smirked as Billy hurried off, a nervous tilt to his shoulders. "By the way, I wanted to bring you here anyways to talk with you about an upcoming assignment. It'll take you out of the country for about a week, and you won't be alone. I hope you like Italy."

"Good wine, good food, decent mafia, what's not to like?" he leaned back in the booth. "What's the situation, and who will I be stationed with?"

"I'd like to enter into a business relationship with one of those decent mafias, but I need some information on them first, things they aren't willing to speak up about. Unfortunately, the group I'm interested in is... rather old-fashioned. They haven't got anything on computers. That makes it a lot harder to get," Jim sighed, pulling a bit of a disgusted face. "You and Harrison are going in. Your job is mostly to keep her alive and to reinforce her cover. I already sent her the details before we left."

He nodded. His typical assignment style, as well as hers. "Should run smoothly, sir. I assume you'll have a thick file for me back at base. When do we leave?"

Jim glanced at his watch, raising his eyebrows. "Tomorrow. Apologies, I realize I should have gotten around to telling you sooner. Hm. I'll save you the trouble of Heathrow and let you take my jet. It's a privately-owned airport, so you shouldn't have any issues there. Just security. And that thing with Kelly," he tacked on, shaking his head with a roll of his eyes as Billy re-appeared with their food, remarkably balancing everything. Probably too scared to make two trips. He understood.

Sebastian was mildly tempted to knock something over just to watch the man scramble, but he was hungry and there was no way he would knock over the boss's food, so he let it be, watching as their plates were laid out. "I can do that, sir. Anything else you need, you should be able to contact me." He poured himself a glass of sake, tasting it and nodding slightly. It wasn't bad. It was strong, at least.

"Good. I should be able to handle your duties for a week, however," he shrugged, digging into his plate of sashimi with vigor. He'd been waiting for this meal all day, after all, and it was nearly 12 at night. This restaurant knew vaguely who he was.

He started in on his own food. Jim had been right, unsurprisingly. The sashimi was delicious, and the sushi was not far behind. He'd eaten not too long ago, so he took his time to enjoy the food, finishing off his glass of sake and pouring another, offering the bottle to his employer.

"No, thank you, I'm trying to cut back," he declined politely, then finished his food in silence. He didn't know why he'd told Moran that. Usually he didn't feel the need to explain any of his actions to anybody, especially not personal ones. Strange. Perhaps he was due for some rest.

Sebastian nodded, setting the bottle down, interested by the slightly less than frigid response. He weighed the risk and reward of pursuing the tidbit, but figured he could blame it on administrative details if Moriarty objected. "Since when?" he asked casually, attention on his food.

Jim didn't answer for a long moment, focusing on the very last scraps of food on his plate as he considered sharing. He had known Moran for a long time. Longer than he'd really known anyone else, for that matter, and he always had... _appreciated_ the man. And Holmes seemed happy with his goldfish... "The beginning of the month. I noticed my tolerance going up beyond acceptable limits."

He nodded a little, careful not to over-react to the sudden divulgence of information. He washed down his last bite of sushi with a long quaff of the sake. "Would you like me to remove the wine choice from your usual base meals for the time-being?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I don't overindulge in wine often." Jim cleared his throat and sat back, resting his hands on the table in front of him with unusual stiffness. He was unaccustomed to this sort of conversation.

He nodded easily, sitting back as well, content to enjoy his sake until his employer decided to leave or order desert. "Let me know if you'd like me to make any changes in the future."

"I..I will," Jim nodded, feeling even more out of his depth, and immediately turning to summon Billy. "Check, please."

The man nodded, scampering off, and Sebastian couldn't help a laugh. "Skittish, isn't he?" he commented with a smirk.

"Mmm. Well, he serves a lot of mob bosses, I think he's learned to be careful," he chuckled, adjusting his silver tie with a smirk. "I pay him for his troubles."

"You always do, it's an interesting characteristic in a criminal mastermind," Moran said absently, draining his glass.

Jim shrugged. He had his reasons; paying people more than usual for doing small things was more likely to make them a) want to please him, and b) be less likely to think of him first if the police ever nosed by. "Ready to go? Can you drive?"

He considered that for a moment, and then considered the half-empty bottle of sake he was sealing to bring back to base. "In the interest of your personal safety it may be best if you drove, sir."

"I think I can handle that," Jim smiled, sliding out of the booth and standing, holding out his hand for the keys. The Jag was his favorite, too, but Moran didn't need to know that.

He handed them over, and stood. His stance was steady, but he could feel the slight haze of intoxication as he followed his employer.

"That must have been strong sake if you drank half a bottle and come out like that," Jim snickered as they walked out into the parking lot, swinging the keys in between his fingers with a giddy sort of carelessness. He was always in a better mood after having eaten. "Anywhere in particular you'd like to be dropped off, Tiger?"

He raised an eyebrow at the nickname, one he heard on the rare occasions that his boss was in a good mood and had little to ponder on at the same time. "Back at the base for me. Easier," he said, stretching. "Besides, if we're going to be leaving early tomorrow then I have work to get done."

Jim nodded, unlocking the car and getting inside with a smile that was barely being kept from full-on grin. He really liked this car. "Make sure you get Harrison if she doesn't wake up. I know how she is. She does speak Italian, however, which is useful if you wind up someplace where they can't understand your Irish brogue."

He rolled his eyes, climbing in. "I speak passable Italian, too, you know," he said with a jocular smirk. "'Shut up or I'll shoot you' is all you really need in any language, right?"

He started up the car during the pause in speech to enjoy the growl of the engine and then started the drive home, allowing a smile at his joke. "Usually spies need a little more than that. I suppose you have the general gist of it, though. The two of you should work out a reasonable cover story for traveling together, too. I'd sleep on it."

He nodded. "I'll think of something. Do we have passports?" he asked, stretching out in the seat, reaching down for the lever to push it back in the car, seeing as he was a good bit taller than Jim.

"Yes, under Steven and Lucy Morrison. Be siblings or spouses, I don't care," he shrugged, "The forger messed up and I haven't enough time to get either of you a new one." He revved the car forwards to get through a yellow light, someone honking angrily behind them. He smirked.

"A new passport or a new forger?" he asked with a smirk, knowing that the toleration of a mistake of that sort was vastly dependent on Jim's mood. "I'll make a decision once I'm more aware of the intricacies of what we're doing over there."

It was both; the forger had chosen an inopportune time to screw things up. "That's reasonable. You don't have to decide until you're there." He trusted Sebastian to handle it. In other words, he was in an exceptionally good mood tonight.

Moran nodded in appreciation of the exceptionally subtle compliment. "I'll handle it."

They pulled into the garage and Jim stepped out, leaving the car on. He knew that Malcolm had a thing about parking them himself. He thought it might have to do with his compulsive need to keep things orderly. He indulged it a little. "Doubtful I will see you tomorrow, but the things you will need will be sent to your room," Jim informed him, giving him a quick smile. "Goodnight, Moran."

Sebastian nodded as he climbed out of the car. "Thank you. And thanks for dinner. Goodnight, sir."

Jim nodded in return and then turned to head for the elevator. His penthouse was on the top floor. He wasn't climbing the stairs all that way.

Seb let him go in the elevator, and waited for it to return before taking the elevator to the floor below. Anyone wishing to get to Jim's floor either had to have Jim's retinal pattern, or pass through Sebastian's security protocols. He entered his quarters, putting the sake in the fridge before heading towards his study with a sigh. Plenty of work to get done, sleep would have to wait.

* * *

Lorna woke up early the next morning to what seemed like too much information in her inbox to be possible for the amount of sleep she'd gotten, but when she realized that all of it was from Jim, she sighed and read it all through the space of time it took to get through a quarter of a pot of coffee, then she got out her phone.

 _Whenever you're ready to leave for the Holy Roman Empire you just let me know. I'll be packed in five minutes and I can be back at base in ten. LH_

Seb woke up to Lorna's text. He'd managed to get a few hour's sleep.

 _Roger that. I have our passports. We're married, fun as that is. We look too dissimilar to be siblings. SM_ _  
_

Lorna snorted, in the midst of her packing. She had no idea if Sebastian had much experience with interacting with people on a job; as far as she knew he was more the kill from a distance type. Well, it would be fun to fuck around with him, either way.

 _I have a ring that will pass for a wedding ring, but you'll have to scrounge something up, too. You're going to let me do most of the talking when we arrive, right? LH_

 _I'll act hung over or something,_ _should warn people off. SM_

He hopped out of bed, starting to pack a suitcase specially designed to hide his guns through customs. _  
_

She finished packing - a mixture of sturdy, tough clothes and tight dresses her mother would insist were too small - and headed down the street towards HQ, the duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She wasn't bringing any weapons with her besides a few bottles of assorted poisons disguised to look like medicines, mostly because she wouldn't require one. Not if Sebastian was around.

 _Do you think the plane has those little tiny bottles of liquor? Wait, no, do you think we can smoke on it? LH_

 _Liquor in large bottles. Smoking is an absolute no unless you want Jim to have your head. It's his plane. SM_

He finished packing and headed for the door, turning off the lights as he went.

 _Fine. I might get a little crabby on you, then. Don't worry, I'll make up for it in Italy with a sickening amount of charm and a tendency to wander away from my constantly-hung-over husband. LH_

She texted him as she walked into the main lobby. The building really was elaborate - she hadn't worked for many crime bosses who had a full-time receptionist.

Sebastian headed into the elevator and hit the button for the lobby.

 _Haven't got any nicotine patches? SM_

She sat on a bench as she waited for him, staring down at her shoes to avoid looking at the receptionist - who had never liked her - until her phone buzzed again.

 _No. I have an irrational fear Boss will see me with one and connect me somehow to Holmes and then I'll be killed. I don't know. I think I had a nightmare about it once. LH_

He rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the elevator. "Let me get this straight. You can infiltrate diplomatic meetings on a completely bogus identity, but you can't use nicotine patches." He snorted, walking over to her.

"What?" she said defensively, standing up and putting her free hand on her hip. "That's a completely legitimate reason. Also I just really, really like smoking. And it's nowhere near the same thing, by the way. I don't have to lie to nicotine patches. I have to lie to _myself._ Can we leave?"

"Come on," he snorted, heading for the door to the garage, his trunk wheeling behind him. "Honestly, it's pathetic."

"What, my inability to lie to myself? No, no, you see, that's what I drink all the alcohol for," Lorna snickered, following him with a spring in her step. After a good cup of coffee she was a morning person. Before, she was likely to kill somebody.

He looked over at her with a withering glance. "On second thought, I can't wait for you to be sufficiently grumpy like the rest of us," he snorted, heading for one of the standard black cars.

She grinned, putting her stuff in the back and then climbing into the passenger seat; she knew Moran was a stickler for control, and letting him drive was part of it. "Oh, come on, lighten up. We're going to Italy! This sounds like the best job I've gotten in months, honestly. You can bring back a bottle of olive oil for each one of your friends."

He snorted. "Yeah, I'll do that. _Olive oil..._ How in _hell_ did you get into this business?" He rolled his eyes.

The next look she gave him was a little dryer. "My stepfather was a criminal and thought that a 17-year-old girl would do nicely to get him into a.. a _place._ So, you know, wasn't exactly my dream job."

He glanced over at her, and nodded. "No, suppose not. Would you like some pity? Is that the request here?" he added, ribbing.

Lorna gave him a disgusted look. "You asked me, I told you. If I wanted your pity - no, no, I wouldn't want it. Just drive, okay?" she snapped, buckling her seat belt, her good mood evaporated.

He sighed, starting the car up and heading out of the garage towards the airport. After a bit, he said "I'm sorry. I wasn't intending to insult you."

"It's fine. It's just a sensitive subject," she muttered, avoiding looking at him. She hadn't really meant to snap, and it felt a bit disrespectful. (In other words, dangerous.) "I suggest not asking me any questions about any backstory shit unless I'm good and drunk, and only if you're serious. That's my only boundary. Avoid that and this week will go fine."

He shrugged. "Fair enough, we all have them." He took off down the highway at a good clip, and it didn't take long to get to the airport, and he parked the car, hopping out and getting his trunk out of the boot, tossing Lorna her bag.

She caught it easily, back to her normal self by the time they had arrived at the airport. She tried not to get on airplanes in a bad mood. She was mildly superstitious about it. "What are you thinking about for the cover story? The night we go down there they're throwing what sounds like quite the party. We could be interested in smuggling, perhaps?"

"Well, it'll help if I know the details of your mission. I just got told the basics and to cover your arse." They started walking across the tarmac towards the small private plane.

"I have to photograph a few files in the Don's private office. It's in the middle of his private villa, where he's throwing this little gathering we'll be attending, and he has the only key. But," she held up a finger, a smile spreading across her face in mock excitement, "Lucky for us, he's straight, single, and has a weakness for attractive young women. My _favorite_ kind of target. And I'm not even supposed to kill him when we leave. I'm excited."

He made a face. "Sounds horrible. But whatever makes you happy. I take it I should be as unpleasant a 'husband' as possible to give you the sympathy card to play if you like?" He nodded to the plane's security as they passed. They all knew him, and most knew Lorna.

She shrugged. "It's not necessary. Honestly, it's just a lot easier to say you're bad in bed. That really makes men _sympathetic_ ," Lorna smirked, trying to hold in a laugh. "They're all eager to prove themselves and whatnot. Oh, boy, straight men are the dream."

"Brilliant. Then I can wander off and focus on shooting people who try to shoot you," he said, handing his trunk to an attendant and climbing up the stairs to the plane.

"The first night you should probably stick around, but other than that, yeah, I love that idea," she agreed, giving her duffel to the attendant before trotting up the stairs after him. As soon as she stepped over the threshold she pulled her hair back into a ponytail - her superstition again. And it was a little warm.

He walked over to sprawl on one of the leather couches lining the side of the plane, before leaning over to pull open the fridge. Damn, Jim _was_ in a good mood. "He's had 'em stock us up, top shelf stuff... You want scotch, whiskey, rum, beer..?"

Lorna walked over to crouch beside the couch, peering into the fridge with an impressed whistle. The last time she'd been on the plane there had been a single bottle of spoiled orange juice in the fridge. "Mm. I haven't had scotch in a while," she hummed, reaching in to grab it herself. "God bless that man."

He laughed. "I don't think God has anything to do with it." He took the bottle of whiskey and grabbed a glass off an edged shelf. "James Moriarty has a throne waiting for him in hell."

" _A_ throne? _The_ throne. Sebastian, please - Lucifer is only keeping that thing warm," she smiled, taking up residence on the other side of the plane and foregoing the glass - she wasn't going to need it. "Of course, you and I probably have some front row seats."

As long as I get to help barbecue souls, I'm happy," he smirked, pouring a generous portion of whiskey and tossing it back.

She sipped at her scotch with a stoic face. It was strong, but she had just decided that she was going to finish the whole bottle just because she could. "I'll admit, that sounds like you," she chuckled, then sighed. "Hey, we have a two-hour flight ahead of us, you want to play a game of cards or something?"

He shrugged. "Why the hell not," he said, searching a few drawers before he found a deck, pausing to pour himself another shot. "What do you want to play?"

"I know all the rules of poker because of the job, and I know a little bit of Blackjack, Gin, I remember like, maybe the general idea of Euchre? So it's completely up to you," she grinned, just surprised that he'd agreed. "What do you want to play for?"

"Blackjack's not nearly so entertaining with just two players. Five car poker, I say." He started to deal. "I called the game, you call the stakes."

She nodded, gathering up her cards. "Okay.. but you gotta tell me what your boundary is, then. I don't want to chance upon it in a confined space 35,000 feet up in the air. Tell me what to avoid, is all," she asked carefully, trying to instill an actual respectful expression onto her face. It didn't come naturally.

"I'm not going to murder you for suggesting something I don't like," he said without altering his expression, dealing. "Just suggest something, I'll let you know- and live- if you cross the line."

It briefly crossed her mind to suggest strip poker, and then she realized that she still had a week to deal with him and she was also just too nervous to do that, then she thought of a drinking game, and realized that they both had the tolerance of pirates. "Okay...hm. Whoever wins gets to make the other person do something really stupid. Rob a convenience store, blah blah blah. Can be whatever. No rules, yeah?"

He considered. "Nothing that would piss Jim off too much, but other than that, I'm game." He picked up his hand. "How many hands? Or is this per hand?"

"I think per hand is more fun, don't you?" Lorna raised her eyebrows, sipping at her scotch.

"And are we canceling out wins and losses, or stacking?" he asked, glancing at his cards before returning them to the table.

"Canceling," she replied, sliding her own cards towards her. "I should warn you I'm not great at poker. I mostly use it for talking."

"Mmm... We'll see. Well, we'll have to have some way to increase the bet, so... I bet two such dares." He sat back to wait for her retort.

She chuckled, taking a moment to down another swig of liquor before she shrugged. "Okay, I'll raise you to three."

"I'll match that," he said, flipping a card from the deck.

"Seven of hearts on the table. And the bet's to you."

* * *

Playlist: 3OH!3 - Bad Guy

Younger Hunger - Dead Inside

We have an enormous playlist on youtube of all the songs for this chapter and subsequent ones - if you're interested you can find the link at my profile, and every chapter that has a song attached will tell you which song(s) it is!


	2. Italy, Baby

The plane ride had... been interesting. It turned out that Moran was about a thousand times better at poker than she was. She was a little embarrassed. Once they'd landed, it was about a thirty-minute drive to the villa in the car Jim had arranged to be waiting for them. Of course, that meant Lorna had to get into her dress in the back of the vehicle, which had been an enormous amount of work, but when they pulled up outside the villa she was presentable. "Okay. I know the faces of most of the key players here, so just stick close to me tonight. Sound good?"

"Anything you say, dear," he said with a touch of sarcasm. He was in a poor mood, as he had to leave most of his weapons in the car. Something about party etiquette. He had two thin blades made into the backings of his boots, but that was about it.

Lorna smiled at him and stepped out of the car, keeping herself balanced on the gravel even in her heels and the distractingly tight dress she wore. She had to get their interest somehow, right? "Come along, Steven, I have some fabrics I _really_ want to get into China."

He climbed out of the car, downing one last shot of whiskey for show. "That would be why we're here, Luc'."

"I'm glad the alcohol hasn't fogged up your brain," she quipped, holding a hand out for him with a mockingly sweet expression. "Come on, we're late to the party! If we're any later we're just going to look bad."

"Fashionably late, love. No one worth anything gets anywhere on time." He took her hand, for all the world a couple vaguely in love.

"Except the occasional world leader, but I guess that's none of my business," Lorna smiled, the gravel crunching underneath their feet as they walked towards the gate. She wasn't worried at all about being convincing - she was an amazing liar. She could even control the level of dilation in her pupils to convey interest if she really had to. It didn't actually come up much.

He grunted, reaching up to rub at his eyes with his free hand, playing hungover as best he could, which was fairly accurately, from years of experience. He stopped rubbing as they approached the gate, letting Lorna take the lead.

The men at the gate were not surprised to see them. In fact, they simply waved them through, looking uninterested. But she could tell that the both of them were packing heat, even if they thought they were hiding it. Then the walk to the main building was a short jaunt through a cute garden, and they were being let inside, the music that had been filtering through the open windows suddenly much louder. All classy, piano and string music, of course. It was crowded inside. Unconsciously, she held Moran's hand a little tighter. Okay. They had to find the Don.

He gripped her hand back, though he wasn't exactly sure why. It looked better, he assumed. He looked around for something to drink, grabbing a couple of champagne flutes from a passing waiter and passing one to Lorna. "So, darling, this is your crowd, lead the way."

She immediately took a sip from the champagne, extremely grateful that he'd gotten her one, and nodded. She began to lead him nonchalantly through the throng of people, gaze skimming over the crowd, over the opulent decor, scanning for familiar faces. There. He was in the.. wow. The gigantic hall. Was it even a hall? More like a museum showroom.

Lorna shook those thoughts from her head and led Moran over, putting a warm smile on her face as she reached Don Joseph Morello, dropping Sebastian's hand to hold out hers to shake. "Hello, I don't believe we've met. You're Mr. Morello, correct?" she asked smoothly, dropping into the rich voice she used when she wanted somebody to really pay attention to her. It usually worked.

The Don raised an eyebrow, inspecting the new woman and smiling, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. "I am, though I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," he said in a mild Italian accent, flashing her a smile, eyes flickering to Sebastian for a moment as well.

Lorna giggled, feigning being flustered as she looked up at the Don through her lashes. "Oh! Christ, I apologize! I'm Lucy Morrison, and that there is my husband Steven. He's a little under the weather, though, so don't mind him if he's all quiet-like," she laughed, keeping ahold of Morello's hand just a few seconds longer than a married woman would really need to hold his hand.

'Steven' mumbled his own greeting, looking amiable enough to not be rude, but just very hungover, as he took a sip of champagne. The Don gave a smile. "I know that feeling well. Bloody Marys at the bar, my friend, if you're interested." Moran offered him a weak smile, but the Don had already turned his attention back to Lorna. "So, Ms. Morrison, what brings you to Italy?"

"Business, actually! I was hoping to find somebody to move some fabrics for me into Hong Kong without having to pay for the embargo," she shook her head, although a charming smile was still glued to her face. "Believe me, I _wish_ I were here for pleasure. And, please, call me Lucy," she requested. It didn't slip by her that he hadn't given her a 'Mrs' title. Moran was playing his part well, too. Keeping himself out of the focus of attention. She appreciated the way he worked.

Sebastian murmured something about 'that Bloody Mary' and wandered off towards the bar, giving 'Lucy' room to work. The Don flashed his teeth cheerfully. "You've done your research. I have quite a few discount trade routes with Hong Kong."

Lucy gave a rather disgruntled look after her husband, while Lorna silently thanked him. "That's wonderful," she laughed, pretending relief with a swipe of her hand over her forehead. "I really have to move my product soon. There's a whole warehouse deal, blah blah _blahh._ Do you have any place we could talk business, actually? I'd love to talk seriously about it." _C'mon,_ she thought under her pleasant, innocent veneer, _take the bait, try and get me alone._

The Don glanced around for a moment, as if ensuring no one was vying for his attention at the moment. "Absolutely, Lucy. Please," he extended his arm. "Let me show you a bit more of the house. It's beautiful, and we can find somewhere quiet to talk business."

She took it, easily letting her pleasure at having convinced him so easily shine through as she sipped at her champagne and allowed him to lead her out of the busy, gigantic room. Lorna had some drugs hidden away on her person that she could slip into his drink if she really needed to, but it would be easier to access his villa if she stayed the night. The plan wouldn't be too difficult for her to orchestrate; plant the suggestion into his head that she and Moran stay in the villa, 'sneak away' from Moran to gain the Don's trust, filch the key off him - always an easier task if somebody was sleeping - and take photos of the files. Easy.

"So, tell me more about your... operation..." the Don suggested as they walked through long, pale halls, lit by the sun shining through floor-to-ceiling windows on one side which overlooked large grounds planted with glorious gardens.

"Well, I've recently happened to come into quite a lot of Egyptian silks and cotton. Several thousand feet of both, actually, which is all tied up in a warehouse in Indonesia. Except if I don't get the fabric _out_ of there by the end of the week, the fabric is turned over to the owner of the warehouse and I lose it all. I have a buyer in China, but I can't come up with the money to pay the taxes to get it into the country," Lorna explained, letting out a weary sigh while quietly appreciating the architecture. It was a well-built place. Beautiful, even. "I'd do anything not to fuck this one up, if you'll pardon my French," she laughed softly, running a hand through her hair, mostly to draw his attention to it. "I've been trying to prove to Steven that I can handle myself."

The Don scoffed slightly. "You seem like you're capable of anything, if you don't mind my saying so. He doesn't think so? As for the material, I've moved more in less time. I'd be thrilled to work with you."

Lorna put on a beaming, relieved smile, gripping the Don's arm for a moment with her feigned excitement before she tossed her hair and settled down. "Thank you, that's _wonderful,_ really! And, well.. Steven and I have our differences. I don't resent him for it; it gives me more freedom to do what I want if he underestimates me, anyways."

"My dear, I'm not one to advocate for the law, but something tells me that underestimating you is an absolute crime. And yes, I'm aware that was unreasonably cheesy, forgive me." He gave her a friendly smile.

She couldn't help a genuine chuckle at that joke. Oh, God, he just had no idea. "No, no, I can appreciate puns. And puns at fancy-dress parties? Even better, believe me. Some of these things are so dry. Oh! Goodness, I haven't even complimented your home! It is _stunning."_

He beamed at her, pleased that she enjoyed his humor, and residence. "Thank you. I love it here, it's my sanctuary."

"I can see why! Steven and I still have yet to find a good B&B to stay at while we're here. There was one we were hoping for, but apparently they gave away our room," she hummed pleasantly, shrugging slightly. "Oh well, right? Perhaps we'll go camping. I hear the nights here are beautiful."

"Camping! My dear Lucy, you cannot go camping here this time of year, the nights get horrendously cold, despite our warm days. Why on earth would they give away your room? That's terrible."

"A little mix-up in the books is what they told us," she sighed, her brows drawing together slightly. "It's not a big deal, though, Steven and I are actually quite avid campers, and he runs like a furnace. I won't drive two hours just to find an empty hotel room. Call me stubborn, I'll admit it," she shrugged, throwing in the bit about Sebastian on the hope it would illicit at least a small jealous reaction from Morello. He was being a bit difficult so far, compared to some of her other marks. Maybe not as easy as she thought. She had low standards for marks.

He shook his head. "Avid campers or not, I must insist. Why not stay here? I have plenty of space, a few other guests are also spending the night, it would be no imposition and give us time to work out the details of your business venture."

She looked hesitant, her footsteps slowing slightly as she faked deliberating over it, then she nodded resolutely, the smile returning to her face. "Why not, right? Thank you, though, that is so, so gracious," she gushed, reaching for and shaking his hand again. "Honestly, it looks like I'll owe you quite a lot by the time I leave!"

"Nonsense," he said, smiling broadly, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "I'm always eager to help an enterprising woman along wherever I can." He held onto her hand a moment longer than was strictly necessary, before shifting it to his arm smoothly. "Would you like to take a quick tour of the gardens? It's a beautiful day out, and the party will still be waiting in full swing when we get back."

"That sounds fantastic, actually, I would love that," Lorna said warmly, her heels clacking on the marble floor as he led her through the villa and towards the gardens. Yes, she was fairly confident that by tonight she would have the Don where she wanted him, and tomorrow morning she would have the key. They could be gone in 48 hours, if she played it right. Now _that_ would impress Moran. She wondered what he was doing.

Moran, as it happened, was watching the situation unfold from a quiet, concealed location out on the grounds, where he'd casually wandered and set up with a telescopic scope. Everything seemed to be going well, which was good. Hopefully this would go quickly.

"So, tell me more about yourself, Lucy," the Don said casually as they walked.

Lorna shrugged, flicking a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Oh, there's really not that much to tell. I'm from England, if you can't tell from the accent. London, born and raised. It was an ex-boyfriend of mine who really got me into the whole business scene - that's where I met Steven, of course, he was a lot more promising then," she joked, adding a bit of bitter edge to her words before she returned to laughing. "I would almost consider picking us up and moving us here to Italy if I wasn't so attached. What about you?"

He raised an eyebrow at the slight bitterness, but let it slide for the moment. "Italian, born and raised, as you said," he said, smiling. "If you can't tell from the accent." A chuckle. "Got into the business with my father when I was young, and have had time for little else since then. I am just now reaching the point where I can take a breath now and again, such as now, and I must say I am finding it most enjoyable."

"I'm glad," she smiled, a bit of pink rising to her cheeks before she quickly cleared her throat and finished off her flute of champagne. It was an old trick she'd learned years ago. "Resting every once and a while is important, though, honestly. I mean, why not enjoy life? Live a little, right?"

"Precisely," he agreed, walking over to a bench and offering her a seat, sitting next to her and watching a nearby fountain. "It's important to enjoy the good things in life, with the right people."

Lucy agreed with an appreciative hum, crossing her legs and looking out over the gardens with a nearly-awed look. Lorna couldn't deny that the view was spectacular, of course. Beyond the immaculate charm of his garden and the grounds stretching on after that, the rolling hills, dotted with other such villas, were an impressive sight. She wondered how much of what she saw the Morellos owned. "I know," she sighed, the smile on her face becoming a little more soft and pleasant, "Some things aren't enjoyable at all if you don't have the right people around."

He nodded, casting her a sidelong glance, as if trying to determine how precisely to proceed. "Could I ask an impertinent question?" he queried.

She tore her eyes away from the view with a small lift of her eyebrows. "Hm? Well, I don't see why not, go ahead," she shrugged pleasantly, looking expectantly at him.

He nodded slightly. "Again, forgive impertinent curiosity. But Steven... Is he the right person?"

She sighed, looking down at her hands folded in her lap with a tiny shrug. Hesitation at telling a stranger such personal information, but with the hint of the feeling that maybe they _weren't_ strangers. "I don't.. I don't know anymore, I suppose. He is for some things. But I'm not sure if he's right for this life," she shook her head, keeping her voice soft. She'd hooked him now, she knew that. All she had to do now was reel him in.

He frowned slightly, eyes softening. His accent cradled his next words as if to increase their gentleness. "What do you mean by that?"

"Steven doesn't believe that I'm capable of running this sort of business. One not strictly inside the law. I don't know... I'm sorry," she breathed, sounding more emotional now, "I shouldn't be bringing this to you. You just make me feel... comfortable."

"Don't apologize," he said, shaking his head. "It isn't fair that anyone should hold you back from what you want to do. You strike me as a very intelligent person. If he doesn't see that, doesn't feel you're capable of what you want to do, that is his loss."

"Thank you for understanding," Lorna murmured. "It doesn't really matter, though. He might try to hold me back, but, well," she gave a small, bitter smile. "It just makes me better at my job."

He smiled back, encouraging. "Which I'm certain you do brilliantly. If you need further assistance beyond this shipment, I'd be happy to make you a regular on my discount routes, if you're interested."

"That would be magnificent. Something else always manages to turn up when you least expect it, you know?" she chuckled, wondering in the back of her mind when she'd be able to get out of these heels. They were killing her feet.

He laughed in agreement. "Absolutely. I look forward to having such a charming woman as yourself as a business partner. If Stephen doesn't like it, you'll just have to prove him wrong."

"His name is Stev- well, you know, it doesn't matter," Lorna rolled her eyes at her absent 'husband'. "But yes, I rather plan to."

He flashed a cocky smile. "I like you, Lucy. You have drive. I look forward to seeing what you can do."

In a few weeks, when Jim had the files and had made his decision on whether or not to approach a business deal with these people, the Don probably would have already forgotten all about her, but Lorna made sure that Lucy gave him an eager grin, reaching for his hand in her excitement. "Thank you. That means a lot, Mr. Morello."

"Please, call me Joseph," he said, laughing slightly at her formality, gripping her hand gently. "What say we head back into the party? I feel badly for dragging you away from it." He stood, offering her a hand up.

"Anything you like; I'm equally happy in the midst of people or alone," she smiled, taking his hand and standing. Shit, he was too polite. Had she given off the wrong vibes, or had she simply underestimated the Don?

He smiled. "Still. I owe you for politely listening to my prattling on... Might I make it up to you with a dance or two?"

Alright, perhaps she was overreacting. "That sounds lovely," she nodded, glad that she'd have an excuse to be moving. She got restless when things didn't move fast enough on jobs.

He smiled, taking her arm again as they walked back through the garden towards the house. "You know, I can't have you out here too long, anyways," he sighed. "It puts the garden in a bad light, being compared to you."

"Oh, goodness, thank you, Joseph," she blushed, beaming up at him. "But I'm really not much compared to your beautiful estate. It's really, really quite stunning."

"Well, you are really, really quite stunning, as well, and you have the ability to smile at my incredibly cheesy attempts to compliment you. The grounds are distinctly lacking in that aspect," he said, smirking.

Lorna smirked in return. "Well, if you sprinkle the grounds with cheese you're only going to attract ants. I take my cheese with wine. Champagne is close enough that you caught me in a good mood. Keep complimenting me like that and it may even be a _great_ mood."

His smile widened. "I should hope so. There is plenty more champagne, and I find it hard to believe I could run out of compliments, so it promises to be a good evening."

 _Yes,_ she thought to herself, eyes flitting away from the Don's for a moment to scan their surroundings, both noting the security cameras and possible places Moran may have been hiding, _it does promise to be a good evening._ She really did like her job.

Music could be heard a few hallways from the main ballroom, and the Don chuckled. "Sound like they got the party into full swing," he said cheerfully.

"Oh, good, that means I have the rest of the evening to spend with whomever I chose! Steven will be off in some corner with a drink in hand," she added, rolling her eyes with a dry, explanatory air. _I'm avaiillablleeee._

"Most certainly his loss," the Don scoffed. "If you were my date I'd be loathe to be away from you."

She shrugged, smoothing down the hem of her dress. "Well, the novelty's rather worn off for him. Me, too. Let's stop talking about Steven, hm? Let's dance."

He smiled broadly at the suggestion, his eyes following her hands for just a moment, taking in her figure before returning to her face. "Let's," he agreed, entering the ballroom and leading her onto the already crowded dance floor.

She was glad that he agreed easily - she didn't want to put in too much work to drag the Don onto the dance floor. It was classical music, for Christ's sake - nothing fun to dance to. Just uncomfortable closeness. It was a lot easier to fake having fun if it didn't require effort.

He put a hand at her waist, another taking her hand as he stepped seamlessly into the dance, smiling as they spun across the floor to the slow time of the music, appreciating her form inches from his, concentrating on subtly decreasing that distance.

Lorna had spent far too long in this game to not know when someone else was trying, and since she wasn't in this one for the long haul, she made it easy - she tripped into him. "Oh, Christ, I'm sorry, these heels just murder my coordination," she giggled breathlessly, pressed up against him. Wherever Moran was watching from, she hoped he liked the view.

Moran, as it happened, had reentered the ballroom just in time to see her trip, and rolled his eyes slightly, leaning against the wall and snagging a passing drink. Though he had to admit, she knew how to work with that dress. It was a weapon in and of itself.

The Don caught 'Lucy' effortlessly, pulling her a bit closer in the process, until they were right up against each other. "I can't imagine," he laughed softly. "I wouldn't last a step in heels, I don't believe. I'd break both ankles and then my neck when I fell." He wrapped his hand a little farther around her waist, settling in the small of her back.

Her laugh had her arms wrapped around his neck, further cementing them together. "Oh, you probably know better than to put yourself in dangerous positions," she hummed. She caught sight of Moran across the room and gave him a tiny wave of her fingers.

"Mmm... depends on the dangerous situation," he purred, dancing slowly now, eager to keep her close.

Sebastian just rolled his eyes, taking another sip of his drink. He had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, not unlike his danger instinct, but that wasn't it. He decided the solution was more alcohol.

She kept herself from leading, letting him take control of the dancing for the moment. Most men liked to be handed control once she was this close. "Yeah? Like what?"

"Like you," he said, his grip around her firm as he danced, voice low. "I'd be interested to know your real name, for example..."


	3. Fuck Zone Nuances

Lorna cleared her throat, the smile fading from her face as she looked up at him, her jaw squaring resolutely. She could play by this new game, fine. "Lorna," she replied quietly, her voice terse. "How did I give it away?"

"My coat check borrowed your passport," he said smoothly, stepping into a long turn around the edge of the dance floor. "It's an excellent forgery, but seems a bit of a rush job."

"Mm. I think we fired him," she muttered, keeping up with him easily. Now the entire dance floor was between her and Moran. Not good. "I apologize for the distrust, but it's better if no one we work with knows our names, you understand. I have to keep ahead of the law, after all."

He hummed in quiet agreement, though the suspicion didn't leave his eyes. "So what are you doing here, then?"

She sighed. "Same thing I told you. Smuggling. It's hard to get a job done if the person you want to do it doesn't know what it is, hmm?"

"Silks, though? And cotton? Seems a little small to get so worked up over. False passports aren't cheap, even if they are rather poor ones," the Don put in dryly.

She bit the inside of her cheek, swearing lightly under her breath. "Okay. Fine. They're concealing quite a lot of drugs. Heroin, in fact. It's good money."

He flashed an intrigued grin. "That it is... and significantly more expensive per gram than silk or cotton, but of course you knew that," he said with slight sarcasm. "Trying to stiff me on my mover's cut?"

"Trying to avoid making you angry, actually," she snorted, tilting her head to the side as she looked up at him. Lucy was gone; now Lorna was in charge, and back in business. "Some mafias don't like drugs. Some twisted code of honor, I believe."

"Mmm... we've moved past that in this modern age. Or, I have, at least, but I appreciate the heartfelt consideration. And 'Steven'?"

Lorna glanced around for him. He'd disappeared. Okay, she had no idea where he'd gone. "My business partner. He's good at letting me work. Not so good at keeping off the booze."

"I take it he's not actually your husband?" Morello asked, smirking slightly.

"No," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "Marriage is a sham and I'd never marry _him._ I wasn't lying when I said he doesn't believe in me."

"And I will not retract my statement that that is his loss. Perhaps even more so, now," the Don said. His eyes sparked with interest.

She was almost shocked. _Almost._ Men were not easily deterred. What was one measly little lie to a mafia boss? "Well, he's pretty awful in bed anyways, so it's definitely not my loss," she quipped, smirking to herself.

He smirked back. "I'd imagine it _was_ his loss in that area, however. Were I to imagine such things."

"You're sweet," she laughed sarcastically, leaning into him a little more. "So, we still in business?"

"I think that can be arranged," he said, leaning closer himself, before bending to kiss her slowly.

Yup, _now_ she had it in the bag. She kissed him back with feigned caution and slight embarrassment. They were in the middle of the ballroom, after all. But she wasn't going to let that stop her from getting the assignment done.

He pulled back after a moment, smiling, eyes boring into hers. "Still interested in staying the night?"

"I wasn't lying about not having a place to stay," Lorna smirked, "So you can count me in. I will eventually have to find my partner, tell him what the... _arrangements_ are."

He smiled. "Plenty of time to do that later," he pointed out. "I'm rather enjoying dancing, if you are."

"Of course," she lied smoothly, stifling a sigh. More ballroom dancing. Honestly, she just wanted to get off her feet. "I have to say, not a lot of people catch on to forgeries. I assume someone with some talent must have taught you."

"They taught me to hire an expert on the subject, yes," he said, smirking. "The benefit of being a Don is that you rarely have to do your own dirty work."

"Ah..." she nodded thoughtfully, snickering quietly. "I used to work with bosses, I understand the value of that."

He laughed, continuing to dance, but the song wound down and the musicians evidently decided to take a break. The Don sighed, but stepped back. "Would you like another drink?"

"Yes, yes, I would very much like that," she agreed, smoothing down her dress as they separated. Alcohol would get her through this.

He smiled, offering his arm as they headed for the bar. "What can I get for you?"

"Scotch," she hummed, letting him lead her as she surreptitiously scanned the crowd for Moran. She needed to update him.

Moran watched as she approached the bar, scanned the room, probably for him. He stepped out from behind the pillar that had been his shelter, catching her gaze just for a moment and nodding as the Don passed her her scotch.

Reassured that he was still around, she quietly thanked the Don for her drink, resisting the urge to boost herself up onto a stool and spare her feet. "Do you always throw such magnificent parties?"

He took his own drink, nodding towards an area off to the side with couches as he noticed her wincing slightly where she stood. "Not always, no, but not infrequently. It's a good way to catch up with everyone."

She gratefully made her way over to the couches, sitting down and immediately bending over to slip her feet out of the death traps. "I bet. Do you always pick out a lying businesswoman to escort around while you're at it or am I just special?"

He smirked. "If I recall, you approached me, Lorna. In a dress I've no doubt was intended to distract me from any potential discrepancies with your identity."

"I'll give you that one," she chuckled, shrugging playfully. "You should see my _other_ dresses. This one is actually pretty conservative."

"I _should_ see your other dresses," he agreed, smiling. "I suppose you'll have to come to more parties."

"I'm afraid that's probably unlikely, I'm quite busy. I guess you'll have to get your money's worth before I leave," Lorna quipped, sipping at her scotch.

He looked somewhat affronted at being denied, as it was likely unusual, but then he grinned. "Well, in that case, better not to waste it here... Care to join me on another tour? I never showed you the upstairs, and you can leave the shoes, if you like."

"Alright, but only because I can leave the shoes," she agreed with a smile, secretly enormously amused at his face when he realized he wouldn't get what he wanted. She stood, balancing on one foot and stretching out her leg as she gave him a bright look. "Shall we?"

He offered her his arm with a nigh-predatory grin, leading her out of the ballroom and into the rest of the house.

Lorna hoped vainly that Moran wouldn't follow them for this, because she had suspicions about where this was going and she didn't need to deal with whatever obscure nickname would come out of it. Really, she was just very happy to be out of her shoes, although it gave her and the Don a major height difference.

There was little hope of that. The instant they left he was back outside, skirting along the exterior carefully, catching glimpses of them through windows as they moved.

The Don led Lorna up a flight of stairs and towards the west wing of the house. "Much of the house is guest rooms, entertainment areas, kitchens, but these are my private quarters," he explained, pushing a large oak door open and motioning her through.

She was happier with that than the Don knew - yes, this was precisely where she wanted to be. Still, she was impressed by the interior - it was richly decorated, but with more taste than she had expected from him. "I like it," she stated, almost surprised, taking a few slow steps forward of her own into the bedroom. "You have good taste, Joseph."

He smiled. "I'm glad you like it. It's my sanctuary of sorts, a place to escape the frequent business of the house." He walked after her, turning on a light that took the form of a modest chandelier, but dimming it from its full glare. "So, tell me about yourself, outside of your extensive business aspirations."

She turned back around to face him, giving a small shrug of her shoulders. "I like to watch football when I'm drunk, I smoke right outside hospitals even though they tell you not to, and I like my men rich and powerful, just like my liquor," Lorna listed off coolly, folding her arms over her chest. "Your turn."

He laughed, smiling at her with white teeth. "I'm rich and powerful," he started with a wink. "I enjoy history and philosophy, and strategy. I can play a rather mean chess match, and an even better game of darts."

"Oh, believe me, Don, I know you're rich and powerful, otherwise I don't think I'd have allowed you to strategically maneuver me to your bedroom," she laughed, taking a few steps towards him. "Good thing you're handsome, too, huh?"

His smile grew. "Suppose so," he said, voice a bit softer as he stepped forward as well, not hesitating this time at all as he pulled her into a much more inquisitive kiss than the last one.

Outside, Moran snorted softly in laughter, eyeing the situation through his scope. Should be interesting.

Lorna had to lift herself up onto her toes this time, one hand sliding into his signature Italian dark, thick hair and the other gripping onto the lapel of his suit jacket, keeping him from pulling away from the kiss as she deepened it. Halfway there.

He kissed her back eagerly, thrilled by his apparent success, his arms wrapping around her and holding her close to him as his tongue traced her lips, seeking entrance.

She let out a soft sound, parting her lips to let him in without hesitation. He actually wasn't a bad kisser, which was a relief, considering some of the people she had to struggle along with. Impatiently, she switched from pulling his jacket closer to pushing it off his shoulders, the fabric bunching up around his elbows since his hands were still on her. God, she hoped Moran had the decency to at least not talk about this later. And that was a slim hope.

The Don smiled, releasing her just long enough to let the jacket drop to the floor before they wrapped around her again, one hand sliding up the back of her dress to find the zipper, tugging it downward slowly.

Lorna stepped away from him for a moment to peel off her obscenely tight dress, leaving it as a silken puddle on the floor before she stepped back into his arms, kissing down the side of his throat while her fingers tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his slacks. Both were well made. If she'd actually been transporting Egyptian cotton, she might have named his shirt as the same.

He watched her pull the dress off with hungry eyes, his hands immediately finding her bared curves as she stepped back into him. He tilted his head to the side, letting out a soft moan as she kissed his neck, his hands smoothing down over her arse and gripping slightly, pulling her tightly against him for a moment before he released her, his turn to step back, starting to undo his shirt buttons quickly.

She did not possess the patience to just sit back and watch him undress, so she stepped forwards and set about helping, undoing his belt with sure, steady hands and unzipping his trousers with a challenging look in her eyes as she looked up at him. "Sorry. I get impatient," she smirked, dropping his belt on the floor.

He laughed. "I have no objections, I envy your one-piece system," he said, pulling his undershirt over his head and, upper body now free, leaning forward to find her ear with his lips, biting the shell gently before starting to press soft, open-mouthed kisses over the skin of her neck.

Lorna didn't fake the shiver at his teeth, hands running down his chest. Not bad. She could definitely make do here. In reward for his good work on her neck she ground her hips into his, hands completing their journey down his torso to slide into the waistband of his boxers.

He hummed in quiet approval, noting her reaction to his teeth and scraping them softly over her neck as he reached up to undo the clasp of her bra.

She moaned, arching into him. That was, admittedly, a weakness of hers. Well, there was nothing that said she couldn't enjoy her job. "How soft is your bed?" she murmured, sliding her bra straps down and off her arms.

"Love to show you," he murmured, lifting her into his arms with ease, settling her legs around his waist as he walked over to deposit her on the bed.

She laughed as he picked her up, leaning up to kiss him again as her ass hit the bed, drawing him closer with her legs. "Mm," she started, in between kisses, "It _is_ soft."

He ground his hips against hers just slightly, biting at her lip as he pulled her bra all the way off of her arms and letting his hands find her breasts, gently at first, testing the weight and feel of them in his palms.

Her hands pushed down his underwear insistently, a quiet demand to stop teasing and to get on with it before she gripped his length in her hand and gave him a few tugs. "Fuck me," she demanded breathlessly, arching her chest up into his hands.

He certainly wasn't going to argue with that. He pulled back enough to remove her lacy knickers with a clumsy but quick motion, settling between her legs. He considered her for a moment, then sighed, reaching over to a side drawer and pulling out a condom. "Not that I don't trust you," he said, flashing a grin and sitting back to pull it on.

"No, by all means, I won't argue," she chuckled, propped up on her elbows as she made a show of eyeing him and licking her lips. Again, he wasn't bad-looking, not at all, but it never hurt to fluff up a target's ego. The goal was to tire them out, after all.

He smiled up at her, his chest swelling up with a bit of pride at that, and it wasn't the only thing. "So," he said, tossing the package aside and leaning forward again. "Where were we?"

Lorna smirked, shrugging playfully. "I don't know. I think something to do with you fucking me into this mattress?" she suggested, reaching up to skim her fingertips down his chest.

"Brilliant idea," he said, grinning. He moved a hand down to position himself, before pressing into her without further delay, slowly at first.

Her other hand curled into the sheets to relieve the tension building up in her from holding back, a moan escaping her lips without her intentionally calling for it. It had been a while, and she switched her slight twinge of pain into a sound of pleasure. She rather get it out of the way and tire him out than have him try to prepare her properly, which could be just pathetically embarrassing.

He groaned softly, smiling and pushing into her more fully, before starting to rock his hips slowly against hers, getting used to her, letting her get used to him. That didn't last, however, he was impatient and within a few seconds he started to add more power to his movements.

She wasn't one to just lie there and take it; she met each movement of his hips with her own, biting her lower lip as she got into it. There was no reason she couldn't enjoy her job, was her reasoning, and it didn't matter who knew it. She'd always been one to get used to a rough start.

Moran was beginning to wish he'd brought popcorn. Or Vaseline.

The Don pushed himself up slightly, gaining more force behind his thrusts and starting to lengthen them, gritting his teeth and moaning as she moved with him, muttering "You feel wonderful," in Italian.

Lorna gripped the back of his neck, panting "So do you," in return, the Italian coming out a little more broken than usual - it took a lot more effort to think in Italian during something as distracting as sex. Hopefully he would come soon and pass out - yeah, it would be _nice_ to finish, but she was more worried about the job.

He looked up at her in surprise, but grinned at the sound of his native language. "Fuck... didn't know you spoke.. Italian..." he panted, starting to pick up his pace.

She gave a mild shrug that was lost in the change in his pace, her free hand tightening in the sheets to keep herself from being thrust up the bed. "I- I get by."

"It's incredibly a-attractive..." he grunted, biting into his lip, his body tensing as he got close, panting slightly and reaching to pull her leg farther up her hip.

"I'm glad you.. think so," she managed, interrupted by an unbidden whimper when he went particularly deep, still speaking in Italian. "Now- come for me," she ordered, leaning up to nip at his jawline.

"Fuck..." He swore again, but it seemed that for a man of his position, he was good at taking orders. He thrust into her hard, and cried out as he came.

It wasn't hard to fake her own, muffling a loud swear into the crook of his shoulder. Good. The most complicated part of the job was over. "Christ," she breathed as she got her breath back, running her fingers absently through the Don's hair, something that made a lot of people sleepy, "I'm glad you got me up here."

"Me, too," he panted softly, rolling off to the side. "God... you were amazing..." He flopped onto the bed tiredly.

"Mmm. I try," she chuckled, feigning weariness with a stretch and a yawn, although making sure not to cuddle too close to him. An arm over her waist would be troublesome to get out of. Plus, it would probably look kinda embarrassing. Moran had probably just seen her get fucked in the name of a few files, and she wasn't really looking forward to adding onto the pile.

The Don nodded drowsily, watching her for a few more moments, but then his eyes slipped shut.

Lorna waited ten minutes to make sure that he was really, truly asleep, holding her own breath to make sure his had slowed before she slipped out of bed, bare feet touching the floor without a sound. Time to get to work. She padded quickly around the bed to grab her bra, slipping the pen camera out of her underwire with quick fingers before she trotted out of the room. Okay. There was the bathroom, the walk-in closet, the balcony - there. The office. Still nude, she slipped through the door, pleased it was unlocked, and immediately started rifling through the shelves. Oh, thank god, they were organized by date and name. It only took her three minutes before she found the files she needed, holding the camera between her teeth as she flipped through the files. The moment she was finished she stuffed the files back in their correct places and carefully walked back into the bedroom, the camera hidden in her palm until she determined that the Don was still asleep. She stuffed the camera back into the underwire of her bra and very quickly got dressed before sneaking out of his room, closing the large oak doors behind her with a soft click. Time to find Sebastian and get the hell out.

A hand pressed over her mouth from behind to stifle any reaction. "Car's waiting outside the back door," Sebastian breathed once she'd had time to be startled if she wanted. "Did you leave him a heartfelt note?"

Moran was honestly lucky that she knew what he smelled like (gunpowder and something spicy) - if she hadn't, he would have been bent over, clutching at his groin in pain. Even still, she'd tensed up at his sudden appearance. "Hah hah," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "I'll send one through Jim when we get home. C'mon, we can slip out with the other partygoers."

He nodded, leading the way towards his chosen exit route. "You seemed to enjoy yourself."

Lorna couldn't stifle her scoff in time, padding after him on silent feet. "I'm a good actress, and I've had worse. Did you enjoy the show?"

"Very much so. Wish I'd had a stack of ones. And I hope you haven't had worse, he didn't even bring you over." He smirked as they started down the stairs.

She gave a pained groan, letting her head fall back as she reached the landing. "Oh my _god,_ you don't even _know_ what I've dealt with. I once had a man twice my age and three times my weight fall asleep on me before even getting it _up._ Believe me, at least the Don was a good kisser," she growled, then gave him a sideways glance, a teasing tone coming into her voice. "Paying that much attention to realize I didn't finish, huh? You get a hard-on on the job? _That's_ not professional."

"We both get to enjoy ourselves, it seems," he said with a smirk. "Careful who you tease, I still have my... what was it, three, four dares? to assign you."

"It's not teasing if it's _trruuee,"_ she sang, grinning as they made it out a small back door, and then grimacing as her walk turned into hobbling when they were on the gravel.

He glanced over at her, smirking. "Tender tootsies?" he asked, voice dripping sarcasm.

Lorna smacked his shoulder in response, quickly climbing into the car. Oh god, that was a relief. "Oh, Moran, I am tender _all_ over. You've barely had to work today. You got to drink, got to watch some porn, you had a good day," she snorted, trying not to laugh.

"And it ain't over yet," he grinned, climbing into the car as well. "Just think. Two hours on a plane with a still-fairly-stocked fridge and four whole dares to my name. I think I've got a lovely evening ahead of me."

She raised her eyebrows, apprehension starting to gather in her throat. "You worry me, Moran, you know that? Do I get any hints or have you not made up your dares yet?"

"I have some in mind. I might not use all of them. Might hold one or two for special circumstances. Who knows." He flashed a smile, tombstone teeth gleaming in the dark of the car.

She sighed, leaning her head back against the headrest and letting her eyes close. "Mm. Alright. If you're going to force me to be patient I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up when we get to the airport, yeah?"

He nodded. "I'll do that," he said quietly, watching out the window of the car.

She fell asleep almost immediately to hopeful thoughts of getting the rest of the week off, since they'd completed their job in 1/7th of the time allotted. She hoped _somebody_ would be impressed.

* * *

Sebastian considered her when they arrived at the hotel. Turned out the jet wasn't ready to fly yet; they had a full twenty-four hours before it could clear customs to depart again. He reached over to shove her shoulder gently. "Up, Harrison."

Lorna jerked awake, then blinked, raking a hand through her hair as she tried to get her bearings. "We're.. not at the airport," she mumbled, frowning out the window. It was dark outside, now. "This looks like a hotel. Customs?"

"You got it," he said, climbing out of the car. "We've got at least a day here. So we took a drive out of the Don's turf, and we'll have the plane meet us at a closer strip tomorrow night."

"Okay," she returned, getting gingerly out of the car onto the cold pavement and reaching into the back to grab her duffel bag. "You know we look like we've just eloped or some shit."

"Well, guess what our IDs say, darling. We're married..." he sighed with sarcastic dreaminess. "Let's just get this over with, and I'll flip you for the couch."

"Nuh uh - I got us out of there in less than 12 hours, the bed is mine by rights," she retorted, pointing a finger at him as they headed for the glass doors of the hotel. "Without me you wouldn't be back in your own bed by tomorrow."

"And without me, you could be dead several times over," he said with a snort. "Or did you think I just sat around with my thumb up my ass?"

"I don't know what you're into Moran, you could have been, for all I know," Lorna smirked, not caring that she'd just stepped into a hotel lobby with an extremely tight dress on, no shoes, and some severely rumpled hair. "But fine. We'll share, okay? I'm not taking the couch."

He just rolled his eyes, walking forward and forcing his face to be appropriately not murderous as he booked their room. "Come on," he said, sighing. "Up we go."

She stepped into the elevator with a deep breath. It wasn't often that other people came with her on jobs, and she didn't really know what the etiquette was now. "I have some liquor in my bag, by the way. You know, for in case we didn't make it back to the plane for a little bit."

He smirked. "You sharing?" he asked, leaning against the elevator wall and reaching out with a boot to kick the appropriate button. "Or are you going to be a liquor miser all by yourself?"

"That depends." She smacked her lips, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow at him. "You going to give me any hints on your dares?"

He snorted, rolling his eyes as the elevator shuddered into motion, giving him the distinct impression that despite the fact that their room was on the seventh floor, it would have been much faster to take the stairs. "Want to take a guess?"

Lorna shrugged, making an exaggerated face. "I don't know, I'm torn between prank call, blowjob, and being forced to eat some really gross concoction. That drink is still dependent on your giving me a hint, you know."

He smirked. "Second one's close," he laughed, stretching and cracking his back, fingers brushing the ceiling. "Has to do with the events of earlier. There's your hint. What liquor you got?"

"I got scotch, bourbon, and vodka," she replied, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself quiet and contained. She hadn't exactly expected him to... well, be interested, she supposed, which of course followed the pattern of him being completely unpredictable to her. Not that she _wasn't_ interested; he was extremely attractive, and the whole sniper thing added to it. She just had no idea how to react. The door opened with a ding, and she stepped out, looking like she'd been given a difficult math problem.

He watched her with a completely amused expression, walking over to their door and shoving the key into the lock, jiggling it around a bit before pushing the door open. "Not bad," he called back as he walked in. The room was fairly spacious, though the couch was a love seat and would hardly work for either of them to sleep on. Luckily the bed was a king. The rest of the room consisted of a television and stand, a night table on either side of the bed, a small bathroom, and a sink with a refrigerator and safe built in beneath.

She stepped in after him with a considering look, nodding slightly to herself. "And, you know, the rug's softer than usual. I can support that," she hummed, setting her bag by the foot of the bed. They'd definitely be sharing the bed, then. "Watch out, by the way. I'm a cuddler," she smirked, deciding to deal with the thing between them... not now.

"Bourbon. Now," he snorted, holding out a hand as he lowered his bag to the ground with the other arm.

She bent to unzip the bag and fish out the bottle, handing it to him with the satisfying sound of glass hitting flesh. "You ever been to Italy before, Moran?"

He opened the bottle, taking a long pull. "A few times," he said, walking over to flop down on the love seat. "Good weather. Nice countryside. Not a big fan of their cities."

Lorna sat on the edge of the bed, then let herself just collapse backwards, her legs hanging over the edge. "I appreciate the architecture, but yeah. Too much windiness. Sometimes I want to see a straight road, you know? I like London more."

He raised the bottle in an informal toast. "Here's to that. Screw beauty, I just want to be able to get from one place to the other without getting lost or shot."

She smirked, rolling over and grabbing the bottle of vodka from her bag. "I'll toast to that," she smirked, holding the bottle above her and leaning up to take a sip.

He chuckled, taking another long pull at his bourbon. "What about you? Sounds like you've been here before."

"Oh yeah, lots. Half the Italian mafia knows my face by now. Half of that half hates it. The other half has seen a lot more than my face," she snickered, resting the bottle on her abdomen.

"And that half now includes Don Morello. See, that's what I don't get about your line of work." He took a smaller sip of bourbon, considering. "I understand that you can also rely on disguise if necessary. But if so many up-tops know your face, there will reach a point where you can't work in Italy any longer."

"Oh, I realized that a long time ago," Lorna sighed, swinging her feet back and forth a little. "But all the work I've done in Italy has been for Jim. That means that he knows perfectly well who will and won't recognize me, and where I'll be most useful. Either way, Morello is being investigated as a possible business partner, so even if I do see _him_ again, it's likely it will be as a coworker. Anyways, when Italy runs dry he'll send me someplace else. Maybe America. Big place over there." She took a few long swallows of vodka. She wanted to be drunk.

He nodded. "I know that. I've been responsible for half those assignments. But that's my point. The better you do your job, the more useless you become in a particular area." He shrugged, taking another swig of bourbon. "I respect what you do. I just don't understand the appeal."

Lorna sat up, her face solemn as she took another drink. "I like my job. I do. I like the danger and the lying and all that shit. Maybe I just like it cause I've never known anything else. But hey, I don't understand the appeal of lying around on roofs all day, watching other people get off." A small smile made its way back onto her face.

"Or not get off, as the case may be," he shot back, grinning at her.

"Oh, shut up, there's no use teasing me about it, I'm the one who has to deal with it," she laughed, casually flipping him off as she drank again.

"Speaking of dealing with it," he smirked, tipping back a long pull of bourbon before setting the bottle aside for the moment. "You drunk enough for dare one or should we give it a bit longer?"

"I wasn't drunk at _all_ for Morello, I think I can handle you," Lorna replied it wryly, setting down the vodka on the nightstand. "Lay it on me, Moran."

"First one's simple," he said, laughing and grabbing the bourbon. "Finish yourself off. Have fun with it. We'll go from there."

She flushed despite herself. That hadn't been at _all_ what she'd expected from him. Sexual favors for him, yeah. Herself? "You're- unpredictable, I'll admit it," she chuckled, reaching for the vodka again and taking another swig before lifting up her hips and slipping off her panties. "This will be fast, just so you know you won't be on the edge of your seat long."

He laughed, lounging back and watching her appreciatively. "However you want to do it," he said, waving off her warning. For him, it was about the power. The flush of her cheeks was incredible, knowing she was at least a bit uncomfortable at his request.

She tossed her underwear at him to try and feel like she had a little bit of the power before she decided the whole thing would just be a lot easier if she blocked him out. Hell, she was frustrated enough from earlier that it wouldn't be hard. Heart thumping in her chest, she slowly laid back onto the bed and got to work.

He watched her with quiet satisfaction and a smug smile, dark eyes tracing her movements. "So. Why was this unpredictable?"

Her fingers didn't stop at all and she refused to open her eyes to look at him, although her breath did hitch slightly. "I- I guess I assumed you weren't.. interested," she murmured, biting her lower lip. Damn, she actually did need this.

He laughed, deep and throaty, and stood, setting his bottle aside and walking over to stand over her. "Not interested... Well, depends on your definition of interested, I suppose."

"You.. you gonna tell me what that means?" she questioned, too distracted to put any sting into her voice, although she did open her eyes when she heard him move. Her pupils were blown wide, the gray pushed into a tiny ring. Her fingers quickened, a small gasp escaping her.

He held her gaze for a long moment, letting her see the lust there, smiling quietly, before he returned his attention to her hands. "It means you're an attractive, intelligent grifter, who I can almost trust not to kill me in the night. And I just watched you screwing someone. Hard not to be interested."

Well, she'd been completely right on the fact that she wasn't going to last long; the heat in his gaze sent a spike of arousal shooting down her spine and she came with a muffled shout into the crook of her elbow, arching up off the bed as her body tensed up. "W-what's your next dare, Moran?"

His eyes darkened as she came, his lips pressed together tightly, breaths slow, but deep, nostrils flaring slightly. He was hard, there was little getting around that fact. He considered her for a moment and walked back towards the couch and his booze. "I'm considering."

"Okay," Lorna replied, a bit breathlessly as she stretched out on the bed, cheeks still flushed and eyes dark. "You know where I'll be. Can I have a sip of the bourbon?"

He picked up the bottle, walking over to hand it to her, still considering her sprawled figure.

She grabbed it and took a sip without even sitting up, a miraculous feat, considering she didn't even spill any of it. Then she rested the bottle on the bed next to her, looking up at him curiously. "Your pants a little tight?"

He smirked. "And if they were?" he asked, grabbing the bourbon to take a long draft. He was becoming properly drunk, now.

"You could take them off. I don't know, it doesn't really sound like my problem. Unless it becomes my problem, I mean," she smirked, noticing how much of the bottle he'd downed. "You don't even have to dare me, you know, even though I know you get off on the power. You can just ask."

He raised an eyebrow, setting the bottle aside. "Speaking of unpredictable," he said, laughing.

Lorna shrugged. "You're hot, I like your voice, and I really do like powerful men. Either way, I don't actually have a lot of boundaries.

He smirked, considering her. What the hell, he was drunk. He started pulling off his shirt.

She couldn't help taking in a deep breath. Oh, God, he was even more well-built than she had imagined. Not that she'd spent a lot of time imagining, but.. "Wow, Moran, I may actually swoon."

His grin widened just a bit, and he let out a short laugh. "Coming from the seductress, I'll take that as a compliment."

"As you should," she smirked, sitting up and holding a hand out to him. "Now, do you need help with your trousers there? Cause it looks like you're going to break the button."

He didn't argue, stepping forward with a smirk as he pulled his undershirt off before reaching to undo his belt.

She slid to the edge of the bed, looking up at him with a knowingly wicked smirk, her hands lifting to swat away his hands from his belt. "Sorry, this is my favorite part," she hummed, flicking open the button to his slacks.

"If that's your favorite part, you haven't been having nearly enough fun," Moran quipped, though he let her take over, his hands moving to push through her hair firmly but gently, the pads of his fingers tracing her scalp.

"Probably not," she agreed with a degree of amusement, tugging down his trousers without much ceremony. She leaned forward to chastely kiss just above his waistline, fingers pinging the waistband to his underwear teasingly.

He growled, one hand tightening in her hair as she did that, getting a firm grip. "You going to be trouble?" he asked, smirk returning.

Lorna snickered, drumming her fingers over his hip with a tiny lift of her shoulders. It actually took a lot for her not to just lean into his hand. "I don't know, I'm considering it. Why, what are you going to do if I am?"

He tugged her hair a bit, not enough to hurt if she cooperated, just so that he could meet her gaze. "I'll punish you for it. Creatively." His eyes confirmed his words, grin remaining.

She gave him a pleasant smile. "Oh? You're going to make me paint for you? I mean, I'm not _great_ but I suppose I have some talent.." she teased, her fingers skimming almost absently over his clothed hard-on.

He growled at that, hands grabbing her arms swiftly and throwing her- with careful control- back onto the bed, his teeth finding her jugular a moment later, biting down as his hands found her hips and held them in place.

She was legitimately surprised by how easily he threw her onto the bed, arching up into him as her fingers slid into his short blond hair, pulling him closer rather than away. "Fuck, Tiger, you really caught on to my preferences," she gasped, her hips fighting against his hands.

He smirked against her neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark before pulling back to look at her. "Boss calls me that. You catch it from him?" he snorted, pulling against her grip on his hair, hands releasing her hips to push her tight dress up her body.

"Yeah - I didn't think it was so accurate, though," she laughed, lifting her hips to allow him to push up her dress. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She really, really wanted him. More than she could remember wanting anyone in a long time.

He laughed, considering her for a moment before turning her over effortlessly and yanking down the zipper on the back of her dress. He'd considered tearing it off her, but he didn't want to risk getting her pissed off at him. He pulled the thin cloth off of her, undoing her bra deftly a moment later before flipping her back onto her back, one hand grabbing her wrists and moving to hold them over her head as he sat across her waist.

She didn't even consider struggling, just letting him do what he wanted until he was sat on top of her, giving him a challenging look. "Did you forget your handcuffs in London? That's embarrassing, Sebastian. Of course, I _am_ the one pinned down on the bed, so I suppose I can't really say anything. You look good, by the way. Do you work out?" In other words, she dealt with being out of control by trying to dominate the conversation.

"Yes, no, no, and yes," He said, grinning toothily, flashing canines. He was still confined uncomfortably within his pants, a straining bulge at the front, but for the time being he let that be, instead leaning forward to trace the tip of his tongue carefully over the marks he'd left on her throat, the nails of his free hand scraping slowly down her side.

A strangled moan made its way out of her throat, her attempts to cut herself off failing miserably. She bucked her hips up, more to tease him than to throw him off - she was definitely going to be trouble for him. "C'mon, Moran, don't deny yourself," she purred, a surprising feat considering she was practically panting.

He was bigger than her by a fair bit, his hand easily enclosing her wrists, his toned body towering over hers. He laughed, and released her hands for the time being, deciding to make things more interesting, though he moaned as she ground up against him. He bent his head to scrape his teeth over her ribs, pausing every few inches to nip and suck and mark her skin, his hips grinding down against hers.

Lorna was a tad relieved he actually gave in to her, using her new found freedom to drag her nails over his wide shoulders, trying to hear that moan again. It was a little bit harder when she was being distracted so thoroughly by the combined efforts of his mouth and his hips, but she took the advantage back by wrapping her legs around his waist and forcefully altering the rhythm, just to show him she could.

He swore against her skin quietly, giving her a harsh bite in return for her movements before he moved his mouth over her bared breast, still letting his teeth touch occasionally, his hand moving to find her legs and drag his nails over her thigh.

She shuddered under his touch, biting her lower lip to keep herself as quiet as she could, rubbing up against him before she tightened her knees on his hips and rolled them over. She was going to cause him as much trouble as possible.

He let her move him, lying on his back underneath her, relenting his mouth's inquisition of her breasts for the time being to allow the movement. He reached down between them, rubbing at his cock a little through the fabric of his pants and groaning softly.

She pushed his hand away, slipping her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and swiftly pulling them off and chucking them across the room before she ground her hips down onto his bare erection, letting out her own small moan. "Sorry," she smirked, leaning down to nip at his collarbone, "I don't know the value of patience."

"I'll have to teach that to you some time," he muttered, gritting his teeth and growling as she ground against him. "Right now, however, I'm not sure I'm arguing."

"Good," she murmured against his throat, having moved there to suck an angry red mark onto his skin. "I don't suppose you brought a condom with you?" she muttered, drawing away from his neck to look down at him. Her hips did not stop moving.

"What, you're a sex-seeking grifter and you don't have condoms on you?" he asked with a snort. He ground up against her with a slight gasp, then tumbled her off to the side, rolling off the bed. "As it happens, I have a taste for Italian women." He headed over to his trunk.

She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, resting her chin on them as she watching him appreciatively. His musculature was to die for. "I take the pill - I usually only bring condoms if their medical report says to. I'm a risk-taker. Oh, and sorry for taking away the opportunity to bone an Italian woman - maybe you can squeeze one in before we leave tomorrow," she chuckled, raising her eyebrows at him, a tad impatiently.

He grabbed a box out of his bag, finding a condom and rolling it on. "Maybe. We'll see." He headed back over to the bed, sitting across from her, considering her. "You look good without clothes. Should do it more often."

"I could say the same about you. I could also get offended over what you think I look like _with_ clothes on, but I feel like that might ruin the mood, so I'll pass on that," she smiled, chuckling slightly as she unfolded herself and climbed into his lap, straddling his waist.

"I didn't say you looked bad, I was just suggesting variety," he said, chuckling, his hands sliding over her hips and up her sides, before dipping down again, moving to trace his fingers over the inside of her thighs. "So, what was that about having no patience?"

The fingers on her thighs was really the limit of her short patience, so she lifted herself off him, reaching down to position him at her entrance before she slowly sank down onto him, groaning softly. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say we should do this more often," she gritted out, taking a deep breath as she adjusted to him.

He let out a low moan, his arms wrapping around her, his nails digging into her back as he took a breath through his teeth. "I was planning on it."

"Glad it's not just me," she moaned, starting to slowly roll her hips, fingers gripping onto his sides for leverage as she peppered kisses and bites up his sculpted throat.

He rolled his hips up into hers slowly, his muscles rolling against her, body tense as it adjusted to her presence. He moved his hands to her hips, pulling her down against him more firmly, swallowing as her lips pressed against his throat.

She was grateful for his efforts, raising her head to capture his lips with hers. Suddenly something seemed different. Suddenly this felt... _intimate._ Maybe it was the lack of a good fuck from earlier, fucking with the hormones in her brain.

He kissed her back, breaking only to breathe and pressing immediately back against her mouth, his tongue sliding past her teeth and scraping against hers as he thrust rhythmically and slowly up into her.

She forced all thoughts out of her head, kissing him with all she had as he slowly wound her up, her hands taking the opportunity to fully explore every exquisite plane of his chest, feeling him flex each time he moved.

He moved with her like that for a while, but eventually, he got sick of his lack of movement and rolled up and forward until her back was on the bed. His hands hit the mattress on either side of her, his torso twisting and tensing as he pushed up on his toes, rolling and pressing his hips against hers, pulling almost all the way out of her before sliding back in with force.

She swore as Moran sped up the pace, a long moan following straight after. She made use of the headboard above her to brace herself for his powerful thrusts, keeping herself from sliding away from him. She didn't want a single inch to be between them. "You feel.. _so_ good," she panted, head thrown back, her dark hair splayed across the bed above her.

"So do you," he panted, lips digging into his teeth. He tucked his chin into his chest, back arching to push his hips into hers more firmly. He reached down with one hand to grab her hip and adjust her angle against him. He managed to get it right, because a moment later he was buried in her fully, crying out at the heat and friction.

She more yelped then cried out, shocked by the sudden extra pleasure burning through her like a wildfire, raking her nails down his back as she tried to relieve some of the tension building up in her. "Fuck, fuck, Tiger, I am _close,"_ she moaned, arching up beneath him. She just needed a push over the edge.

He snarled, gritting his teeth, but he needed her to come, to bring him over, so he bent to find her neck again, growling as he dug his teeth into her skin. He released for just a moment, biting closer to her ear. "Come... Now." His voice brokered no argument.

If she could have spoken actual words she would have replied with a snappy 'Yes, sir,' because that was exactly what she did, gasping and swearing as she was violently pushed over the edge, digging her fingers into his shoulders hard enough to leave behind bloody crescents.

He cried out as she came, and within a few thrusts he was, too, pressing his forehead into her shoulder as he let out a muffled cry, thrusting quickly a few times before he finally pressed fully into her, shaking with the power of his orgasm.

She ran her hands soothingly down his sides as they both came down from their highs, trying to get her breath back by just not doing anything for a long moment. "You.. you, uh, are pretty fantastic," she huffed, heart still beating fast as she tilted her head slightly to kiss his cheek.

He grunted, rolling off to the side slightly, panting. "So were you," he breathed softly, reaching up to rub at his face, looking at her blearily. "Really good."

She went so far as to whistle, staying where she was splayed out on the bed next to him. "You know Jim's going to know right away," she sighed, looking over at him with a defeated look. She wanted to curl into him, but she didn't know how he'd feel about that, so she remained where she was.

"Yup," he said, sighing. "We'll see how that goes... I'm not exactly sure what his views are on fraternizing. You realize that this in no way alters my authority over you, correct?"

"No, no, I know," Lorna chuckled wearily, pulling the sheets over her and cocooning herself in them instead of approaching him. "If I thought it would affect any of that I would have tried to sleep with you a long time ago." She sighed, pillowing her cheek on her arm. She'd really needed the sex. She wasn't so sure if she needed this situation.

He snorted, stretching out before hopping up and heading for the bathroom. "Of course you would have."

"I don't like doing work!" she called after him, wriggling half out of her cocoon to lean over the side of the bed and grabbing a nicotine patch from her bag. She hadn't wanted to be inconsiderate and smoke around him, but right now she really needed the feeling of having smoked, so she stuck the thing onto the inside of her arm and returned to her blanket nest.

The toilet flushed, and he headed back into the room, cleaned up, and climbed into his side of the bed. "Then you would not want my job." He groaned, stretching out.

Lorna snorted. "I've never wanted your job. I do better with superiors than I do at leading in any sense," she murmured, turning her face into her pillow. "What is this, Sebastian?"

He looked over at her. "What is what?" he asked, reaching over to the bedside table to get the bottle of bourbon.

She un-buried her face from the pillows, rolling onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. " _This._ Here. I'm at a disadvantage here, not knowing. I need to know how to act appropriately." If she made a wrong move, it would be... damaging. They were not soft, forgiving people.

"We fucked. We're done fucking. We're in a zone of not fucking, we might fuck again." Sebastian shrugged. "I don't see anything beyond that. Do you?"

"No," she said, she thought rather convincingly. Best not to reveal her potential interest - there were a lot of things that could be seen as weaknesses, and that was one of them. She had to stop herself from grabbing another nicotine patch.

He considered her for a moment. "Tell me now if we're going to have a problem, Harrison," he said evenly. "When it's still resolvable."

Lorna gave him a sideways glance, biting the inside of her cheek. "It's... I suppose I get attached sometimes. Sorry. It won't be an issue," she said softly, looking back up at the ceiling. She didn't think things like this were ever really resolvable.

He nodded slightly. "See that it doesn't. If it becomes a distraction, let me know, we'll find a solution."

This time she gave him a fully exasperated look, propping herself up onto her elbow. "Moran, take it from me when I say there aren't _solutions_ to this crap. You just bottle it up and shove it down and drink to forget it. When you finally repress it enough to the point where you feel comfortable again, you're out three hundred quid from bar bills and you get particularly _efficient_ at work. Just forget about it, okay?"

He looked over at her, amused. "You sound like a bad soap opera, which in itself is redundant. I don't give a fuck what your solution entails; if it's a bar bill, fine. Just make sure you have a solution."

"Oh, shut the fuck up," she growled, turning her back to him with a defensive huff. She particularly didn't like it when people took advantage of her bared weaknesses. "Ass."

"You liked it five minutes ago," he pointed out, holding the bottle out in her direction. "Look, I don't know what you're expecting here. I don't do drama, I didn't know that I was signing up for anything when we fucked. Was I?"

She let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "No. I'm kinda drunk and I'm always... _weird_ after jobs like this, just... shut up about it, okay? Sorry," she muttered, sliding out of bed and digging her robe out of her bag, slipping it on and grabbing her pack of cigarettes and a lighter before heading for the terrace. "I need to smoke."

He watched her go, grit his teeth slightly. He wasn't one to get ruffled easily. Angry, yes, but that was a calm, logical anger. This wasn't anger at all. He didn't like it. He downed more bourbon, then screwed the cap back on and collapsed onto the bed in a huff, shutting his eyes.

Lorna leaned against the railing as she lit up, sucking in a long drag the first moment she could. She hadn't been lying to him, she got weird after jobs like the one she'd done today. Maybe it was the emotional manipulation that got to her, maybe it was just the bad sex, she'd never been quite sure. And never was there someone around afterwards who'd she'd even _consider_ being ' _interested'_ in. She hated it. It made her weak. Weak grifters didn't last long.

He lay there a few minutes, smelling the smoke off the balcony, before he sighed, hopping up and walking over, pushing the door fully open to walk over to lean next to her. "Can I bum a fag?"

She glanced over at him and held out the pack of cigarettes for him, returning her gaze back to the small town below them as he took one. "I didn't know you smoked," she stated quickly, leaving as much inflection out of her voice as she could. It was hard not to take her anger with herself out on him.

"I don't," he said, taking a cigarette. "Not usually. But I've been known to enjoy one every now and then. Got a light?"

"Yeah," she sighed, digging it out of her pocket and handing it to him. She smoked whenever she was too stressed to erase it with drinking. She supposed that probably didn't make her very healthy, but she liked to think that she had enough exercise and enough salads to make up the difference. "Sorry about that shit. I respect your work and I like you as a boss, and I don't want to jeopardize the opportunity to do this again. Apologies."

He shrugged, lighting up and taking a slow drag, handing the lighter back to her. "Apology accepted. And if you don't want to do this again, then we won't. I'm a fair employer. I value your work. I won't make you uncomfortable. You know how Jim is about people leaving."

"No, no, I know," she snorted, shaking her head, the cigarette lighting up her face as she inhaled another lungful. "I will probably want to, though. It's not often I get laid and come out of it feeling satisfied."

He smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment, though I probably shouldn't." He considered the smoldering cigarette. "Provided Jim doesn't kill us, I'm all for doing it again some time."

"Oh, if he's _really_ upset by this I doubt he'll kill both of us," she laughed, flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder before she accidentally caught it on fire. "Honestly, I think he'll have one us kill the other. Or something more painful. And more likely you'd have to kill me - it would take less time to replace me than you," she shrugged.

He nodded, not bothering to comment that it wouldn't be particularly painful to kill her, just annoying. It wouldn't bother him at all. Not an iota. It wouldn't. He shook his head slightly and took another drag off the slowly burning fag.

She gave him a sideways glance, eyes narrowed. "You know I meant, like, painful for the recipient, right? Like, torture? You know, just in case you think I'm hung up on that or something. I'm not. I just don't like getting tortured."

"Most people don't like getting tortured," he smirked. "That's why it's called 'torture' and not 'entertainment'. At least not when referring to the recipient." Torturing her... that he might be able to get behind. Depended on the torture.

"I usually come out of it okay," she grimaced, flicking ash off the terrace. "As long as it's not fire. I really, really don't like fire," she shuddered, then gave a small shrug. "Knife stuff's okay."

He nodded. "Fire's a bitch. Being burned in general just keeps burning. Personally, I don't like the drugs. Injections, that sort of thing. I can deal with it, but I don't like it."

Lorna chuckled, shifting from looking down at the town to up at the night sky, where the stars were surprisingly prominent. "I used to be a heroin addict, so that's something that's never bothered me. Had to stop, though, when I joined up here. Jim doesn't like that sort of thing."

"I knew that," he nodded. "Don't forget who hired you," he added with a smirk. "I do know the bullet points." He glanced over at her. "I was impressed with that. Getting clean for a job."

She smiled, a little pleased that he was impressed with that. And it had been hard. "I didn't really have much of a choice, even though it was awful. Once you know about the network... and then it was just get clean or get shot. I thought maybe giving up heroin would be preferable," she sighed, taking one last drag from her cigarette and then snubbing it out on the railing. "Anyways, it was kind of a nice 'Fuck you' to the bastard who got me hooked, so that was a nice incentive."

He smirked. "Attagirl," he muttered, nodding in approval. "'Fuck you's are always good motivation."

"Damn straight," she laughed, flicking her stub into a convenient ash tray to her side. "The only thing I regret about it is I didn't get to kill the jackass. He was too good at disappearing. Hopefully he'll show up in London someday."

"If he does, let me know. I'll give you the night off," he smirked, grinding the butt of his cigarette out and tossing it into the tray as well.

"Thanks. If I do get him, I'll probably come back with significantly better mental health, so that'll pay off for everyone. Except him," she snorted, resting her hands on the railing with a long breath. Yes, if she ever saw Ryan again she'd destroy him in an instant for the games he'd tried to play with her. At least Jim's games weren't personal.

"I look forward to it," he said dryly, without a hint as to his actual thoughts on the subject, positive or not. "Alright. I'm going to sleep," he said, heading back inside.

"Okay," she stated, stopping herself from twisting to watch him go. She would wait until he fell asleep to crawl into bed after him; she didn't think she could handle the two of them in the dark like that, not unless one of them were unconscious.

Sebastian climbed into his side of the bed, sighing quietly, eyes slipping shut. He was used to getting as much sleep as he could with little time. He was asleep within minutes.

As she'd expected, Moran was a swift sleeper. She waited a minute to make sure he was asleep, like she had with Morello but in reverse, and then turned back into the room, shedding her robe onto her bag and slipped in between the covers, making sure there was distance between the two of them; she rolled a lot in her sleep. Then she closed her eyes, and when she finally relaxed, fell asleep.

* * *

Playlist: The Killers - All The Pretty Faces

Arctic Monkeys - Stop The World I Wanna Get Off With You


	4. Aryan Dream Man

He woke in the morning with a hell of a hangover. He grunted, reaching up to rub at his eyes, and debated the merits of trying to get back to sleep versus actually moving and getting pain relievers out of his bag. He compromised, reaching for the bourbon on the bedside table instead.

Lorna woke up when he moved, having taken over the middle of the bed in her sleep. She groaned, cracking her eyes to watch him grab the bourbon. She wasn't as hungover as him - she'd been less drunk. But she did have a stale nicotine patch on her arm. She sat up, covers falling around her waist, and peeled the thing off with a look of distaste. "Morning," she rasped, looking back at him.

"Shh..." He grumbled, taking a sip from the bottle and making a face, putting it down and flopping back onto the bed, pulling the covers over his head.

Taking pity on him, she rolled out of bed and went about the business of making coffee, getting dressed, and drawing the curtains, shutting out the morning sun. If their plane was cleared to fly tonight, he'd probably be better by then, but if not they would probably end up spending the day in darkness. It would be risky to wander around outside if the Don was motivated to find them. When the coffee was done, she leaned over the bed and tapped his shoulder, mug held out to him.

He shifted out of the covers and took it with a nod and a grunt of appreciation.

She simply nodded in return, taking the bourbon from the nightstand and moving it over to the desk as quietly as she could to keep him from being tempted. If he just kept going it would turn ugly. Either way, she would wait for him to recover a little before she tried to strike up a conversation.

He sipped the coffee slowly, nodding as she removed the bourbon. He'd just wanted a sip to keep the edge off, but the coffee would help. Then a lot of water. He took a few slow breaths, reaching up to rub at his eyes, letting himself settle.

She kept herself busy as he slowly worked on the mug of coffee, first gathering up her scattered clothes from the night before to pack away and retrieving the small camera before getting out her laptop and settling down onto the love seat, popping out the SD card and plugging it in. Better to send it to Jim sooner rather than later, especially if something happened to the camera. As soon as she sent them off she shut the laptop again and packed the camera away. She had the habit of keeping herself busy whenever she didn't want to think too closely about something, and last night was one of those things. She wasn't sure how to feel about the situation, although she did know what to be with herself; angry.

He finally drained the mug, sighing. "Thanks," he said hoarsely. "I generally know better than to get this hung over." He set the mug aside, and stood, stretching, still buck-arse naked. He headed into the bathroom, shutting the door, and the shower started up a few moments later.

Lorna didn't see the point in responding, just nodding from where she was on the sofa, doodling on hotel stationery. She was a little surprised that he'd gotten so hungover, though - she expected that he'd have a better tolerance. She supposed not.

He came out a few minutes later, drying off, and walked over to his bag to find clothes. "Should have known better than to drink that much," he muttered. "Was out in the sun all day and didn't have access to water. Was already dehydrated."

She smiled slightly, looking up over the pad of paper. She'd sketched out a rough picture of Morello - she had rather a collection she liked to keep at home for all her targets. Then, at the end of the year at Christmas, she burned them all. "We all know better in hindsight. There's a couple glasses on the shelf in the restroom if you want to down a few liters."

"I'll get there," he sighed, pulling on a shirt. "What're you doing?" He stood, walking over to look over her shoulder. "Morello?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, tilting the paper to show him in a better light. "Hobby of mine. I draw all my marks. Burn them at the end of the year. Morello wasn't ugly, either, which is a nice change," she hummed, returning her attention to the sketch.

He nodded, considering for a moment, before turning and starting to gather his things, packing up. He pulled out the scope he'd taken out of the car yesterday, starting to wipe it down, removing any dirt or dust it had accumulated.

"When can we leave?" she asked to break the silence, resting the stationary in her lap for a moment. "I miss London. The skies here are too... _open,_ you know?"

He nodded in understanding. "I'll call the pilot, see what things look like," he said, walking over to sit on the bed and pull out his mobile, dialing the number and, after a moment, starting to chat quietly with the pilot. Eventually he hung up, tucking the phone into his pocket. "He says they should be cleared for takeoff in about an hour, so we should get a car to get going soon."

"Cool," was all she responded with, tearing off her sketch and folding it up to slip it into her pocket. Then she made sure she was packed - bourbon and vodka included - and set her bag on the bed before sitting next to it. "Jim has the pictures of the files, so when we get back he'll probably have read them."

"Probably," he agreed, nodding. "I should probably read them on the flight back. He'll want to discuss them."

"Alright. They're pretty dry, though. A lot of crap about past business deals, what happened when those businesses tried to back out. Standard mafia stuff," she shrugged, flopping back onto the bed with a huff. "I probably wasn't supposed to read them but they were all right there."

"Of course they were," he sighed, smirking slightly. "Careful, Harrison, or you'll get my job whether you like it or not."

She grimaced, making a grossed out sound. "Ugh, don't even joke about that, Moran, that sounds like the _worst._ I don't _nearly_ have the ability to handle being around Jim for more than an hour, let alone the desire for sniping. Blegh."

He laughed. "Both can be learned with a little patience," he snorted. "Not that you have any."

"You're hilarious," she retorted sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "But I really, really don't like leadership positions. I'm worried I'll abuse the power."

"That's the fun part," he smirked. "But don't worry. This position won't be open anytime soon, and if it were, you would not be a candidate."

She huffed, looking up at him. If he'd been less likely to hit back, she would have smacked him. "Rude. Keep in mind I totally didn't kill you in your sleep last night. Will I pass up the opportunity again?"

"Not if you don't want my job," he laughed, shouldering his bag. "Come on. No point in staying here any longer. Let's go find food and then get the hell out of here."

"Sounds good to me," she sighed, sitting up and grabbing her own bag to follow him. "And you said I wasn't a candidate!"

"So I'm lying one way or the other, suppose you'll have to wait until I'm dead to find out which one," he snorted, heading out the door.

Lorna shrugged, shutting her behind her and taking a few long strides to catch up with him. "Or I could just tie you up for a few days and see if you tell me. I don't know, just an idea."

He laughed. "Good luck with that," he snorted, heading down the stairs to avoid the sluggish elevator.

"No, no, see, it'll be easier than you think, cause you'll wake up like that," chuckled, trotting down after him. "I know where you sleep, remember? I mean, my live-in room is right across from yours, and you've got that cute little mailbox outside with your initials on it..."

He smirked. "If you think for a second that you'd be able to get to me in that room, you're sadly mistaken," he snorted. "Besides, even if you did- which you wouldn't- Moriarty would have you killed in a matter of days."

"What, simply for tying you up and asking a series of innocent questions?" she scoffed, trying and failing to stifle a smirk, then bursting out into snickering, her face turning pink from holding in the laughter she really wanted to let out. "So I guess that means no bondage, then?"

"I suppose that requires consideration," he snorted, rolling his eyes as they reached the last landing and walked out into the sunlight. He squinted a bit, but kept walking. "Time find a cab."

Lorna raised her eyebrows. "Really? You think they have cabs in a town this small? Let's either steal a car or take the one we had last night. Don't be ridiculous."

He glared at her, but sighed. "That car's gone, was just for the day. Let's go steal something, then."

"Okay. Choose, and I'll jack," she hummed, adjusting the bag strap on her shoulder as she twisted to unzip her bag. She had a lot of experience stealing cars. In fact, she'd even made her own tool, which she now had in her hand. It didn't come up often, but it was a good time when it did.

He nodded, starting to walk towards a parking lot. "As much as I'd like to take something fun, we should probably keep a low profile."

She nodded, scanning the cars she could see, twirling her fun little tool in her hand. "What about a black sedan?"

He nodded. "Black or tan," he said, looking around. "That one there," he said, pointing to a charcoal four-door near the back of the lot. "Dust on it, looks like it hasn't been used in a few days."

She made an affirming sound and headed for it with a business-like demeanor. She dropped her bag when she reached the driver's side, braced her feet, and _stabbed_ the lock. Her tool had a very specific purpose. It was, actually, in fact, a re-purposed grappling hook. When she yanked the tool out, the lock mechanism came with it. "You wanna drive?"

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. "Yes." He walked forward, pulling the door opening and unlocking the other doors, before tossing his bag into the back seat and climbing in. He shoved the driver's seat way back, bending to start hotwiring the car.

She climbed into the passenger seat and did the same thing with her bags before rifling through the glove compartment in curiosity. Useless junk, mostly. "You want a pair of sunglasses, being all hungover and whatnot?"

"Sure, if you've got them," he said. There were a few sparks and the engine roared to life. "And... liftoff."

Lorna pulled a pair of aviator sunglasses out of the glove compartment and handed them to him, smiling. "There you are, Mr. Bond."

He wrinkled his nose slightly at the comment, but put them on anyways, sighing slightly as they reduced the glare and he shifted the car into gear, reversing out of the parking space. "Alright. Let's find this damn airport."

"I would help, but I was asleep for pretty much the entire ride here and thus I no longer know where _here_ is," she shrugged, buckling her seat belt once they were moving. "If I can help some other way I'll be glad to. I think you still have a few dares left. I could moon someone out the window."

"Yes, very useful," he snorted, getting onto the highway that ran through the countryside, starting to read signs. "I know the general direction..."

She chuckled, resting her head against the window and watching the scenery go by. "If you need to, we can always stop and I'll ask for directions. Better?"

"Slightly," he snorted, grinning just a bit. A few minutes later, though, he pointed to an exit sign with a picture of a plane. "Hey, interpreter, I'm assuming that says 'airport'?"

"Yes," she smiled, rolling her eyes. "Good guess, Mr. Bond." She'd seen it irk him earlier and that was only reason to use it again. "Although it's kind of a cognate, so..."

He muttered something back about her being a cognate, and pulled onto the exit ramp, hitting the gas.

She knew some people who would be alarmed with Sebastian's driving. She herself was only slightly perturbed by it. And she kept a strong grip on her seatbelt. "Do you always drive like you're being chased?"

"Might as well practice for those times that I am," he shot back, drifting around the corner and then revving it onto the next stretch of highway.

She continued holding onto her seat belt, giving him a dry look. "Okay, okay, I see you have some very impressive driving skills for someone who looks like the Aryan dream man. You happy?"

He smirked, relenting on the gas peddle slightly, if only because they were trying to stay under the radar, literally. "I suppose I can accept that. Aryan dream man? Really?"

Lorna snorted, deciding not to make it easy for him. "Yeah! You would have been really popular in Germany during the 1940's."

He rolled his eyes, not responding as he returned his attention to trying to hunt down the airport.

She smiled smugly to herself. She still had it. "You look confused. You know it's the leftmost lane, right?"

"Perfectly aware," he growled, heading for it. "I thought you were going to be helpful."

She made an 'mmm-hmm' noise, looking out the window again, this time to hide her face from him. She was too smug for him to handle while he was driving. "Do you have fun ignoring me?"

He didn't respond, though he smirked, as that in and of itself was a response. He pulled off the exit for the highway.

"I'm glad you enjoy it, Aryan Superman," she chuckled, surreptitiously checking to make sure that he'd pulled off on the right exit. He had.

"Careful what you start calling me, I got a lotta dirt on you," he smirked. He revved the engine.

"Oh, really? Name the dirt, then," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest and looking back at him with a scoff.

"Nah, I think I'll be saving that for the right moment, thank you," he smirked as they pulled into the tiny airport.

She held up a finger to him, raising her eyebrows. "Wait. Are you telling me that you're not going to tell _me_ my own dirt? I _know_ all my dirt. I just want to know what dirt _you_ have, Tiger. C'mon, spill."

He didn't respond, smirking as he slid into a parking space. "Come on, let's go find our plane."

"Moran- Moran! C'mon, tell me what you know!" Lorna insisted, grabbing her bag out of the back and getting out of the car. "What's it going to take, huh? I'll give you that bottle of bourbon you liked so much. C'mon."

"For starters, I've got Morello, which would be fun to toss around," he smirked, tossing his bag over his shoulder. "Then there's Ryan D., and of course your escapades under a certain V. Armetti... a few hits there that would be frowned upon even in _our_ circles..."

She almost missed a step, although she recovered with a loud cough and a muttered swear as she followed him, ducking her head as her cheeks flushed. "That- that wasn't really a _choice,_ Moran," she retorted defensively, clearing her throat. "Nevermind, nevermind, you win."

"Don't play with fire, little girl," he said _just_ loud enough for her to hear, heading across the TARMAC towards a covered waiting area.

"You are _so_ gonna pay for this," she growled, following him and glaring at his damnably muscular back, plotting revenge.

"I haven't done anything," he said, looking over his shoulder at her and flashing his teeth. "I could. But I haven't. You pushed, you wanted to know."

"You're all _smug_ about it, that is totally unacceptable," she shot back, setting down her bag as they reached the covered area and reaching up to snatch the sunglasses from his face. "Hah! _Burn,_ hangover man."

He squinted at her, mildly annoyed, but shrugged, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "I'm not going to melt from a headache."

"First of all, I'm just going to start doing really small, barely annoying things to slowly torture you into madness. Second of all... You're aware that burning and melting are two completely different things, right?" Lorna asked, raising an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"I am aware, yes. And you work on that. I'll let you know if it's working." He sat as well, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. It was odd... How much he was chatting with her. That was unusual. He was generally taciturn, but over the course of this mission they'd become more and more talkative. Now it could almost be called banter. He frowned.

She chuckled at the expression on his face, stuffing her hands into her pockets as she watched the plane slowly roll up. "You're really not hard to annoy, just in case you forgot. I suppose irritate is the better word - I worry about annoying you."

He smirked, standing and grabbing his bag. "Just be careful you don't set me off, and we'll be good."

She stopped herself from making a crack about the previous night and just snickered instead, standing as well. "Let's go home, huh?"

He nodded, watching as the plane stairs were lowered and starting up them. "Sounds good to me." He tossed his bag on the luggage rack once he reached the top, and headed over to the couch, sprawling out on it with a contented groan.

She followed up after him, glad to be back on the plane - it meant she was going to be going back home, back to her own _empty_ bed where she wouldn't have to pretend to be disinterested and sober. "Sometime when you don't have a hangover - do you think Jim would be more or less upset by using his plane for fucking rather than smoking?"

Seb raised an eyebrow. "I'd have to catch him in an incredible mood," he muttered. "Or he'd have to not know."

She settled back onto the couch on the opposite side of the room from him, humming in agreement. "I'm not even sure what moods come with which events. Remember a couple years ago, before he faked his death, when he was playing games with Holmes? He was like a rollercoaster."

He snorted. "You're telling me," he said, sighing. "He's mellowed out slightly the past few months, but still. He's difficult to learn how to handle. It takes time, and you have to avoid getting killed in the process."

"I know," she shook her head, "He scares the living hell out of me, I'll tell you that. He's impossible to read. Kind of like you. Although you're just really, _really_ hard," she sighed, massaging her forehead.

He laughed. "Jim isn't impossible. You just have to learn his tells. He has them. Every human does, and, despite arguments to the contrary, Jim _is_ human."

She shrugged, suddenly exhausted. It was probably the light hangover she had catching up with her. "I don't know. He's human, yeah, but he's a _lot_ more in control than the rest of us. Even you."

"I'm not saying he's not on a different level, he is. And sometimes, there isn't much you can read off of him. But other times... he's an open book." He shut up then, confused as to why he was talking so much, and kicked his feet up on the couch, lying back with an arm over his eyes.

"You're weird, Moran," she sighed good-naturedly, turning onto her side and making herself comfortable. "Just so you know."

"Finally, now that you've made that pronouncement, I can truly live. What was my life before it?" he asked sarcastically, expression not changing, body unmoving.

She threw one of the throw pillows on the couch at him. She was glad they were named that, now that she thought about it. "If you spliced together a bunch of chapters of your life, most would be of you on a roof with a gun and a mug of black coffee cause you didn't have the time to do anything else to it. I know what your life was before, Tiger."

He snorted, shifting slightly so the pillow fell onto the floor. "If you say so," he grunted, stretching slightly. "So, are you at the top of your career list?" Change of topic, but oh well.

"You mean for all of Boss's grifters? Yeah. Those suckers have nothing on me. Unless you mean for at the top of what I want to do with my life, and that's also a yeah. I have small dreams," she muttered, sinking into the cushions of the couch. "These are really comfortable..."

"That's what I meant," he said, stretching for a moment with a grunt as the plane started to prepare to take off. "And being the longest-lived grifter in the world's top crime organization isn't small."

She gave a mild shrug, folding her hands beneath her head. "I started young, it gives me an unfair advantage. But I suppose. It does make me a little nervous around the others, though. Or maybe watchful is a better term. That's why I hang out with the hitmen more often."

He laughed. "Yeah, imagine how I feel," he snorted. "All you little runts could be out for my job, or my head, or both." The plane started rumbling down the runway.

"As tall as you are runts is a tad bit insulting," Lorna chuckled, bracing her feet and shoulders against the couch. She had been through some rocky plane rides. "If it makes you feel better, though, I understand."

His smirk didn't falter. "Whatever you say, Lorna. I meant status-wise, but if you want to allow it to mess with your compounded consciousness of being short, go ahead."

She blinked, looking over at him. Had that been the first time he'd ever actually said her first name? She cleared her throat, looking back up at the ceiling and pretending to not have noticed. "Have you _seen_ the heels I wear? I deal, I'm fine."

"Risky decision," he pointed out. "If you have to run, you're either in heels or barefoot." He got a grip on the back of the couch as the plane started to take off.

Lorna shook her head. "No, no, I'm as good at running on my toes as I am as running barefoot, and that's better than I am in sneakers. That's unless I'm running downhill, of course. Really easy to get scrapes on the bottoms of your feet that way. Not fun."

He laughed, rolled his eyes. "If you say so," he muttered as the plane finally got off the ground, jolting slightly as it started to ascend.

She let out a long sigh, a little relieved they'd gotten off the ground okay. Finally headed home. Which sounded ridiculous, considering they'd spent a day in Italy. "Maybe you should take a nap. Sleep it off, huh?"

"I was planning on it, but you keep talking," he grumbled, straight-faced.

She laughed quietly and then fell silent, letting him rest if he wanted. Hell, she wouldn't mind sleeping through the flight either.

He grinned just slightly as she laughed, then sighed, shifting to get more comfortable. Before long, he was out.

* * *

Unfortunately for her, she never passed out. Two hours later they landed back at the small little airport they'd come from, and smoothly enough that Moran didn't seem to wake up from it. A little surprising, but then, he was hungover. So she grabbed her bag from the bins overhead and the prodded Moran's shoulder with a careful hand. "C'mon, Tiger, we're home."

He woke suddenly, his hand tightly around her wrist and twisting it to an awkward- bordering painful- angle, while his hand reached for the knife that was usually under his pillow. Then he caught sight of her face, took in the situation, and released her. It all happened in less than a second. He stood, walking over to grab his bag. "Finally."

Lorna kept her arm limp as he woke up, having found it years before to be an effective way of staving off sprained joints from stronger grasps than hers, and when it was over pulled her hand back good as new. "That was my thought, too."

He slung the bag over his shoulder, opening the plane door. "And he's got a car waiting for us. Brilliant."

"Oh, that's nice of him," she sighed out, relieved. She didn't need to deal with a cabbie today, especially since she didn't have a pound on her. "I suppose he's in a good mood, then."

"Seems so," he said, starting down the stairs and towards the car. "A few times he's told me to walk or he'd have me shot, so yes, good mood."

"Jesus," she muttered under her breath, following him a step behind. There were few people she had to keep such careful track of, besides Jim and Moran. Maybe her mother.

He tossed his bag into the trunk and climbed into the back seat of the car, sliding over and strapping in. His hangover was significantly reduced, which was nice, and the cool darkness of the car was a plus.

She slid in after him, deciding it was better to simply stuff her bag at her feet. Jim's cars never lacked for legroom, after all, and she liked being able to watch things. It was one of the few aspects of control she liked to keep. "What are you doing tonight?"

He shrugged. "Depends on what Moriarty wants me to be doing. If I have the night off? I don't know."

"I have to call my mother," Lorna sighed, making a face. "She still thinks I'm an accountant. It's the only way I can think of to explain my strange hours, austere flat, and my lack of a personal life. There's probably a better explanation."

"Not necessarily," Moran said, shrugging. "That's why most of us cut family ties." He cracked his neck a few times.

"I tried. She found me. _Again._ I mean, we're talking about a woman who married a crime boss of her own, here. But I still didn't think she'd take it well, so..." she shrugged, turning to look out the window. The sky was the lovely gray she far preferred over a too-bright blue. And darker, luckily for Moran.

"More than one way to cut ties, but that's your business," he said, shrugging again. He reached up to rub at his eyes. "So, other than calling your mother, what are you doing?"

She gave him a slight shake of her head. "Hell if I know. Maybe I'll go the pet store and pet all the animals. Something depressing and sad, really."

He gave her a look that suggested he was trying to determine if she was kidding, or nuts, before shrugging and deciding he didn't care. "Whatever floats your boat."

She smirked over at him, then put on a face that said she'd just had a revelation. "Oh my god, you're _right,_ I _should_ go sailing! What better way to pass the time between getting reprimanded by you for laziness and terrified by Jim for no reason!"

He looked over at her again, studying her quietly. "I might kill you later," he decided with a nod. "It would be fun. I could sit on shore and put holes in your boat."

"Oh, don't be facetious, I'm sure you're perfectly aware I can swim," she rolled her eyes, obviously amused. She had fun irking him.

"And you're perfectly aware that once I'd had fun sinking your boat, I can shoot out your legs and arms," he shot back, smirking.

Lorna looked up at him, raising her eyebrows. "You saw that episode of Mythbusters, didn't you? Bullets lose most of their power in water, if they hit their targets at all."

He looked over at her coolly. "I trust my own experience over some American television show, actually. And if that really were a problem, I'd shoot you before the boat."

"As long as we're being logical about it," she smiled pleasantly, "Either way, I think you have enough mettle to kill me properly on the first shot, so I'm not going to worry myself about it, not if I'll never even have known it's happened."

"The more irritating you'll get, the more I'll enjoy taking it slowly," he pointed out with a laugh, opening his eyes to look at her.

"Oh, god, it's going to take _days,_ then," she quipped, looking away from him to avoid meeting his eyes for too long. Joking was easier if he didn't think she was threatening him. Submissive people dropped their eyes first, after all.

He snorted as they sped through the city. "That's up to you," he retorted. He considered her for a moment, then returned his attention out the window.

"Don't ruin my good mood," she muttered, a little relieved that they'd pulled onto their street. Spending this much time in enclosed spaces with Moran was terribly intense.

He let out a short bark of laughter, but that was all, climbing out once they'd pulled into the garage and walking around to grab his bag from the boot.

She climbed out with her bag in hand, ignoring Malcolm's attempt at helping her; he had a misguided sense of chivalry. "I'll be in the lounge for an hour if you or Boss needs to see me, then I'm going home, Moran."

He nodded. "Understood. I'll let you know." He headed for the elevator.

She headed for the staircase, deciding she was done being in closed spaces with Sebastian Moran for a while.

Sebastian smirked as she avoided the elevator, hitting the button for the correct floor. He stood perfectly still in the elevator, before stepping out and heading for Jim's office, knocking on it.

"Come in," Jim called, standing at the opposite end of his office, looking out the window with a cup of tea in hand. He'd been waiting for them to return.

Sebastian pushed the door open, stepping inside, placing his bag near the wall as he shut the door. "Mission completed, Boss. I take it you got the photos?"

"Yes, I did, thank you," Jim nodded, turning away from the window and looking at Moran. His face darkened slightly, his eyes sweeping over him again, as if to check his math. "I do hope you intend to use that little crush of hers to your advantage."

He straightened slightly. Though he was used to it, the insight was still somewhat unnerving. He didn't let that show on his face. "I'm disappointed that you would think otherwise, sir."

"You're the one that fucked her, don't pull the disappointed card on me," he snapped, setting down his tea harder than was necessary. "You should know better than to try some shit like this without speaking to me _first._ "

"I'm not allowed to fuck people without your permission now, sir?" He asked, his voice carefully free of sarcasm, though the words carried it anyway. "I'll make sure to phone home before the next screw."

Jim focused his gaze with all its deadly intensity on Sebastian, his grip white-knuckled on the desk in front of him. "The two of you? Yes. I am a tactician, Moran. The two of you are a mix I need time to calculate," he snarled, fighting not to throw something at him. "Not to mention Harrison is fragile as a piece of glass," he spat, standing straight again and fixing his tie. "Now she'll be thrown off for months. Who will fill her place? You? No. Some asshole who'll only fuck it up ."

"Harrison isn't going anywhere," Moran said, calm in the face of the storm, though he was watching each move warily. "Yes, she's got a fragile psyche. But I wouldn't have hired her if I didn't think she could handle herself. She'll be fine."

He snorted, rolling his eyes and letting out a harsh laugh at the other man's ignorance. "I'm a betting man, Sebastian, I'll admit that. You think that whatever little agreement you've struck up will be enough? Fine. But when it goes wrong for you, I'll be here with a big, _friendly, '_ I told you so'." He turned away, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked back to the window, falling into a vacuum-like silence. "Don't be so ridiculous next time."

He stiffened, eyes flashing, jaw tightening under the mockery. "If you would prefer it stops, sir, you're completely within your power to make that happen. Otherwise, I'm not sure what point you see in pursuing the issue when there are other, more important matters to discuss."

"I would _prefer_ it had never happened in the first place, but now there's no fixing it, so I don't see a reason to stop it." Jim heaved a sigh, drawing his hands out of his pockets and turning to pick up his tea again, taking a sip before he continued. "Debrief me on the Morello case, then. I've read the files, but I don't know about the mission."

He took a few steps forward. "It was fairly easy, sir. We landed, went immediately to a party at Morello's as a husband and wife, looking to smuggle silks into Hong Kong. Harrison seduced Morello and got to his files once he fell asleep, while I covered her from both in and outside the building. She got what she needed and we got out. The plane wasn't ready so we spent the night a few towns over, and came back. No shots fired, no cover blown. I was forced to deal with a few persons who attempted to interrupt Harrison and Morello, but there weren't any major injuries."

Jim nodded thoughtfully, the dangerous mood seeming to have left him for the time being. "I'll be sending Morello that business offer I was considering. If he ever comes to London, I'll give you advance warning. It sounds as if he wasn't too happy to notice you two gone. Something about a declined invitation..? Thank you, Moran, that will be all. Shut the door on your way out."

He nodded slightly, heading for the door, stooping to pick up his bag as he went. He closed the door behind him, heading for the lounge where Harrison was waiting. "Watch your step around him for a while," he warned.

She frowned, looking up from the newspaper she had in her lap. "What? Wait, what happened?" she asked worriedly, the paper rustling as her fingers tightened slightly.

"He was furious at me for fucking you without permission," he said, leaning against the wall, expression unreadable. "Said you were fragile, and it'd fuck with your head. I told him it wouldn't be a problem. Will it?"

Lorna twisted in her seat to look at him properly, looking slightly helpless. " _I_ think I can handle it, but I apparently don't seem to know myself as well as Jim does," she huffed, combing her fingers through her hair. "I don't know, Sebastian. I'm worse with myself than I am with other people. That probably says something bad about me right there."

He shrugged. "I don't think there will be a problem. Sometimes Jim is wrong. Just don't tell him that."

She nodded slightly, feeling more troubled than she thought she should as she picked up the paper again. The frown had still not disappeared off her face. She was already feeling conflicted, wasn't she? "What if Jim was right?"

He studied her for a moment, before walking forward and taking the paper, setting it aside. His face was stone, but he held her gaze. "Don't let everything Jim says get to you. If you do that, you won't last much longer here. You're getting the point where he knows who you are. He'll be more critical. If you let that get to you, you'll be dead within a year, and I'll be stuck finding a replacement." Without another word, he turned and left the room.

Lorna watched him go with something like shock, wondering what his game was. She had no idea what he wanted from her. It didn't seem normal for him to... look out for her like that. So she just picked up her paper again and went back to reading it. Better not to think about it.

Sebastian walked to the elevator and took it up to his apartment, stepping into it with a sigh. Finally. Solitude. He walked over to his refrigerator, pulling out the half-bottle of sake from a few nights before, and pouring himself a glass. He was unreasonably furious at his employer, best to take the edge off.

There was something that put her off about going home when she got up to do just that, and so to put off doing that she decided that she'd just go to her live-in room. So Lorna grabbed her bag and took the elevator, hoping that Sebastian wouldn't catch her in the hall.

He heard the elevator ping and knew it was likely Lorna. She was one of only two other people with access to this floor. The other was an accountant who ran most of Jim's books. They had the three best live-in places. The rest of Jim's workers had smaller rooms, or a bunk in a shared room if they were peons. But everyone had a place, if needed. If their residence was pinned by someone who shouldn't know, or they had work to do here, it was a safe place to hide out or sleep.

She fumbled with her keys - a bit embarrassingly - before she was able to get the door open, quickly stepping in and shutting the door behind her. Immediately she coughed - she hadn't been in in about a month, and it had gotten a tad bit dusty. She needed to do some cleaning, right away. That would occupy her for a while - that was a plus.

Sebastian poured another glass of sake and walked over to sit in his armchair, sprawled back. He sighed, relaxing, and turned on the television. For the moment, he needed to slow down.

* * *

A few hours later and she had done everything she could think of to put it off. Lorna had scrubbed the apartment within an inch of its life, had called her mother, and had even unpacked into her empty dresser. She didn't really ever considered the place as hers - she didn't usually feel like she could relax in the same building as Jim Moriarty. Tonight, though, she just didn't want to go home. So she took a deep breath and pressed the extension on the intercom for Moran's room.

He looked up as the intercom buzzed, frowning. Not the Boss, according to the lights. He pressed the return. "What is it, Harrison?"

"D'you want that bottle of bourbon? You've pretty much half finished the thing off anyways and I don't like it as much as you do," she said, shrugging to herself. "I'll even just push it across the hall with my broom, if you like."

"You that scared of me now?" he asked, smirking slightly but not letting it show in his tone.

"A little," she replied truthfully, figuring that he'd like that. "I'm still going to give you lip, though. Do you want that bottle, or don't you?"

He considered for a bit. He was bored. "Sure. No broom though." He stood, heading for the door.

She turned off the intercom, stood to grab the bourbon, and opened the door with a slightly rueful smile on her face as he opened the door across the hall. She took a step forward and held it out to him. "Don't blow it all in one night this time, huh?"

He nodded, reaching out to take the bottle, considering her. He was pissed as hell at Jim, Best way to get revenge? Prove him wrong. Best way to prove him wrong?

"You like sake?"

Her eyebrows raised slightly. "Yeah. But it's not exactly something you can just pick up at the liquor store. Why?" She continued, looking at him a little suspiciously.

"I have some. Figured I'd ask. Come on." He left the door open, turning back into his apartment and walking into the kitchen to grab another wine glass.

Lorna was a little taken aback, but she stepped over the threshold anyway, shutting the door behind her. That was a little unexpected of him. Damn him for continuing to do that. "Alright, then. Thanks."

He shrugged, walking back into the living area and grabbing the sake bottle, pouring her a glass and handing it over. "I thought you were going home?"

She gave a noncommittal shake of her head, taking the glass with a small nod of gratitude. "I don't know. I got up to go and then realized I... just didn't want to. What I really wanted was to get back to London, I guess. Once I'm here it doesn't really matter where I am," she murmured, sipping the rice wine with a look out his window. "You have a nice view."

He nodded. "It's a good one, yeah. I was around when Jim acquired this place, so I got my pick." He sipped his own glass. "How's yours?"

"Looks over a dilapidated old building in back, but I get a nice sunrise in the morning, so I can't complain," she hummed, feeling a little awkward standing in the middle of his place. She'd never been in before, and she wasn't sure where to look.

He watched her for a few moments, amused by her discomfort. "Must be pretty sparse in there if you don't know what to do with a chair," he finally smirked, broadly indicating either the couch next to him or the armchair.

Lorna gave him a sarcastic smile and sank down onto the sofa, flicking her hair over her shoulder with the same air as an embarrassed cat. "I have _chairs_ in there, thanks. I always feel awkward in a new home. What, aren't you British?"

He smirked. "I got over the polite part. You're a grifter. You've got to be polite. I'm a soldier. I don't."

"Once a soldier, always a soldier, in my experience," she chuckled, although she assumed that he was perhaps even less polite in the army - he worked for Moriarty now, after all. You had to learn some manners here. "This is good sake, by the way, thanks. Although I'm not quite sure why you invited me in."

He shrugged. "You were around, I'm bored and pissed at Jim, seemed like fun." He took another long sip of sake.

Lorna couldn't keep the surprise off her face. " _You're_ pissed at _Jim?_ That's unusual, for you. You're almost never actually bothered by him," she pointed out, trying not to down all her sake at once. It felt a little too classy to get all binge-y on.

He shrugged. "He has his moments." He didn't elaborate. He wasn't sure why he was pissed at Jim. Maybe because one moment he insisted Sebastian was more than capable of his job, and the next he screamed at him for not checking in. Maybe it was because he'd felt respected at dinner, and like a child when he came back. Maybe it was nothing, and he was just pissed off in general.

"You sound like something is bothering you, but if you don't want to talk about it I can appreciate the value of silence. Or gossiping about coworkers instead," she murmured, looking at him with a tiny amount of concern showing through onto her face. She wanted to think that she was concerned because Moran working at less than optimum efficiency spelled trouble for her, but she had a sneaking suspicion that that wasn't actually true.

"You going therapist on me now, Harrison?" he snorted, taking a slow sip of sake. "I'm pissed at Jim, like I said. That's it."

"I'm not going therapist on you, Moran, it's called job security. I don't want you messed up. How on Earth am I supposed to take up the slack?" she raised her eyebrows. "And things are rarely so simple as 'pissed.' Open up, Tiger."

He laughed. "'Open up, Tiger?!" he guffawed. "Oh, god... No, sorry... " He pressed his hands to his eyes, still chortling.

She rolled her eyes, deciding 'to hell with it' and draining the rest of her sake. It was nice to see him laugh, at the very least.

He finally quelled the laughter, shaking his head. "Maybe he's right. This will cause all sorts of problems, won't it?"

She let out a quiet sigh, setting her wine glass aside with the quiet sound of glass on wood. "I don't know about you, but for me.. probably, yes. I couldn't even go back to my own place because it feels too empty," she shrugged, a bitter sort of humor in her voice. "But it's alright. I'll be fine. You're wrong about that. I won't let it kill me."

He glanced over at her, raising an eyebrow as she spoke. Oh, he was definitely in for it. But, before everything crashed and burned, he might as well make it worth it. "Want to piss Jim off?"

"Yeah. Mostly because he called me fragile, though. That's not cool," she muttered, frowning to herself before returning her attention to Moran. "Why, what stupid idea are you considering?"

"Fucking you against the wall," he said casually. "Might as well enjoy pissing him off. Technically he said we could do it, but if you don't fall to pieces, then he'll be furious."

Lorna made a thoughtful sound, giving a small lift of her shoulders. "Hm. That doesn't sound terrible. I do like it against walls. Okay."

He smirked. "You want more sake first? Finish off the bottle?"

"Let's face it, you're the one with strong opinions here. I don't care," she snorted, a small smile curling up the corner of her lips. "I'll still fuck you."

"More sake it is, then," he muttered, dividing up the last of the bottle between their glasses. "Then maybe some bourbon."

"This is really good, you know - where'd you get this?" She asked curiously, sipping at it again. It wouldn't hurt to be a little tipsy for this.

"Jim lost his dinner partners for a business meeting, didn't want to waste the reservation," he said, shrugging and sipping the wine. "His bill, might as well enjoy it."

Lorna laughed. "Okay, I'm all for taking advantage of rich men's black cards," she smirked, tapping the glass with the pad of her finger. She was a little restless.

He noted the movement. "Why're you so uptight, huh?" he asked, taking another sip.

She let out a slight sigh, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. "I don't know how to describe it to you accurately. Or with keeping any shred of my dignity. So just call it survival, hm?"

He raised his glass in her direction. "I can live with that."

She smiled and tapped her glass with his before downing a good portion of it. If she was being truthful with herself, it was because she hated feeling so human, and Sebastian made her abnormally human. But she did want to prove Jim wrong.

He downed his own sake with a sigh. "You're right, that was good stuff... I should get another bottle." He sighed, stretched, looked over at her. "What do you think, am I drunk enough to be this much of an idiot?"

"I think I should be the one asking that question - you're the one with the advantage here, am I right?" she laughed quietly, finishing off her sake and setting the glass back to the side. "But I'd say in answer to that question, if I were asking it, would be yes."

"Advantage, hell no," he laughed. "Jim can read me like a book. I might get shot tomorrow." He looked over at her. "But fuck him."

"Don't do that, he'd probably be really inconsiderate," she snorted, snickering. "That's not what I meant, anyway," she shook her head. "Between the two of us you have the advantage. I don't mind, though, I think it's a little hot."

"I meant he's going to shoot me," he said, shaking his head and smirking over at her. "But for the moment, I'm just buzzed enough not to care." He leaned over, considered her, then snagged her collar and pulled her into a kiss.

She curled her fingers into his shirt, kissing him back with a hunger. Some part of her was strongly protesting that she didn't want him to get shot, and the rest of her was insisting that she took his shirt off before it got in her way.

He pulled at her clothes insistently, before growing impatient and hauling her over until she was straddling his lap. He leaned back against the back of the couch, kissing her urgently, his teeth scraping at her lips.

She let out a slightly alarmed sound at being lifted suddenly but decided that kissing him was a better use of her time, her fingers fumbling to unbutton his shirt as she trapped his lower lip between her teeth and tugged. She was fine taking advantage of the height he'd given her.

He groaned against her lips, pulling her tongue into his mouth and pulling her tongue into his mouth and scraping his teeth against it. He ground his hips up against hers, rutting slightly, His hands found her shirt, and this time he didn't resist the impulse, gripping it with both hands and tearing it apart, pulling it off her and tossing it aside.

There was no way that him literally ripping the clothes off her didn't turn her on more than anything, a whimper rising up out of her as she finally got the buttons of his shirt undone, yanking the fabric over his shoulders and pressing into him, grinding her hips into his lap for more.

He pulled her against his chest, bending to bite the side of her neck, snarling as he ground against her so firmly that she almost bounced in his lap, before steadying just enough to let his hands find the waist of her trousers, starting to undo them.

She didn't bother being quiet with her moans, figuring that even if their accountant friend was in his place he could suck it up - his teeth made her squirm with need, only stopping from complaining that his hips had stopped moving so much because he was freeing her from her jeans. "I think you _are_ going to be the death of me," she quipped, winded and with flushed cheeks.

"It's like I said, you need to find better partners," he smirked, growling in frustration and tossing her to the side on the soft part of the couch so that he could kneel up and undo her jeans, pulling them off with little gentleness. "You're too good to waste on that drivel."

"I don't have the luxury to only choose partners with both big cocks and the knowledge of how to use them," she shot back, grabbing him by the waistband of his trousers and pulling him closer to her with a wicked grin and dark eyes, her free hand curling into his hair to bring him back down to where she could bite his jaw, shoving a knee in between his thighs to rub into his groin.

"I'm glad you approve of my cock," he said with a smirk, though he grit his teeth, gasping slightly, as she bit into his jaw. "Not the only thing I can use, though."

"Oh? You referring to those teeth I've become so well-acquainted with?" she smiled, her hand sliding from his waistband down to grip him through his trousers, kissing the mark she'd made with her own teeth before kissing down his throat, tracing her tongue in a trail down to his collar.

"More what's behind them," he returned breathlessly, pulling away from her and smirking at her as he put two fingers on her chest, pushing her on the couch gently and staring her down before sitting back, pulling her knickers off and tossing them aside, reaching to spread her legs in front of him.

"Jesus Christ," she breathed, her fingers curling into the cushions beneath her in anticipation. She never let anybody do this for her, not targets, not one-night stands, not anybody. It was a matter of being afraid to lose control like that. And yet here she was, perfectly willing to _beg_ him for it. " _Please."_

He looked up at her, eyes dancing, and they darkened as she begged. He bent down slowly, never breaking eye contact as he slowly kissed her lower abdomen. "What do you want?" he whispered against her skin, drawing her out.

"Sebastian," she groaned in complaint, looking down at him with a pleading look, her lips parted helplessly, wriggling beneath him impatiently. "Please. _Please._ Don't tell me about that tongue and then not _use_ it."

He laughed against her skin, pressing another kiss against it before shifting back and moving lower. He turned to press a kiss to the side of her thigh, tongue tracing circles and teeth scraping, before he finally moved up to her core, pressing his lips against her wet heat before extending his tongue, tracing through her folds slowly.

She sucked in what was probably a thoroughly embarrassing whining breath, her fingers curling into his hair with force. God, she'd practically forgotten how fucking great this was - she tried and failed to keep her hips still, she was letting out a stream of muttered swears, and he could probably hear her pulse, let alone feel it.

He laughed against her, letting the vibrations travel into her skin through her tongue as he dragged it over her clit, slowly and lightly. Then he let that bundle of nerves be for now, instead moving downwards, letting the tip of his tongue circle her entrance, his hands gripping her thighs and massaging softly.

It was embarrassing how much she wanted him now, how desperate her sounds were getting. She _desperately_ needed more. "Fuck me, please," she gasped, absurdly polite for the position that they were in.

But he was going to teach her patience. He did escalate a little, and with a smirk, plunged his tongue fully into her, starting to thrust with it at an even pace, the tip curling to explore her.

She cried out, pushing herself up with her free hand and grinding her hips into his mouth with shuddering gasps, gritting her teeth. She couldn't stay still to save her life - he was too good and she was too fucking pent up.

He moaned against her as she ground in his mouth, continuing to thrust with his tongue, alternating between broadening and extending it within her, reaching different sensitive points as he let his nose rub against her clit.

She couldn't fucking take it - she came, _hard,_ bucking up into him with a shouted swear, her nails digging into the fabric of the couch until there was a ripping sound. There was a moment where she lost track of everything else except the earth-shattering pleasure blazing through her, and then she was lying down again, panting up at the ceiling. "Holy fucking hell."

He lapped at her juices languidly as they came, sitting back slowly, licking his lips with a self-satisfied smirk, eyes still dark, his trousers straining. "Was I lying?" he asked with a soft laugh, watching her enjoy the aftereffects of his handiwork.

"No," she breathed - she could feel her legs shaking, her heart still trying to catch up to a race it had most definitely lost. "No, you were _not._ Good way to get back on the wagon, believe me," she shook her head, looking up at him with her pupils still blown wide. "C'mere."

He smiled, leaning up, his hands finding the couch on either side of her, pausing to observe the stuffing puffing out near her fingers. "You ripped my couch," he said with a smile, leaning over her again.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," she said in complete honesty, too filled up with endorphins to even joke around about it. He could have asked her bank password and she would have responded with a lazy smile. "You can have mine."

"Nah, rather keep the reminder," he smirked, bending to lazily make out with the side of her neck as he gave her a chance to recover.

"Cute," she chuckled, fingers tracing slowly down his chest before she was unbuckling his belt, taking her sweet time about it. There was no reason to rush, in her mind. Either way, her hands still weren't working quite right.

He let her take her time, remembering what she'd said about enjoying that bit, and worked his way up to casually sucking on her ear, exploring, finding sensitive points.

Eventually she got to unzipping his trousers and tugging them over the obscene curve of his arse, trying to ignore the shiver that went through her at his careful exploration. Still, she didn't feel like she'd quite given back enough, so she slipped her hand under the waistband of his boxers to wrap her fingers around him, stroking lightly.

He let out a shaky breath against her neck, biting down slightly involuntarily as she surprised him, his hips jolting forward into her hand a little at the touch. He groaned, panting slightly as he continued to try and concentrate on her neck and ear, but eventually lost the battle, his forehead pressing to her shoulder, muscles tense under her gentle touch.

She traced random patterns on his side as her other hand did the more important task at hand, pumping him slightly faster as he stilled, her grip tightening ever so slightly while she was still careful, dragging her thumb over his slit to make use of his precome, slicking him up as best as she could. She wouldn't mind at all if she made him come like this.

"Ah! Damn," he panted, his abdomen tensing, hips rocking forward with the movements of her hand. He bit into his lip, eyes screwing shut at the teasing pulls. He took a shaky breath through his teeth, groaning deep in his chest. "Lorna- ah-! _fuck_.."

"Do you want something?" she murmured curiously, adding in a slight twist to her less firm strokes, making sure to keep him on edge with random squeezes, her other hand skimming up his toned back to stroke at the nape of his neck. She really liked hearing him like this. She could stand to hear it more often.

"N-not gonna last lo-ong like this," he panted. "Still need t-to fuck you into the w-wall..." He grit his teeth tightly as she twisted her hand, almost whimpering at the burning pleasure.

"We can do that tomorrow, if you want, or I can stop and we can do it now. Which one do you want?" She asked softly, her hand not stilling for an instant.

His fingers dug into the fabric of the couch, almost ripping into it himself. "Tomorrow," he finally managed, his voice tight, his body starting to move with a little more urgency, needing the friction desperately.

She didn't need to respond to that, just had to speed up her hand and drag her nails up the curve of his spine, tilting her head to his ear. "Tiger, _come."_

He snarled in protest at the order, his mind rejecting the command from a subordinate, but his body had other ideas, and only a few seconds later he came gloriously, his back arching as he cried out, his body trembling slightly with the power of the orgasm.

She stroked him through his climax despite the fact that hand was suddenly rather sticky, a smirk on her face from his reaction. Yes, she'd have to remember his aversion to being told what to do. That would come in handy eventually. "Would you mind terribly if I used your sink?" she murmured, her clean hand petting up and down his back, soothing the tension from him.

He grunted something unintelligible, but shifted towards the inside of the couch so that she could escape, flopping on his side.

She took that as a yes, quickly washing off at the sink before she returned and collapsed back onto the couch beside him, an exhausted huff escaping her lungs. And, frankly, she was too buzzed on the sake and her own endorphins to stop herself from leaning into his chest, yawning.

It was a deep couch, with enough room for the both of them if they squished, and he was already drifting off as he drooped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him snugly.

Lorna was surprised, if pleased, that he'd reciprocated, and decidedly tiredly to make full use of it, burying her face in the crook of his tanned neck and closing her eyes, letting sleep start sinking over her.

He finally fell asleep, too far gone to be really aware of what he was doing, or concerned about any consequences in the morning.

* * *

Playlist: Lana Del Ray - Fucked My Way Up to the Top


	5. Implosion, Part One

When she woke up an indeterminate amount of time later, it was still dark, and she was comfortably warm. She shifted slightly, yawning, and instantly realized that she was still entangled with Sebastian, and she fell still. She was too comfortable to risk waking him, but he'd probably wake up at the change in her breathing. She sighed at that thought. This was... strangely nice.

He felt her move, woke immediately, but carefully, as he assessed the situation. Harrison. Right. Him and Harrison cuddling mostly naked on his couch. Well, he'd wanted to make the boss mad. No doubt of that now.

Lorna couldn't help but smirk slightly as she felt him tense up. "I think it's around 6 in the morning," she murmured, still nuzzled into his neck. They had fallen asleep early the previous night - he'd probably gotten more sleep than he had in months.

He tensed further as she nuzzled him. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Harrison?" he muttered, shoving her away from him slightly and sitting up, pressing a hand to his eyes and taking a slow breath. "Sorry. Just not one for cuddling." He almost sneered the word, hopping off of the couch and heading for his bathroom. He needed a shower.

She rolled her eyes, staying where she was as he got up and then taking over the giant warm spot he'd left behind. She knew better than to be hurt by him - most likely he was just defending himself from risk, considering last night he hadn't seemed to have minded. Still, as he left the room she wondered if it would be better if she just left before he was out of the shower.

He stood under the hot water for a while, considering the situation. There would be no point in lying to Jim about what he'd done. After all, that was why he'd done it, to piss Jim off. But he was worried he might have gone a little too far. He took a breath. He supposed he'd find out, one way or another. He finally stepped out and dried off, heading back out into the apartment to get clothes.

Lorna had taken her coward's opportunity and had slipped out while he was gone, taking all of her clothes except for her ripped shirt, which she'd tossed into the trash can in the corner. When she slipped into her own flat she took a deep breath and went to put on some legitimate clothes before she collapsed onto her own sofa, a hand covering her eyes. If he really needed to talk to her, he knew where she was, but she didn't really feel like having him look at her with anything resembling regret.

He noticed she was gone, and convinced himself that was a good thing. They had a lot of work to do, and he needed to gear himself up to be professional. So did she. He dressed quick- black pants, red shirt - and pulled his shoulder holster on, adding his blazer overtop. There. Dressed for professionalism. Time to go face Jim and figure out what his future assignments were.

Jim, of course, was up, since he rarely slept. He was working as usual, if in a slightly sourer mood. He already knew about his sniper's quest to irritate him - the accountant on the floor had informed him of an alarming level of noise coming from Moran's door. Jim sighed. He hadn't really expected anything to stop, nor did he really care if it did. What bothered him was his suspicion that Sebastian was doing it _just_ to irk him. What also bothered him was the fact that he had no easy ways to punish him; not this week, anyway. He'd planned their new assignments around the idea that they'd be home in a week, and moving them would be challenging and wasteful. He sighed again.

 _My office, Moran. JM_

He was on his way anyway, having re-steeled his resolve. He knocked on the door crisply, walking in _just_ as the permission to enter was given, a little too early to have truly waited for the remark, but just late enough to be within the realm of possibilities. Pushing lines. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Jim took a deep breath to keep his pleasant smile on his face. Yes, Moran was pushing his luck. But he was better at playing the game. A sweep of his eyes and he knew everything that had transpired between him and Harrison. "If you're going to insist on playing those mundane games with her just to irritate _me_ , don't be too surprised when my prediction becomes true a lot quicker than I thought it would," he pointed out, tucking his hands into the pockets of his freshly laundered suit. "Either use her or don't. Stop trying to say I have anything to do with it."

He smirked. "With all due respect, _sir_ , you're awfully full of yourself if you think I'm thinking about you when fucking a beautiful woman. Harrison knows her limits, I know them even better. She'll surprise you."

Jim raised a single eyebrow, his head tilting to the side with the air of a watchful snake. This was the game he wanted to play? Alright. "Yet you've already breached her limits. She cares about you, as misguided and _ridiculous_ that is. You'd know that, if you weren't _so_ caught up on how _I_ feel about it. You're blind when you become angry, Moran."

"Then if you're so concerned about this situation, don't make me angry," he shot back with a dangerous tone.

He gave a sharp, harsh laugh, his expression becoming more manic. "So every time I make you angry you're just going to go out and prove me _right?"_ he laughed, looking as skeptical as any one person could. "You're occasionally an idiot, Moran. For thinking that I really _care_ if you fuck her after the fact _anyway,_ as well! You're embarrassing yourself. I don't give a _shit."_

He straightened, nodded, took a slow breath, and cracked his neck slightly. "Then sir, I don't see why we keep discussing it." His cold eyes held Jim's, not a flicker of fear in them. "If it develops into something you perceive as a problem, I have already requested you let me know. Otherwise, this seems like a rather pointless conversation that you, quote, 'don't give a shit' about."

"You're misunderstanding me," Jim said thinly, face becoming blank. "What I _do_ give a shit about is your _reasons_ for it. I don't like you doing things just to piss me off. That _bothers_ me," He snarled carefully, drumming his fingers on the desk.

"Seems, then, if I were doing that sir, I would be doing it rather effectively." His expression remained unchanged.

"Get out," he snapped, pointing to the door. "Get out or I _will_ kill you," he elaborated through his teeth, and he was completely serious.

He nodded, gave a crisp salute, and turned and headed out the door. Well, he'd just signed his own death warrant. Was it worth it? He wasn't sure. Something just... infuriated him about how Jim was acting. He wasn't sure what, but he, the perfect soldier, was done with it.

Jim had very nearly held Moran there and shot him anyway, just to watch him bleed out for a while before he called the ambulance. He didn't want to kill Moran, but he wanted to hurt him. Now was just the time to figure out how.

He walked back to his apartment with the calmness of a man condemned. He scanned his prints, the door unlocking, and walked in to sit on his couch. For once, he didn't go for the alcohol. He needed to be on guard.

Lorna was surprised to hear the elevator once again - Sebastian was back so soon? That didn't bode well. Her intercom pinged, except it wasn't the usual colors. Jim. Oh, shit.

"Harrison, come to my office," Jim said quietly, leaning back In his chair. He needed to assess the issue from both angles before proceeding to doling out punishments.

She swallowed. Okay, this was bad. What the hell had Sebastian said to him? "Yes, sir," she swallowed, immediately heading for the door. A minute later and she was at the door, tapping cautiously at the door, smoothing down her dress shirt nervously.

"Come in," Jim said casually. He was sitting at his desk, hands clasped and resting on his desk, expression unreadable.

She stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her with a hatefully-final-sounding click. "You called, sir?" she cleared her throat, her hands clasped behind her so she wouldn't fidget unnecessarily. God, he scared her.

"I did," he confirmed, nodding and studying her for a long moment. "You and Moran, Harrison. How do you view the situation?"

"I'm... Not sure what you mean, sir," she frowned. She knew he was talking about, but she wasn't sure how to answer. "What do you mean by view?"

He sat back, eyebrows raising somewhat. "You care for him. Do you feel that that is going to affect your ability to work? Don't try to lie, it's terribly boring."

She didn't have to be reminded. She knew not to lie. She took in a deep breath. "I.. _Suppose_ I do. But I don't think it will affect my work, sir," she shook her head, frowning slightly. "I suppose I just... Keep a watchful eye out for him."

"That's not your job," he said, smiling coldly. "That's his job, to look out for you. Your job, Lorna darling, is to make friends, get fucked, schmooze, and do anything else you have to to get my information. If that involves leaving Sebastian to fend for himself, that is by all means what you should do." His smile soured until he was almost snarling at her "Do I make myself _clear_?"

"Crystal," Lorna breathed, dropping her eyes to the ground. "I won't jeopardize any missions, sir, I swear," she added, swallowing hard. She was relieved she hadn't even thought about lying - he was uncanny at sensing that stuff.

He considered her. "No. I don't expect you will. Because if you do, both you and your little boyfriend are going to die at my hand over the course of days." His eyes were smoldering, but a moment later they lifted into calm levity again. "Now, I think that will be all. Unless you have anything else?"

"No," she shook her head quietly, the picture of acquiescence. There was no point on correcting him on their.. situation, that was for sure. "Have a good day, sir," she managed, and immediately turned to slip out of the room, hands shaking. He was legitimately the most terrifying person she'd ever met. God, it was hard to even meet his eyes.

Sebastian was waiting just outside, arms folded as he leaned against the wall. "Good, you're not dead," he said casually, heading for the elevator.

"I might yet have a heart attack," Lorna shook her head, following after a moment in which she was just trying to get her legs moving again. "What did you _say_ to him?"

"I was nothing but polite and respectful, and a tad bit insolent," he said, calling the elevator.

"You're crazy," she stated, leaning against the wall as they waited, her palms pressed flat against the wallpaper. "Warn me next time, maybe? Just so I can worry about my imminent death ahead of time?"

He shrugged. "You're alive, aren't you?" He stepped into the elevator. "If you'd had time to think about it, you would have panicked."

She followed him into the elevator, although she purposely chose the corner furthest from him, not able to bring herself to respond to him without cussing him out. God, she needed a job. She'd probably leave tonight just to see how many people she could pickpocket. It was a good distraction.

He leaned against the wall, watching the doors slide shut. "He'll cool down. He always does."

"Don't bet _my_ life on that, Sebastian," she warned, giving him a sharp glance. He always became a lot less threatening after she'd just seen Jim.

He considered her, noticed the thought in her gaze, and the use of his name, and was on her in a second, his hand gripping her throat as he pinned her to the wall, face inches from hers. "I'll bet anything I like," he hissed quietly. "I own you. You went into this with the promise that it wouldn't affect your work, but hell if you're going to disrespect me." His eyes were deadly. "If that's going to be a problem, I'll snap your neck right now. Quick and easy solution for the both of us. I don't think I'm going to need to do that. Am I wrong?"

She had a knife pressed into his side the instant he had her against the wall, gritting her teeth as she fought to draw in a decent breath. "You put _my_ life on the line for your little power play, and you don't get my _respect,"_ she spat, her free hand going to grip his wrist, trying to bring herself a little relief. "You _don't_ own me - _he_ does." She pressed the knife into him harder, enough that it must have hurt. "Keep me out of it and you'll have all the respect you want, Moran. Is that _so_ much to ask?"

He snarled as her knife bit into his side, a hand moving to pin her hand against the wall, the other still tight on her throat. "I'm the one who hires and fires here. Right now I'm in the rough with Jim. I've been there a million times, and I will be a million times again. But if I decide you're worthless, you will be dead before you know what hit you." He released his grip on her neck just slightly. "I didn't pull you in there, Jim did. I told you what I was doing last night, and you agreed. So don't be a fucking coward, and blame me for what you knew was going to happen. If you're really that stupid, then I never should have hired you."

Lorna bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from physically spitting into his face, biting back more harsh words and taking a deep breath instead. "I'm sorry," she muttered, glaring at the opposite wall of the elevator, a muscle jumping in her jaw. She felt rather like she needed to throw up. "I shouldn't have taken out my fear on you. Please let me go."

He twisted her hand until she dropped the knife, before pushing her to the side, bending to pick it up. The elevator doors had opened and closed while they spoke, and now they were just sitting on their floor. He hit the 'open door' button. "I don't like when someone agrees to something, and then ducks out of the consequences," he spat quietly, eyes on her, disgusted. "You're too used to your job, fucking grifter slut." He headed down the hall towards his apartment, on high alert for any retaliation.

That was a step over the line and he should have known it. She caught up to him in two steps, hand curling around the shoulder holster she knew was under his blazer and yanking him to a halt, spinning him around with a dangerous fury in her eyes. "Don't you _dare_ threaten to kill me for being worthless and then pull _that_ card on me!" She hissed, digging her fingernails into her palm hard enough to draw blood. "I didn't _'duck out'_ of the _fucking_ consequences! I went in there and I did my best to fucking placate him, unlike _you,_ the ' _perfect_ fucking soldier', and you have the nerve to attack me while I'm still coping with being in a dangerous situation completely out of my control? What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" She demanded, forcing her fists to unclench and wiping off the blood on her pants. She didn't do this. She didn't do confrontations, that was precisely why she was a goddamn grifter. When she spoke again, her voice was shuddering and her cheeks were red. "Don't you _ever_ call me that again."

He studied her, and shook his head slowly, as if something was just occurring to him. "The goddamned prick was right," he muttered, letting out a laugh. "Christ." He shook his head. "We're not equals, Harrison. And there's no Union for grifters. You don't like your work experience? The door is right there. But you won't last ten minutes on the street. You have nowhere to turn, no one to go to. Jim doesn't give a fuck whether you live or die except that it means a little more paperwork if we have to dispose of your body." He laughed. "Last night you fucked me to piss Jim off. This morning I went to Jim and acted the same way I always do. Pushing that line is what got me here in the first place. If you can't take the heat, fine. Don't step into the fire next time. But if you talk to that like me again, yank me around like that again, you had better be prepared to back it up, or you will be at the bottom of the Thames with my bullets in your head. Are we clear?"

She didn't bother putting any stock into any of his words past his first sentence. She knew all of it - acknowledging it any further would only make her angrier. She just stared up at him until he was done, nearly trembling with the effort of keeping herself so still. "What was he right about?" she asked quietly, raising her eyebrows slightly, as if they weren't in the middle of threatening each other's lives.

He grit his teeth. "That you're fragile. Couldn't handle it. You know, I stuck up for you to him. Staked my bets on the fact that you weren't going to crack under the pressure. That's why he's angry, because I defied him about you. And now you're going to prove him right."

She stuffed her hands in her pockets, looking up at him for a long moment, her calm slowly returning. "I'm compromised right now because I was in the same room as Jim, and then in an enclosed space with you where I idiotically provoked you and you responded in turn. Just because I'm angry doesn't mean I'm breaking. I.." she gave a slight shrug, a little sheepish, "Forgot my place. I apologize." Lorna looked down at her feet, scuffing her shoes against the carpet as she bit the inside of her cheek. "I'm sorry, Sebastian."

He considered her for a long moment, letting the silence continue. "Go cool off," he said after a moment. "And it's Moran or sir."

She sighed, turning towards her door and unlocking it with a grimace before she stepped inside and shut it behind her. If she had tried responding to that they would still be fighting, and she really needed to wash the blood off her palms. Maybe apply a little alcohol, since she doubted she had neosporin.

He turned for his own room, unlocking it and stepping inside, walking to his bathroom and pulling his shirt off to get a look at the cut in his side. It wasn't deep, but it was bleeding pretty badly, so he grabbed the first aid kit he kept, cleaned it and covered it. He tossed his bloodstained and torn shirt into the laundry- it was still presentable on the front and worth wearing if he knew he'd be in hand-to-hand combat, and considered his sliced blazer. Probably repairable. He tossed it into the laundry as well, pulling out a new shirt. He was still on call for Jim if necessary. He sat on his bed, laying back and considering the ceiling. He and Harrison were done. That was the end of it. This whole thing was too much trouble.

She did end up having to use liquor to wash out her cuts, yelping at the harsh sting before she wrapped them up and collapsed into her armchair. She had really fucked that up. She would be surprised if he even talked to her for a week. The thought made her feel a little queasy, but it was easier to ignore it than it was to dwell on her mistakes. Of course, it wouldn't have killed him to be a little more human, for once in his life, but there wasn't any point in being angry about it now that it was over. Sighing, she climbed back out of her armchair and got out the bottle of scotch she'd brought with her. Time to get her future self hungover as hell.

After a while he got up, deciding to go inspect how everything was going in the rest of the building. He might as well do a little extra to try and get back in Jim's good books, and dealing with people who actually showed respect would be a nice change. Reshouldering his holster, he pulled on a new blazer and headed for the elevator.

She heard his door again and couldn't stop from flinching. She really couldn't leave things like they were or she'd be awake all night about it. Hurriedly putting down the scotch - and spilling more onto her hand, ow - she opened the door again, standing inside the threshold. "Sir? I- Is there anything I can do for you? I overstepped my bounds, and I shouldn't have, and I'd like to make that up, if I can."

He looked back at her, raising an eyebrow. "Not currently, Harrison, but it's a long day. If I come across something that requires your expertise, I'll be sure to let you know."

She gave him a light nod and then disappeared back into her apartment. No need to waste his time. Or meet his eyes for more than five seconds.

* * *

He worked hard that day. Was clear-headed, calm, brutal when he had to be. He worked on finding where the inefficiencies that had started cropping up were originating, and dealt with them quickly and ruthlessly. He was considering his last 'inefficiency', who was currently kneeling on the floor in front of him, bound and trembling, and reached for the nearest intercom, putting in the extension. "Harrison. Get down to the basement, interrogation 3."

"Yes, sir," she replied almost immediately, feeling lucky that he'd called now instead of five minutes earlier, when she'd been in the shower. In the elevator she wondered what it was that needed her assistance - yes, occasionally she was called in for interrogations, since she knew her way around people like nobody's business, but that tended to happen when Moran was out of town, never with him. When she walked into the room after typing in the code at the door, she gave him a curious look. She couldn't see who was on the floor, but they seemed mildly familiar.

He looked over at her. "Good. You're here." He looked back to the figure on the floor. "You see her, Monroe? She's efficient. Down here very quickly, and very respectfully. That's how things are done here. She takes orders well." He crouched in front of Monroe, taking his chin roughly in hand, causing the smaller man to whimper just slightly in fear. He looked over to Harrison. "Monroe here has been a source of trouble."

She nodded to herself. Monroe. Yes, she could see him being an issue. Although it was hilarious being referred to as a role model of quickness and respectfulness. Lorna tilted her head to the side as she looked down at Monroe, frowning slightly. "What do you want done about that, sir?"

He pulled his gun out of his holster, not even looking as he handed it to her. He considered Monroe with a cool expression, before standing. "Take care of it."

"Alright," she nodded, figuring that she was here for the execution, not the pain, today. She cocked the gun as she stepped forward, pressing the gun to her about-to-be-former coworker's forehead. He looked scared. She squeezed the trigger, keeping a straight face as she watched the red mist settle for a moment and then turned back to Moran, holding the gun out for him. "Pretty heavy kickback on this one, sir."

He took the gun, nodding. "It's a personal favorite." He tucked it away again. "Get someone from cleanup to deal with this, will you? I have a few other things I need to do before people start heading home."

She made a confirming sound, looking down at Monroe's corpse with a thoughtful look. "How does Bree sound? She's good at getting blood out of the cracks."

He nodded. "Whoever you want, just get it done." He headed for the door. "Well done."

"Thank you," she murmured, staying where she was for a moment to give him room to get ahead before she followed, heading for the other side of the basement, where cleanup was. That hadn't gone terribly at all.

She'd performed well, no hesitation or questions. It was a fairly simple task, but he needed to start simple. His evaluation of her needed to be thorough.

After she'd sent Bree to clean up Monroe's corpse she took the elevator up to the level the lounge was on, parking herself on a couch and flipping her phone in her less-damaged hand. She had a feeling that wasn't the end of the tasks he'd give her today, and keeping herself in the middle of the building would make going either up or down faster. She really had crossed a line she should never even really made eyes at. She wasn't even sure why he'd made her so _angry._ Someone else had probably called her that before, but that probably was something she didn't want to bring that up.

But he didn't. He didn't work much longer that day himself, and there wasn't really a whole lot he could test her on at the drop of a hat. He'd have to prepare. So instead he left her stewing in silence, contemplating what had happened.

It took her maybe three hours to realize that he wasn't planning on calling her again for anything else, so she rolled up off the couch and went into the kitchen to make herself something. Luckily for her, somebody regularly stocked it, so it wasn't too hard to find something to eat. When she figured that it was late enough that the likelihood of her running into him on the way back to her apartment was slim to none, she returned to her flat, walking as quietly in the hall as she could. Briefly, she considered making him an apology card.

He was leaning in his apartment doorway, waiting. He watched as she walked up, sipped quietly at his glass of bourbon, watching her without vocal or physical acknowledgment.

She had to keep herself from smirking as she noticed the bourbon in his hand, which was easy, because she was a little leery of seeing him, especially when she'd hoped he wouldn't be there. She nodded slightly as she walked up, flicking her keys out of her pockets and twirling them on her finger as she reached her door.

He watched her quietly for a few more moments as she unlocked her door, before heading into his apartment, closing the door behind him. A little bit of a mild intimidation factor never hurt. He walked over to the couch, sitting down, on edge. He half expected Jim to call at any minute, and the other half expected a bullet to fly over his head just as soon.

 _I heard the two of you had a little domestic. JM_

He looked up as his phone buzzed, reading over the message.

 _She stepped out of line, I clarified. SM_

 _I watched the footage. It was entertaining. I'm glad I made that happen. JM_

 _Glad I could be your entertainment this evening sir. It's my goal to make you as happy as possible. SM_

 _It's really very funny taking things away from you. What else do you enjoy besides your job? JM_

 _Alcohol, fucking, and good steak. As you're well aware, sir. SM_

 _Of course I am. Intentionally piss me off again and I'll take more than the second one. Intentions are everything, Moran. JM_

 _Sir, if intentions were everything, a hell of a lot of people would have killed you by now. As it happens, I've managed to keep you alive this far. That seems a fairly clear intention to me. SM_

 _Your concern for my wellfare doesn't cancel out purposely making me angry. I thought you would understand that. I suppose not. Anyways, you can stop going around corners so carefully - I'm not going to have you killed. Learn the lesson, here, Moran. I don't care what you're doing with your personal life if you aren't doing it to try and get to me. JM_

 _I didn't do it to try and get to you sir, not at first. Unless you feel that I am incapable of reading my people and doing my job, then you did care, sir, with respect. If I'm incorrect, please let me know. SM_

 _I'm not mad enough to stick to my pride. I'll admit I questioned your judgement. I still do, a little. But I'll leave you to it. I have a business meeting which may lead to a job for you in a few days. I'll keep you updated. JM_

 _Understood, sir. I look forward to the work. Anything else? SM_

 _One thing: did you let Harrison put that knife on you or did you really slip up? JM_

He grit his teeth, considering the phone.

 _She pulled a knife on me, sir. I'm alive. I don't consider that to be a slip up. Not all of us can immediately read if a person is armed by the color of their trousers. SM_

 _Mmhmm. Do your best to keep it from getting infected, if she cut you. That's all. Goodnight, Moran. JM_

The well-wishes surprised him, but he took a breath, and returned the text.

 _Goodnight, sir. SM_

Jim tucked away his phone and continued getting ready for his meeting. He knew that his sniper was probably suffering from a little bit of whiplash from his treatment, but that all just part of the fun. They were all just entertainment for him, after all.

Lorna was in her apartment, a quarter of the way through her bottle of scotch. The next week was going to be a game that she didn't want to play, but she was going to have to. Damn them all for making the stakes so high.

Sebastian rubbed at his eyes, before standing and heading for his bedroom. Despite having slept well the night before, he was exhausted. He turned the intercom speaker up, and then collapsed on top of his bed, asleep in moments.

It took Lorna another few hours to drink herself to sleep, falling asleep on her couch with an open bottle of liquor shoved in between the cushions and the arm. She was going to wake up with a major crook in her neck.


	6. Sherlock Holmes, Alive and Well

The next few days were slow ones for Sebastian. He'd done much of the work he could scrounge together on that first day, and now there was little else left. He gave Harrison a few other things to do, but for the most part they were short administrative tasks, without the weight he was hoping for.

Lorna was on her way back to the building with groceries when she'd ran into him, mumbling apologies before she even looked up, before she recognized the coat, the curly locks, the sharp look. Then she was sprinting off, groceries forgotten, just trying to keep out of his sight before he had a chance to really look at her. Ten minutes later of what should have been a thirty-minute walk she jogged briskly out of the elevator, her heart struggling to keep up, and immediately knocked on Sebastian's door. She was not going to Jim first with this, ooohhh no.

He opened his door a few moments later, studying her flushed cheeks and bedraggled appearance. "What's happened?" he asked immediately, stepping aside to let her in.

She gratefully stepped in, taking a split second to drag in a breath before she hurriedly replied; "I just ran into fucking Sherlock Holmes, Moran. I don't know if he got a good look at me, I don't know if he caught up with me, but I ran into him."

He stared at her, nostrils flaring slightly. "That's not possible," he growled. "Holmes is dead. Jumped off a fucking building. I watched him do it myself."

"I. Just. Saw. Him," she repeated, staring up at him with wide eyes. "And it was definitely him. He must have faked it, like Jim. It's possible."

"He jumped off a fucking building," Sebastian restated. "Sixty-two feet onto cold, hard cement. You don't just walk away from that. Are you drunk, Harrison?"

"No," she growled, grinding her teeth together. "I saw him. I saw him, and I'm stone cold sober. Get surveillance out - you'll find him."

He didn't argue further, walking over to the intercom and punching it through to the surveillance. "Get every person we have out on the street," he barked as soon as he got an acknowledgment. "Call in anyone off duty, I want this city scoured. Look for Sherlock Holmes. Get his location, where he's going, and anyone who draws attention to themselves is going to be dealt with by me, personally. Be sure to let them know how good a mood I'm in." The last phrase slipped past in a sickeningly sweet tone that was more terrifying than the angry snarls before it. He turned away from the device, pacing.

She stayed pressed up against the wall, keeping the attention from herself as he started pacing. "I haven't told Jim, I thought I should get confirmation from surveillance first. Fuck, Moran, I shouldn't have run like I did."

His head snapped up, stared at her for a moment. "Tell me everything that happened," he ordered shortly.

"I was out getting groceries, I wasn't watching where I was going because some asshole nearly ran me over with a bicycle and I ran smack into his fucking chest. As soon as I realized who it was I panicked and made a run for it. I didn't want him to see me, I thought he'd figure out who I am, grab me or something, I don't know," she rattled off, one hand clutching her elbow insecurely. "Then I came to you."

He watched her, his expression passive, but tight. "You're the grifter, Harrison, you tell me what Holmes is going to think the instant you make a runner."

She shook her head, looking helpless. "Hoping for the best? Someone who knew he was supposed to be dead and got the snot scared out of them. I didn't think increasing my exposure to a reader was going to help anything. My job is pretty much my personality."

He sighed, reached up to press a hand to his eyes. "I don't have a choice. I have to tell Jim. Now."

"Okay," she whispered, biting the inside of her cheek. "Don't be snide with him, please, for your own sake."

"So glad you're concerned," he said with a hint of sarcasm as he went into his room to get dressed. But he had no intention of being snide. Holmes being alive was a serious matter which put everything else into perspective.

She stayed where she was, even though she was honestly tempted to slip out the door and take a really, really hot shower in her own apartment. She didn't know if Moran had a job for her or not, and disappearing on him now was going to make him pissed off.

He walked out five minutes later, freshly shaved, straightening his collar. "Right, come on," he said, heading out into the hall. "You're with me."

Lorna had to physically stop herself from questioning him, instead following him with a nod. She didn't exactly fit the part to be meeting Jim; she was bedraggled from both the run and the light rain outside, her hair was a mess, and she was wearing one of the rattiest t-shirts she owned. Standing next to him was only going to make her look worse. As she hit the button, she glanced at him, clearing her throat slightly. "Do you want me to go in with you?"

He nodded, glancing at her. "I'd give you time to change, but Jim will appreciate the urgency of the situation, believe me. He'll want to hear your story."

"Oh, great," she said, unconvincingly. "If I faint its because I'm mildly asthmatic, not because I'm terrified out of my wits."

He smirked, nodded. "Just remain calm. You've stumbled- albeit awkwardly- upon a very vital piece of information. He might be pleased."

"I desperately hope you're right, Moran," she breathed, running her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to try and put herself together. "I've had enough of making my superiors angry at me."

"I should hope so," he smirked, punching the elevator button as they stepped in.

She rested her head back against the wall of the lift, closing her eyes for a long moment, doing her best to keep herself from panicking. "Boy, do I need a vacation. Maybe just a quiet day. That or a week-long booze-cruise filled with hot people."

"Good luck. With Holmes back in the game, we're both going to be on high alert." He sighed slightly, stretching before straightening his jacket.

Lorna raised her eyebrows, opening her eyes to look at him. "It's not as if I'm going to be much use - yeah, I'm a convincing enough liar with body language and whatnot, but if Jim can read me that easily, so can Holmes. I don't see the opportunity for much grifter work there. Do you?"

"Maybe not, but it might not be Holmes that need grifting. It may be Watson, or his girlfriend, or any number of other people," he took a breath as the elevator stopped. "Come on."

"I see your point," she sighed, massaging her temples as she followed him. It wasn't easy to follow him, where they were going.

He took a breath, straightening and reaching out to knock on Jim's door. "Sir? I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's an urgent situation."

Lorna fidgeted by his side as they waited for an answer. This would not be fun.

Inside, Jim was being slow about answering because he had a muffin in his mouth. It was precisely the reason he didn't like eating often. "Come in," he called as soon as he'd swallowed and disposed of the evidence, shoving his trash can under the desk with his foot.

Moran nodded, turning to Lorna. "Stay here for now," he said quietly, before stepping inside, nodding at his employer. "I have some... interesting, and as of yet, unconfirmed news, sir," he said quietly but firmly. "Harrison spotted Sherlock Holmes."

Jim stayed where he was for a long moment, too distracted with this new information to react physically. Sherlock Holmes had beaten his game after all. It had been everything he'd dreamed, if not considered as a statistically possible reality. He snapped back into life, standing quickly from his desk and nearly knocking over his computer monitor in the process, leaning forward over the desk, a manic excitement on his face. "Is she certain?"

He allowed a slight smirk to slip onto his face. It was oddly reassuring to see this life back into his boss. "She seems certain, sir. I have every deep cover we have on the streets with instructions to observe only, see if we can get another look at him."

He let his old crazed grin slip onto his face, beginning to pace, his movements sharp and energetic, his usual cool demeanor thrown to the side for the moment. "Fantastic. I want updates on this every hour, understood? Into the night, even - have someone else report to me if you must sleep, I have to know," he ordered giddily, loosening his tie. "Oh, she better be right. If she is, buy her a nice dinner for me. If not, well.." he met Moran's eyes, looking significantly darker, "You let her know that uncertainty is unacceptable."

"She's outside, sir, if you want to make that clear for yourself. As for the rest of your requests, absolutely. Consider it done."

"No, no, I have planning to do, you tell her," he waved off, spinning on his heel and throwing himself back into his chair. "You're dismissed, Sebastian, thank you."

"Of course, sir. Let me know if you need anything." He turned for the door, stepping outside and closing it quietly. "He's very pleased. Said to buy you dinner if this got confirmed."

Lorna looked relieved, letting her posture deflate slightly from 'straight as a pole' to 'just came back from the masseuse'. "Fucking Christ, I feel like I've had a near-death experience," she huffed, dragging a hand over her face. "Can I go change?"

"Go," he said, waving her off. "I'll let you know if I need you."

"Thanks," she breathed, immediately turning and heading for the elevator. She didn't think it was likely that she'd be needed, but it wasn't impossible. Christ. Sherlock Holmes, back from the dead.

He headed that direction with her. He needed to get downstairs to the command center and start keeping an eye on things.

"This is weird," she muttered under her breath. More than just the whole Sherlock Holmes being back from the dead - it sounded as if Jim was happy with it. When she reached the elevator, she glanced at him. "Do you want me to come find you once I'm suitable?"

He nodded. "I could use a spare hand to handle anyone who calls in," he said. "Meet me down there."

"Will do," she agreed, peeling off from him at the stairwell to allow him to take the elevator - if they were going different ways there was really no need to subject herself to the intimidation of that, and she could always use the exercise of using the stairs, along with the brownie points.

He smirked as she headed for the stairs, walking into the elevator and punching the correct button. He was in an unusually good mood, because Jim was in a good mood, and hell if that didn't make his life easier.

When she finally reached her landing and slipped into her apartment she took the fastest shower of her life and then got changed into their network's casual uniform - all dark clothes, yet all tasteful and suitable for about any occasion. When she was certain she didn't smell like a strange mixture of sweat and rain and that she didn't look like she'd run from the hounds of hell, she took the elevator to the same floor Moran had. Best not to keep him waiting, if he needed something. Christ, their fight had really livened up her work ethic.

He looked up as she entered the ops room, pointing to a chair with a steaming mug of coffee which matched his own. "Sit. We're in for a long haul."

"Oh, wonderful, I was just thinking that I haven't had one of these in a while," she quipped, sinking down into the chair and not hesitating to put her shoes up on the table as she picked up her coffee. "Have we got eyes on Baker Street yet?"

He shook his head. "No, the morons. I have someone heading there now." He studied the screens, which were cycling through CCTV feeds.

She snorted derisively, sipping at her coffee as she looked at the same screens, purposely choosing the ones she knew his eyes weren't on. "I can't see him going anyplace else, even if he is trying to hide himself for a little while longer. He's far too attached to that apartment. Even if Watson isn't there."

"Agreed," he said, nodding. "Unless he's reestablished his drug habit, in which case there are any number of places where he might try to disappear," he pointed out. "I have people heading to his known binge locations."

She made a thoughtful noise, deliberating on speaking for a moment before she replied; "If he has, I know some places he might go. Less well-known places. If they're still there. But I don't see why they wouldn't be, the kind of business that runs through London these days."

He glanced over at her, and deadpanned "You trying to ditch me, Harrison?"

"I'm trying to help," she responded dryly, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from getting too snippy. "I can't go back there, not in person. I wouldn't come back."

He cracked a grin. "Lighten up, Harrison. I'm ribbing. Find someone on the street you think'll be good and give them what they need to know." He tossed her a communicator mic.

"Christ, like the mix of teasing and intimidation isn't enough, I have to deal with responsibility, too?" She groaned, catching the mic and holding it up towards her face so she could start going through the process of who was closer to what and who was also least likely to try sampling the merchandise. It took her five minutes, but she finally settled on a grizzled old man everyone in the network referred to fondly as 'Meatloaf'. The name was probably not encouraged to settle by the fact that the old man constantly was bringing in day-old meatloaves to eat for lunch.

He watched her work. She was efficient and clean, and did the work well. He nodded as her selection. "Good," he said quietly, before returning his attention to the screens.

Lorna placed the mic back onto the table and returned to sipping her coffee for a long moment before she could think of anything to say. "You finish off that bourbon yet?"

He laughed. "I did, yes. I'll have to get another bottle. What about you? Seen the end of that scotch?"

"Damn straight I did," she smirked, setting down her coffee and keeping her eyes idly on the screens. "That bottle didn't even last two days. I haven't finished off the vodka, though, been too busy. Looks like it's not going to be finished tonight, either."

"Afraid not," he sighed, taking a long sip from his own mug. "Oh well. Wouldn't hurt you to drink a bit less anyways. Not that I'm one to talk."

"Mm. You drink less than me. I was curious about your tolerance levels so I worked it out for myself after watching you drink. But yeah, I'm totally an alcoholic," she snickered, giving a small shrug. "It's fine, though. Doesn't interfere with my work, and it's not like I'm likely to have a real long lifespan anyway. Could be worse." She glanced at him, grinning. "Could be heroin."

He smirked, tilting his head in her direction. "Touche. And actually, the tolerance is due to some Taiwanese blood. Not much, but enough to skew my tolerance, apparently. I mostly ignore it."

"That's pretty funny, Moran, I'm sorry," she chuckled, sinking into her chair slightly so her head rested against the back. Better to be comfortable earlier. "I'm straight-up Swedish and English. Nothing but a shit-ton of Viking blood and people who had to drink their ways through the winter. I guess I'm destined to be an alcoholic murderess. Although I have a speck of Greek in there."

He glared at her slightly at the comment, but mellowed out as she spoke, kicking up his own feet. "Guess not. Makes sense."

Lorna watched the security feeds in silence for a minute, realizing that she'd accidentally slipped back into banter mode. It was already difficult enough dealing with her shitty feelings when he was being an intimidating hard-ass, but if he was being nice, that was just all sorts of bad news. It would be better to keep herself from being too familiar with him. She pointed at the screen. "There's Watson, leaving work. Can we change the feeds so we can track him?"

He nodded, taking his feet down and starting to type in commands. A map came up on one screen, a blinking red line starting to draw itself slowly along the street as John walked. "We have a program that should track him through the system using facial recognition."

"That's new," she muttered, more to herself than to him. The last time she'd had to track someone in here she'd done it by hand. She'd gotten checked for carpal tunnel the next week. "I'd say it a 50-50 chance he'll lead us to Holmes."

"You're making the assumption that Watson knows that Holmes is alive. He's not that good of an actor. We've had eyes on him, we'd have known by now if he knew."

"No, I've met Watson. You were out of the country for that thing in Russia, remember? Jim had me do some grifting. Easy work. In and out before Holmes was ever home. But he's good at internalizing. Except for his tell - his does this thing with his hands, like he's resetting his fists or something," she shook her head, leaning forward to grab her coffee again.

"We'd still know," he said, shaking his head. "Something this big... It would have blown up. He's been unstable since Holmes died- or 'died', I suppose," he said, making air quotes. "He would have been thrown off."

She turned her chair to face him slightly, her arms folded over her chest. "I think you're wrong. If he was going to blow up, it would be somewhere Holmes or Morstan would have dragged him. Small, quiet, probably somewhere without even any CCTV. He is a vet, you know. Bottling up his PTSD isn't exactly new to him."

"I'm a vet too. I'm telling you, you'd see a difference," he said, shooting her a look. "But you're the grifter. If you think you're right, hey, good for you."

She sighed, shrugging. "If I'm right, we'll find out in the next twenty-four hours. If I'm wrong, eh. I'll cry myself to sleep with my good friend Mr. Vodka. He's from Russia, you know." _Shit, I just can't shut up._

He looked over at her like she was nuts, before returning his attention to the screens, adding a few commands as the system continued to follow Watson.

She bit back a smile at the look on his face as she let the conversation drop. It didn't really matter if Watson knew yet, because Holmes would come for the doctor eventually.

He sighed, still watching the screens. "If you're right... Jim will be over the moon."

She snorted. "If I'm right, our lives are going to get a lot more difficult. Can't wait to see what shit he comes up with this time."

"Yes, but they'll be a hell of a lot more entertaining, too," he snorted. "And rewarding, if we play right."

Lorna nodded slightly, conceding that he was right. "I only hope that we steer clear of Mycroft Holmes as much as we did last time. He's the one person in all this who I feel could actually touch us. If someone can grab Jim, they can grab us, you know?"

He shook his head slightly. "Holmes wouldn't have had Jim unless Jim expressly wanted it that way," he said firmly. "And don't let him hear you say otherwise."

"Good tip," she muttered, cracking her knuckles idly just for something to do with her hands. "Still, you and I don't exactly have the same level of foresight Jim does. It wouldn't be hard for them to get ahold of one of us if we fuck up."

"If we fuck up that badly, we deserve it," he snorted, looking over at her before sighing and reaching to pick up his phone, hitting the first number on his speed dial. "Hello, sir. Reporting in. No word yet, we have someone watching 221B for activity and are tracking John Watson." He nodded. "Yessir. Will do." He hung up, sighing.

"Any new orders from the boss-man?" Lorna raised her eyebrows towards Moran, although she was fairly certain that they would be stuck at this terminal for the next twelve hours at least. In a few hours she'd call someone to bring them food, or the lack of blood sugar would make her irritable and affect her work. Not a good thing in a time like this.

"Keep doing what we're dong," he sighed, tapping his fingers absently. "Not much beyond that we can do until someone spots the bastard."

"Christ," she muttered. "Do we have any surveillance inside 221 that we can get back online? Or did someone destroy those?" She swiveled her chair slightly to face him, her feet still up on the desk.

"Destroyed when the police investigation into his death began," Sebastian said. "But Demmings is across the street, watching. If anything moves, we'll know."

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She wanted to be right about having seen Holmes, but the idea of a stakeout was deplorable at the least. "In an hour I'm going to have someone bring us takeout. What do you want?"

He shrugged. "Whatever you feel like. I'll eat anything." He reached out to type in a few commands as Watson got into a cab.

Lorna held in a quip that would have gotten her smacked and lifted her hips to wriggle her phone out of her pocket and send a request for Chinese to one of the secretaries. They would take care of it.

* * *

The hours passed by slowly. It wasn't until they were almost done with their Chinese that he heard from Demmings.  
"I have a confirmed sighting: Holmes entering 221B. Repeat. Confirmed sighting."

Lorna set down her box of fried rice on the table hard enough to send stray bits of rice skittering across the wood as she heard 'confirmed sighting' from his phone. "Fuck. Guess I was right, after all."

"I guess you were," he said, hanging up and immediately dialing Jim. "Sir, it's confirmed. Holmes is at Baker Street. He just arrived."

"Good. Thank you, Sebastian. I want to know where he is in London at all times - wire the feed from the terminal into my computer, if at all possible," Jim replied, barely contained excitement filtering into his voice despite his intentions to remain neutral-sounding. He couldn't help himself. "For now you can go off-duty. My treat."

"Thank you, sir. Wiring the feed through now," he said, smiling slightly. "Who should I leave in charge? And is there anything you want done before I do that?"

Jim made a noncommittal sound, too buzzed with the news to bother with details at the moment. "Whoever you think is capable enough. I plan to supervise most of it myself. And no, that will be all."

"Yessir," he said, nodding and hanging up. "Well, Harrison, I guess the rest is up to you," he said, smirking slightly and picking up the remainder of his food.

"Oh, c'mon, Moran," she complained, sagging into her chair with obvious reluctance. "Ugh, enjoy your free time, traitor. At least send someone to bring me coffee like every hour, huh?"

He laughed. "Start calling people back in. We don't need all of them out there now that Holmes is located. Keep someone on him, and another on Watson, and a few backups. When Alistair gets back in you can have him relieve you. Call me if you have problems."

"Yeah, yeah, I will," she grumbled, waving at him with a roll of her eyes and reaching for her phone. "Go get drunk, I'll take care of it."

He smirked, then his face turned back to its usual stony expression. He turned away and started walking, disturbed by how quickly they'd fallen back into familiarity.

She sighed and got to work, individually recalling most of the people they'd sent out and setting up a rotating shift for the people watching Holmes and Watson, keeping two backups nearby for both of them, and then it was just a matter of waiting for Alistair. When he finally got in three hours later she'd downed another three cups of coffee, and when she stepped out of the elevator into their hallway she was exhausted and just wanted to curl up in bed. Caffeine always made her feel strung out.

Moran lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, strategizing. Running over the weaknesses of 221B Baker Street in his head, running over the known weaknesses of Watson and Holmes. Preparing, for the eventuality that Jim would call him for a strategy meeting at some point within the next few days.

Harrison fought back the urge to knock on his door and start up another banter about him leaving her down there for hours and instead fumbled with unlocking her own door. She liked talking to him too much for her own good. Better to just go to bed.

He heard her enter her apartment, and part of him (A very small part) wanted to get up and go talk to her. Instead, he stayed put, forcing his mind through the weaknesses again. Back window, front bay windows, weak wall on south side...

She got ready for bed with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. Literally. She broke a glass in the bathroom trying to get a glass of water, and, after considering it for a long moment, decided that the glass wouldn't move in the night and that she'd take care of it tomorrow morning, and so gingerly left the bathroom and crawled into bed.

* * *

Moran was knocking on her door early the next morning. "Up and at 'em, Harrison," he called loudly. "Lot of work to do today and I'm gonna need an extra set of hands."

"Coming!" she shouted back before she was even really awake, pushing herself out of bed with a groan and stumbling into the bathroom - she had a near miss with the glass on the floor as she got ready - before she got dressed and shuffled out of the flat and directly into his shoulder, feeling like death, although she'd managed to make it look like she didn't. "Fuck, what time is it? Coffee?"

He looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. "We'll get it on the way. Come on. It's about five." He headed down the hall towards the elevator.

Lorna made a thoroughly disgusted sound at that information and followed him blearily, just keeping the fuzzy image of his back in front of her so she didn't walk into something else. "What the hell needs doing this early, Moran?" she grounded, stopping next to him and stabbing at the button with her finger.

"Retrieval," he said nonchalantly. "We're going into the field. Maybe bringing Holmes in. The boss and I haven't decided yet, so for now, it's recon."

"You're bringing me in for a retrieval job? I haven't exactly got the arm strength for that sort of thing," she yawned, crossing her elbows over her chest and leaning against the wall as they waited for the elevator. Who the hell else was using it, at this hour? "You having me drive or somethin'?"

"No, might need your help getting into the building. And like I said, we're doing recon, as well. You're a grifter, you know how this stuff works." He stepped into the elevator as it arrived, punching in the button for the garage.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right, 'm sorry, I'm half dead," she yawned again, stepping into the elevator and leaning into the nearest corner with her eyes closed. "If I remember right the easiest way in is to get on the roofs a block over and travel up high until you can lower yourself onto the window ledge. Victorian style housing, very easy for arboreal entrance."

He nodded. "That's correct, if you're sneaking in. We'll assess the situation and see what we can do. I might have you go in more directly. If I remember correctly he doesn't know your face, and it'll distract him for a bit while he tries to place you and figure out why he saw you on the street."

Lorna nodded, reluctantly stepping away from the wall as they reached the garage, and stepped out after him. "What do you want me to be, if we go that way? Fan? Client? Lost, even?"

"Whatever you think he'll buy... Fan might be good." He started heading for a car. "Jim didn't bother with specifics, just said get it done. Yeah, fan would work. Explains why you bolted on the street. You got overwhelmed."

"Here's hoping he doesn't see through me as easily as he did Miss Kitty Riley," she muttered, heading after him with a slight shake of her head, trying to wake herself up. But then, she was a much better actress than the reporter ever had been, and she didn't have to lie for long. "What's the boss hoping to accomplish with this, anyway? We won't be able to hold him long."

"Scare him, let him know he's not the only one back in the game," Seb said, climbing into the car. "He doesn't want Sherlock running around feeling victorious for too long."

She more fell into the passenger seat next to him than climbed in, shutting the door, buckling up, and immediately resting her head against the window. "Mm. Okay. Can we please get coffee? Please?"

"Coffee," he agreed with a smirk, starting the car and heading out of the garage. "Coming up."

Lorna dozed on the way to their usual cafe, - it was frequented by a surprising number of people like them - trying not to fall completely asleep before they got there. When they did finally pull up, she cracked an eyelid. "I had a dream you asked me out for coffee so you could lay an ambush for me inside, so you can go in alone," she murmured, smirking slightly.

"Oh, darn, my cunning plot to kill the person who'd be a pain in the arse to replace has been foiled," he muttered, getting out of the car and heading into the shop.

A few minutes later he returned with two large coffees, passing one to her. "Here."

"Thanks," she rasped, vaguely wondering how long he'd been awake and why he wasn't half dead like she was before throwing out that line of thought and burning her tongue on the coffee. It was worth it to wake up.

He set his coffee in the cup holder, heading across town towards Baker Street, though he parked a few blocks away. "Come on, we'll take the tube closer," he said, piling out and grabbing his pack of equipment, pulling it on.

She made a sound of confirmation as she quickly swallowed down the rest of her coffee and climbed out of the car, much more alert than she had been fifteen minutes ago. Luckily, she'd come unarmed, so if they were going with a plan that involved lying to Holmes, that was one less giveaway.

He headed down into the terminal, swiping his oyster card and waiting for her to join him. "So, we'll scope out the place, but your priority is to maintain your cover, so if he notices you, you're a blithering, giggling fan, yes?"

"Yes," she agreed, although not sounding thrilled. It was always a chore to pretend to be that damnably bubbly. "I don't suppose you have a pen with you I could borrow?"

He pulled one out of his breast pocket, handing it over with a smirk as they got on the tube. "Enjoy fawning over him," he chuckled.

"Thanks," she said dryly, gripping onto one of the overhead bars as the carriages lurched into motion. "You need me to bring him outside, though?"

He shrugged. "Better if you keep him inside, in the front room. I'll come in through the back window, and we'll corner him inside where he's quiet and off the street."

She nodded, giving someone who'd passed by her a little too closely a dirty look, then returning her attention to Moran. "Don't fall. Then I'll be up shit creek without a paddle."

He shrugged. "Just get his signature, try to snog him, and get him to toss you out," he said, staring down a teen who was invading his own space. "But I won't fall."

Lorna hummed in agreement as they reached their stop, pushing past a few people who were too keen to enter the tube and making a small, slim path for Moran and his equipment in the process. The level of excitement she'd need to have for interacting with Holmes was going to require a lot of energy, and it was best if she started racking it up now.

He bouldered through behind her, the tiny path she left widening around his hulking form, and ducked to exit the tube. "Right. Surface and get in there, I'll be next door watching for a good moment."

"Alright," she nodded, patting herself down quickly to make sure she didn't have anything incriminating on her that she'd forgotten about before heading for the stairs. She needed to do well here or the good favor she'd picked up spotting Holmes in the first place would all amount to nothing.

Moran surfaced through the opposite entrance, going the long way around the block and getting to the street behind Baker, climbing up a fire escape to the roof and jumping over to the buildings along Baker with little issue, starting to work his way along roofs.

Lorna walked along the sidewalk, eyes flickering between the brass addresses on each of the houses. 221. Her target. She trotted up the few stairs to the door and knocked, making sure to add an eager, almost nervous tremor to her hand as she stepped back and waited.

The door was opened- not by Holmes, but by a sweet looking older woman who studied Lorna with curious but kind eyes. "What can I do for you, dear?"

"Oh! I, uh, I was looking for Sherlock Holmes?" Lorna stammered, shifting her weight back and forth between her feet with a beaming smile on her face. People were more likely to help someone who looked nice and happy. "Sorry, I know its early.."

"Oh! No, no problem, he never sleeps anyway. Have you got a case? He'll be eager, he's been pacing a rut in the floor." She stepped back, waving Lorna in. "Up the stairs, quick as you like."

"Thank you!" Lorna gushed, stepping over the threshold and waving to the woman she assumed was Mrs. Hudson before heading up the stairs. She was not faking the nervous shaking in her hands at this point. When she knocked on the door at the top of the landing, it was with real trepidation.

Sherlock looked towards the door, having heard the exchange, and debated. "Come in," he said finally, not bothering to get up from where he was sprawled on the couch, thinking.

She slipped through the door with a deep breath, closing it behind her and coming to a halt in the middle of the room. There was something oddly familiar about being in the room with Holmes like this - something about it reminded her of waiting for Jim to speak. "Oh my god, Mr. Holmes, I- I don't know what to say, I'm an enormous fan," Lorna rambled, wiping her sweaty palms off on her jeans.

He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. He'd seen her before. The woman on the street who'd run. Fan, then? She was certainly nervous, eyes wide and palms sweating, breathing rate elevated... He sat up, still studying her carefully. Remains of coffee just at the corner of her lip... pen in her pocket, pockets otherwise empty. No standard employment signs, which was interesting. Someone who bounced around from job to job, then, or whose job was versatile. Nails clipped short...  
"Most people are." His eyes flickered up to hers, and he smirked just slightly. Blowback callouses on her hand from gun burns. "Then again, most people stopped caring quite so much when I died a few years back."

She let out a relieved laugh at his sign of amusement, forcing herself into a more relaxed, relieved pose. He didn't need to believe for too long - just long enough for Moran to see his opportunity. "I'm so sorry about running the other day, if you even remember," she shook her head, looking sheepish, "I hadn't heard you were okay, and then seeing you on the street! Scared the shit out of me, I'll tell you," she chuckled - an easier thing to do, since she wasn't lying about that part. "Could I perhaps grab your autograph? Just to show my friends, you know.."

He stood, walking over to shut the flat door. "Unfortunately I do need to preserve the secrecy of my return for a while, so I can't do that. But how about we have a cup of tea to make up for that?" His voice was calm, still a bit amused.

Sebastian crawled to the edge of the roof, watching. Out of habit, he glanced across to their other watching post, an apartment across the street. He frowned when he didn't see anyone, and dug into his pack, pulling out his scope and aiming it at one of the windows.  
Shit.

"Yeah! Yeah, of course, that'd be great," she laughed, stuffing her hands into her pockets so stop them from fluttering about like nervous butterflies. "Sorry I'm so out of it, I've had a pretty whirlwind 24 hours."

He smiled, turning to lead her into the next room. They turned the corner, and staring at them was Mycroft Holmes, calm as could be. "Ms. Harrison, how good to see you."

"Pass the kettle over, would you, Mycroft?"

He did, and Sherlock got about filling it. "Now..." Mycroft said, walking forward. "I wouldn't run. The instant you step out that door you'll be shot."

Lorna was frozen in the doorway, her teeth clamped together, her body tensed to run. But she couldn't, not if Mycroft wasn't bluffing. And she didn't think he was. Christ, she had to warn Moran. How? "I'm a little disappointed," she managed, frowning slightly. "I thought I'd managed to stay out of the system. Or is it just you who knows who I am?"

"I know everything, my dear," he said, walking forward, eyes cold and piercing. "You work for James Moriarty. Consider this. He's chosen my brother as his equal, and when we were growing up, Sherlock and I both thought Sherlock was an unfortunate idiot. There's a reason Jim has left me out of the picture."

She had to fight the impulse to run. This was not a fight she could win. Alone with either one of them, it might have been possible, but now it was two to one and she was armed only with a pen. "How about I just... leave..." she hedged, leaning back slightly. "And we'll forget all about this?"

Mycroft laughed, and Sherlock's amused expression never left his face as he put the kettle on the stove. "Oh, it'd be rude to run out on tea, don't you think? No, Ms. Harrison. I believe that you and Colonel Moran will be staying with us for some time."

"Aw, shit," she groaned, leaning against the door frame, shoulders sagging in defeat. If they knew about Moran, it was beyond her control. "I'm really cursing myself for not bringing a knife," she sighed, letting her head fall back against the wall.

"Now now, don't be too hard on yourself," Mycroft smirked, walking over towards her, one hand in his pocket, the other leaning against his umbrella. "Had you done that, my men would be dealing with you rather harshly, as they are Sebastian, rather than us having this lovely conversation."

Lorna couldn't help the glance towards the window, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself under control. Fighting back her concern for him, she looked up at the elder Holmes with a rather amused expression. "Oh, I don't flaunt my weapons like dear old Moran does. I think I would have had time to incapacitate you and make a run for it. I suppose we'll never find out."

"Tell me, Lorna, how was the Chinese takeout last night?" He turned as the kettle boiled, but Sherlock was already taking care of it. "I've heard that that place is excellent, haven't had a chance to try it... Must make you sleepy, though, if you were so tired this morning." He glanced over at her. "You really ought to clean that glass you broke up. Now, what was that about flaunting?"

She rubbed the back of her neck, looking at him for a long moment, just considering. It was unlikely that he had a mole; no one would have been able to get in her apartment... well, no, the accountant could have, and he would have had to have someone plant cameras... "Know a lot about Jim's financial situation, do you? Hmmph. Should have joined up with the government, instead. Guess I won't be cleaning up that glass anytime soon."

"No, I suppose not." He took the kettle from Sherlock, pouring it into a teapot. Sherlock glanced over at Lorna. "Cream and sugar?" he asked with a smug smile.

Lorna shook her head, brushing past Mycroft to sit at the overcrowded kitchen table. "No, thank you, I take mine without," she replied, her voice perfectly pleasant. She was in for the long haul, now. They could imprison her as long as they wanted - she didn't doubt that they had the evidence to do so.

He handed her her cup without comment, adding both cream and sugar to his own, though Mycroft apparently took his plain as well. "So, Ms. Harrison. Here's where the discussion begins. Obviously, we aren't letting you go."

"No, I didn't think so," she sighed, sipping at her tea with a tiny shrug of her shoulders. "But you should know that I can't tell you anything of use, either. I only take the orders, I don't make the plans, Mr. Holmes."

"No, you don't," Sherlock agreed, as Mycroft observed the situation.

"However, you're rather high up in Moriarty's food chain. I believe, if you agreed to be cooperative, you could be rather useful." Mycroft took a long sip of tea.

"I'm afraid that won't be occurring any time in the near future," Lorna snorted, setting down her cup of tea with a vaguely insolent expression. "If I cooperate with you, I set myself up for the chopping block. You may be smarter than Jim, Mycroft Holmes, but he's definitely got the upper hand where it comes to sadism."

He laughed, shaking his head just slightly. "I suppose that's the logical wager to make, isn't it?" he sighed, standing. A few moments later, Sebastian Moran entered the room. However, it was not under his own power, but rather dragged by two rather impressively built figures, who were carrying Moran, limp and trussed like a turkey. Another two headed for Lorna. "Don't injure them yet," Mycroft murmured lazily. "I want things fresh when we begin."

Lorna took one look at Moran, took another sip of tea, and then held her hands out to the men approaching her. There was no point in fighting, not if they'd knocked unconscious the mountain of a man that was Sebastian. Luckily, the handcuffs they put on her were not too tight. In a life or death situation, she could probably be motivated to break her thumbs and slip out. But that would have to be quite the motivation. "I guess I'll see you later, Mycroft," she smiled, then winked over at Sherlock. "Nice meeting you, Sherly boy."

"And you, Ms. Harrison," he said, draining his tea. "I'm sure I'll see you as well." His eyes didn't leave her as the two prisoners were forced out of the room, down the stairs and into the back of a low, black car.

* * *

Playlist: Panic! at the Disco - Let's Kill Tonight


	7. Khan Worms

Lorna didn't bother trying to wake up Sebastian in the car; he looked to be out cold. Instead, she just contented herself with the car ride, which she guessed to be about thirty minutes long, and had enough turns and twists to thoroughly confuse her sense of direction. That was fine. She didn't need to know where they were. And when they dragged her out of the car, she didn't bother trying to check. The two of them were put together in a stark white cell, nothing on the floors, walls, or ceiling. It was well lit, almost to the point of being too bright, and utterly featureless.

It wasn't long before Moran began to fade into groggy consciousness, groaning slightly at the aftermath of tranquilizers in his system. Lorna was sitting in the corner, one knee drawn up to her chest, her handcuffed hands resting in her lap.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," she said when he shifted, "Welcome to hell."

He grunted slightly, shifting and forcing his eyes open, clamping them shut again after a moment as the room spun. "Har'son?"

"Yup. Take it easy, I'm pretty sure they tranqed you," she replied, watching him from where she was. "You really fought them, huh?"

He shifted, annoyed to find his hands cuffed firmly behind his back, and tried opening his eyes again. Fuck, it was bright. "Wha' was I s'posed t' do...? Was a setup..." he managed, his brain and tongue both feeling like lead.

"I know. Mycroft was waiting to have tea with me. I didn't fight. One of us should be considered the docile one," she sighed, showing him that she was handcuffed in front. "I can get out of these."

"Do it," he muttered, shouldering his way into a sitting position. "Shut up wi' th' smug... grifter...stuff..." He shook his head, trying to clear it.

She sighed. "If I get out of them, both my thumbs will have to break. I won't be able to get you out." Then she made a considering noise. "Well, I can keep one of them on and save that hand. But I still don't have anything to get you with. Not even a bobby pin."

"Right... yeah.. 'n still the matter of the door..." He looked around, trying to focus, but saw no obvious seams in the wall. "Where's the door?"

She jerked her head towards the wall on her left. "We came in through there. But I wouldn't be surprised if there were more doors. Easier to disorient us." She sighed, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. "I'd get comfortable if I were you. Keep circulation in your arms."

"I know how t' handle cuffs and confinmen', thanks," he muttered, shifting over until he could lean back against his own portion of wall, shifting a bit until his arms were more comfortable.

"Sorry. Thought I'd remind you. You still look pretty out of it," she shrugged, opening her eyes again to look at him. "I'm trying to stave off being freaked out until you're back on your feet."

He nodded just slightly. "Did they say 'ow they knew?" he asked, closing his eyes again. The light was giving him a headache.

"No. But they knew our names. And that I broke a glass in my room last night. I think its the accountant. I could be wrong, though," she sighed, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her wrists.

"Brilliant. Jim's gonna be fucking thrilled," he muttered with a sigh. He glanced over at her. "Whatever they do t' us, jus' make sure you're more afraid a' Jim than them."

"I've already had that thought," she assured him, biting the inside of her cheek. This was a situation she had desperately hoped to avoid. She was a grifter, not a soldier; this wasn't what she'd signed up for. She sighed. "I can't promise I won't throw a few people under the bus, though. Nobody you know."

He shrugged. "I don't care. Bu' you star' talkin' when you shouldn't, and your life 'spectancy's going to drop like a rock."

"Yeah, I know. I know," she breathed, biting her lip now. The wait was getting on her nerves. Although she supposed that was the point.

* * *

Time seemed impossible to keep track of in the blank white atmosphere. The drugs eventually wore off, but the unwavering light and odd silence of the room kept Sebastian on edge. It wasn't until what must have been hours later that the light suddenly increased in intensity to the point of being almost blinding, forcing him to close his eyes with a curse. When he opened them, blinking away the after images, Mycroft Holmes was standing in the center of the room, leaning on an umbrella, considering his captives.

"Have a good day lying to Parliament, Mr. Holmes?" Lorna smiled, still squinting slightly as her eyes adjusted back to the light. Her wrists were starting to ache, despite the fact that the handcuffs were loose. "What have you come to visit little old us for?"

"An excellent day, Ms. Harrison, thank you for asking. And I'm here to oversee your transfer." His voice was calm, unwavering, almost dream-like. "It's time that you and I had a bit of a talk."

"Are you taking me to a room even cleaner than this one, or did you decide that was an impossible goal?" she quipped, eyebrows raised. It was all to hide the sudden spike of fear that stabbed into her gut. Christ, she did not want to go.

"I don't suppose you'll find out," he said, smiling slightly. He walked forward, hooking his umbrella through her cuffs and yanking her forward with surprising strength by her wrists. "Now, cooperate, and this will go much better for you." He released the chain and tossed her a blindfold. "Put that on."

She hissed through her teeth as he yanked her forwards, sparing an acidic glance up at him before she wrapped the cloth around her eyes and tightened it securely. Better to cooperate - up to a point, of course. "You may have to lead me."

"I was planning on it," he said with a small grin, bending to grab her cuffs and pull until she was forced to her feet. There was another flash of light as they left the room, and Sebastian missed the door again, shifting a bit nervously, left alone in the blank, empty space.

Mycroft led the woman down the hall, where he'd been joined by two guards as soon as they'd left. They walked into another room, this one a stark contrast from the last. Insulation covered the walls in thick layers, the outer coating torn at by fingers, traces of blood noticeable. In the center was a low operating table with thick straps, and the guards grabbed Lorna, lifting her and slamming her onto the table, strapping down her legs before undoing her cuffs and getting her torso and arms. The blindfold was removed a few moments later.

She couldn't help her sound of alarm at being shoved onto the table, blinking furiously as her eyes adjusted to the light, flicking frantically around the ragged room. This was not a friendly-looking room. "You know, usually when I'm going to do bondage I like it to be in a clean room," she bit out sarcastically, pulling experimentally at the straps. Nope. She was stuck here.

"Well, we had a go at that, if you'll recall, and you were complaining," Mycroft pointed out from where he was standing in the doorway, watching. His eyes were emotionless. "I don't expect you'll be willing to cooperate? I can assure you you'll save yourself and Moran a great deal of hardship."

"Oh, mister, come on now. Cooperating with you is both useless and dangerous. You won't get anything you don't already know. I'll only get dead. This is really a pointless exercise," she sighed, shaking slightly. She was afraid, she'd admit it.

He laughed. "So dismissive? Perhaps death is your best option, Lorna. After all... In the unlikely event that we don't manage to break you, you'll be released to James Moriarty, with a nice list of the information you 'gave' us. A few things we already know but have yet to act on. I wonder what _his_ response would be... Tell me, have you ever assisted in dealing with traitors in Moriarty's little gang?"

She just stayed quiet, squaring her shoulders and tightening her jaw. She knew what happened to traitors. She would not become one of them. She would not break. "Do what you have to, Holmes."

He smirked, studied her features. "Interesting," he murmured after a moment. "Put the blindfold back on, I think."  
One of the cronies nodded, and his smirk was the last thing Lorna saw before the cloth was replaced tightly. That made her even tenser, sucking in a sharp breath. Her imagination couldn't help but speculate on what would be used on her first. Knives? Drugs? Fire?

Mycroft walked forward, setting his umbrella aside and smiling slightly. "Now, Ms. Harrison. How interested are you in zoology?" he asked calmly, picking up a pair of sheers and starting to calmly cut away her clothes.

She twitched away from the shears before she stopped, worrying about being cut. "I thought about becoming a biologist, actually. Why?"

He removed her clothing piece by piece, strategically removing layers and tossing them carelessly to the side, until she was left in slacks with the waist cut loose and knickers cut from underneath, her blouse intact but bra cut away as well, and the blindfold remaining. "I was thinking we'd experiment with a little entomology," he said calmly, removing the restraint over her hips and turning to a tank in the corner of the room as one of the goons duct taped the waist of her shirt to the waist of her trousers before returning the restraint loosely.

"I own several laboratories which run experiments in a number of fields, and they've developed a special kind of burrowing beetle." He picked a thumb-sized specimen with a special set of tweezers, ignoring its angry hissing, and walked over to gently tuck it under Lorna's collar. "Let's see how their experimenting has gone, shall we?"

She remained as still as she could, sucking in shallow breaths as she felt the beetle placed under her collar. "You're going fucking Khan worm on me?" she hissed, twitching again as the beetle moved, skittering across her skin. "You nerd."

He smiled, watching the beetle scurry beneath her clothes, before moving to get another specimen. "Not quite. As I recall, those do enter the body through the pre-created orifice of the ear. These particular creatures prefer creating their own tunnels in your skin. At least, in theory. They haven't left any _lethal_ damage on our cadavers, just a network of their little burrows, but then again, these particular ones are hungry..."

She was about to speak before she felt a sudden sharp pain just under her rib cage, swearing violently as she writhed on the table, trying to dislodge the beetle from her skin. "No, nononono," she chanted, glaring down at her abdomen.

His expression lightened. "Oh, good, off to a good start." He ushered another beetle into her clothing, this time starting down at the ankle of her trousers.

"And here I thought Jim was the only sadistic bastard I knew," she snarled, pressing her head back into the table and breathing through clenched teeth as the first beetle dug into her flesh. "You do this with all the girls or am I just _special?"_

"Let's just say I take a special interest in people related to plots against my family members," he drawled, leaning against the table, content to leave it at two beetles for now, watching blood seep into her shirt around the rustle of the first beetle.

Lorna had to take a moment to remember how to speak as the second beetle started boring into her calf, scratching her short nails across the table with an ear-piercing squeal. "I'm.. not going to cooperate. I'm useless to you," she gasped, arching up into the hip strap in a vain urge to try and at least dislodge the beetle from its tunneling.

"Then, if you're so useless, it shouldn't really be that much of a problem to cooperate, now should it?" he asked idly, poking at the beetle beneath her ribs to agitate it.

The beetle freaked out, ripping a hole into her at twice the speed of before, making her face go pale as she struggled not to voice her pain. "I-It's hard to cooperate when you don't even ask me any questions. Not... not that I'm going to."

He smiled coldly, watching her struggle, gauging her. It would have been easier if he could see her eyes, but her blindness gave him an incredible advantage. "Oh, any way I can make this a simpler process, certainly," he crooned. "Let's start with something simple. Has Moriarty been informed that my brother is still alive?"

"Are you _stupid?"_ she spat, letting out a harsh laugh. It was less embarrassing than screaming. The first beetle was deep in her abdomen now. "You _know_ the answer to that, don't patronize me." She wasn't going to give him straight answers - straight answers couldn't be used against her.

"Of course I know the answer." His soft, pleasant tone never changed, as though they were still having tea. "If you want to graduate to the more difficult questions, you answer these first." He traced a finger over her abdomen, feeling the ridge where the established beetle had turned, starting to dig through her sideways, eating itself a tunnel.

"Oh, fuck off," she growled, pulling at the restraints tying her down once again. Could she worm her wrists out of these? She was _certainly_ motivated. "Do me a favor and let your shitty-ass beetles eat me in silence. Go eat some cake."

"Not the answer I was looking for," he said calmly, turning to the tank and retrieving another beetle. "Let me explain the rules. For every answer that you give me that I like, I remove a beetle. For every refusal to answer, or unsatisfying answer, I add one. Does that sound fair?" He walked over, putting the next beetle up her sleeve without a hint of sympathy.

* * *

Two hours later and they'd finally finished pulling out the beetles to put her back in her cell. Two hours of refusal and pain and helplessness. She'd let some unimportant things slip, had had to, to keep the beetles from getting anything important, but the rest, the stuff that would get her killed, she refused to share. When they handcuffed her and threw her back into the room with a bright flash, she could do little more than raise her hands to stop herself from hitting her head, eyes red from tears she was still angry about. "Hi, honey, I'm home," she rasped hoarsely, slumping into sitting position.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly as he saw her, clothes stained with blood in odd patterns, the visible portions of her skin covered in strange red raised lines, wiggling and zig-zagging across her skin with no apparent pattern. "What the fuck did they _do_ to you?"

"Khan beetles or some shit," she groaned, lifting her arms to look at them. She hurt. "Some went deep. They're all out, though. And I spilled some shit. Sorry. But its nothing they didn't know."

"What sort of shit?" he asked, eyes hard and cold, though mostly he was angry at Holmes for doing that to his operative.

"Just confirmations. Jim's alive. We're based in London. A little bit of my history. Nothing they didn't already know," she said quietly, unable to look at him.

His lip curled slightly in distaste, but he didn't berate her. Instead, he said something unexpected. "Well, I suppose that's to be anticipated. It's not like you know anything fucking useful anyways. You could spill your guts and they wouldn't come close to touching anything vital."  
He didn't know why he did it. The room was undoubtedly bugged, he'd been thinking about it the whole time he'd been in here, trying to keep himself from going insane in the white silence. And what had he just done? Intentionally indicated to their captors that it was useless to torture Lorna. Which, of course, left them with one alternative. He closed his eyes, leaning against the wall, and despite his confusion, part of him still hoped that they would listen to him. He didn't want to see her any worse than she was now, for some reason.

She looked up at him, blank surprise on his face. "What's gotten into you?" Lorna murmured, shifting to lie down on her back with a slight groan. "I could use a drink."

He shrugged. "I just don't think there's any point in pretending you can tell them anything useful," he snorted. "And I'm sure, but unfortunately I left my whiskey in my other trousers."

She let out a long breath, trying not to focus too much on the aching pain running throughout her. She was miserable. "I'd really like to go home, now," she sighed.

"Jim will get us," he promised quietly, and of that he was fairly certain. "Bossman hasn't let us down yet. He won't now." He made a face as the light flashed again, and two armed men walked in, shoving guns in his face as they got him to his feet. "I see you get preferential treatment," he smirked over at Lorna. "Mr. Holmes himself shows up for you, I just get gooned."

"I'm more charming than you," she replied from the floor, her arms drawn up over her eyes to protect from the light. She didn't want to see him go, either. She didn't want to think about it at all.

"Right, yeah, sure you are," he smirked. "See you soon," he muttered as he was lead out the door.

She forced herself to keep her eyes open as the light flashed again. There was the door.

It slid shut before she had a chance to access it, disappearing into the wall.

* * *

This time, it was a full five hours before Sebastian was dragged back in. He looked equally worse for wear. The familiar lines traced his body as well, though it looked like they'd moved on to just straight up beating at some point, one of his eyes almost swollen shut. He slumped into the corner, looking over at her with his good eye. "How you holding up?" he asked after a moment.

"Better than you, from the looks of it," she murmured, swallowing hard. Something about seeing him this way hurt. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged a little, teeth gritting slightly. "They left one of the suckers in... in there, couldn't get it out, they said... But yeah, okay.."

"I can try, if you like. Slender fingers," she offered quietly, shuddering at the thought of one being left inside her. "I might be able to suck it out like snake poison, if you really want it out. It's going to be so gross though."

"Don't get that thing anywhere.. near your mouth," he muttered, his nose wrinkling at the thought. "God knows what it'd.. do if you accidentally s-swallowed it. I don't need you bleeding internally." He closed his eyes for a second, a hand moving to grip his side so tightly for a moment his fingers turned white. "But... if you could try to get it out..."

"Okay. I'll try," she said quietly, shifting over to him and twitching his shirt out of the way with her restricted hands. "This is going to hurt," she warned, making a face as she considered the hole in his side. Then she dug her finger in there as far as she could, grimacing as she hooked her finger around the alarmed beetle and scraped it out and onto the floor, leaning back and contorting herself back so she could stomp it beneath her heel.

" _Fuck-_ " he exclaimed before he clamped his teeth together, head slamming back and pressing into the wall as she dug into him, causing the beetle to panic and dig faster. But then she pulled it free and it was a fucking miracle, and he relaxed at the decrease in pain as he watched her give the thing a well-deserved end.

"Sorry," she cleared her throat, wiping her bloodied finger off on her jeans. "God, those things suck. Where's pesticide when you need it?"

He nodded, giving a bit of a grin as he worked on pulling himself together. "I could even do with a flyswatter," he sighed, shifting into a bit more comfortable position, trying to sit on something that didn't hurt. The room was less pristine, now, anyway. Both of them were leaving bloodied marks wherever they went. "You holding up alright?"

She leaned against the wall, giving a small quiet laugh and shaking her head. "No. No, not really. I'm terrified and I hurt and I've never been this much in trouble before," she breathed, shuddering slightly. "This isn't my scene, Moran."

He nodded slightly, but didn't let her wallow. If they were going to survive this, that wasn't an option. "Oh, you get used to it. This is most certainly my scene, though to be honest, I'm not used to playing such a bit part. Maybe next time I can convince Mr. Holmes to switch roles. He's taken the one with all the fun in it."

She snorted slightly, smirking a little. "We're never going to get him. Sorry to bust your bubble, sir. Hopefully, we'll be out of this place before we get another session with Mr. Holmes." She stopped bothering with sitting up and lay down on her side, back against the wall.

He nodded slightly in agreement, making sure none of their wounds were bleeding too much. "Get some sleep."

"Sounds good to me," she sighed, shifting a little uncomfortably so she could rest her head on her arm, and immediately dropped into a light sleep that she hadn't been able to achieve when Moran hadn't been in the room.

He considered shifting her head to his lap for a pillow, but decided against it since a), his legs were both covered in wounds from the beetles, and b), even _having_ that thought suggested he was very out of it and in some desperate need of sleep himself. He drifted off quietly.

* * *

She woke up an indeterminate amount of time later, her whole body aching. She let out a quiet groan, curling up slightly, as if that would help the pain. "You awake?"

"No, you?" he shot back, one eye cracking open. The swelling had only gotten worse on the other one, which was bruised colorfully and refused to open.

"Barely," she muttered, wishing that the floor wasn't so hard. "I feel like shit. You okay?"

He shrugged slightly. "Been worse," he said quietly. That, at least, was true. "Move... I know you don't want to, but it'll help... Need to keep everything from stiffening up."

"'Kay," she mumbled, pushing herself up and stretching out with a muttered swear. "I'm not going to look as pretty after this. And I know where the door is."

"Yeah? And you'll be fine, don't worry about that," he muttered, forcing himself to move as well. "Where?" he added.

"That wall," she nodded, "About a meter from the left corner. Just so you know, I guess."

He nodded. "Wonder if there's any way to get through it?" he muttered, pushing himself upwards, a hand against the wall until he was sure he could keep his balance. His head was aching, and he knew the light wouldn't make it any better. He walked slowly, hand leaving faint bloody prints on the stark white wall as he headed for where she'd indicated.

"They're going to have a hell of a time cleaning this place after we're gone," she remarked, watching him with mild concern. "Let me know if you need a hand. Like, free of restraints. Cause I'll only have one." She hoped Jim was coming for them, honestly.

"Yeah... For some reason they didn't put mine back on... Think I was too out of it for them to care. Lucky us." He started feeling around the wall, trying to find a crack or seam with blunt, calloused fingers.

"Lucky you, more like. My arms now ache from the position they've been in along with the stupid beetles," she huffed, bracing her back against the wall and standing up.

"Sorry," he said, glancing her direction. "But we're alive. That's a plus."

"I suppose. I never really thought that he'd kill us, anyway. He's from the government, after all. I worry more about Jim," she shook her head, moving to help him look for a seam. "I'm going to drink myself unconscious when I get out of here."

He laughed slightly, finding a tiny seam that he figured was the door, but was almost impossible to trace, much less shove something into. "Yeah... not opening this from in here."

"Damn," she muttered, her bound hands falling in front of her again in defeat. "Guess we're not breaking out on our own," she sighed. The idea of being rescued by Jim was a little humiliating, even if she wanted it.

He shook his head. "At least not from here, no." Maybe during transport from room to room. "Hey, if you can hear us, we could use some water," he said loudly and a bit hoarsely, walking back over to sit next to Lorna.

"That would, in fact, be nice," she sighed, considering resting her head on his shoulder for a moment before deciding the terse words from him weren't worth the relief to her neck. Luckily for them, the door slid open a moment later, a tray with plastic cups and a plastic pitcher of water being shoved in before the door shut again.

He sighed, leaning over to grab the edge of the tray, pulling it towards them and pouring two glasses of water, handing her one. "Drink slowly."

"Do I have to?" she mumbled, taking it and doing as he said anyway. The water was a surprising relief to a problem she hadn't had the time to really notice.

"Yes," he said, not brokering any argument as he took a few sips of his own. It soothed the stinging ache in his throat, and he knew it would help to soothe his headache a bit eventually. "We don't know when we'll have it again."

Lorna knew better than to even suggest that he was wrong, and instead just took it slow, focusing on just hydrating herself for a few minutes before realizing that she was uncomfortably cold. Maybe it was the fact she was expending energy on healing, or maybe it was the lack of a couple layers, or maybe it was even Mycroft being a bastard, but she really wished she had a jacket. "I suppose a bowl of warm soup would be too much to ask for."

"Somehow I don't think they're interested in making us feel at home, no." He noticed her shivering, and sighed, but didn't hesitate. If she lost body heat, that was the beginning of the end. He shifted around, before reaching out and pulling her against his much larger form. "Get warm."

She tensed slightly as he pulled her over, unsure how to react, and then his warmth was far too tempting and she leaned into him, trying to soak up as much of it as she could. "Sorry," she murmured, frowning slightly. "Not just for this. I feel like I should have warned you somehow. I could have had time..."

"Don't be an idiot," he said. "Maybe you could have, but you say that now, Jim will agree with you, and he will _not_ be happy. So, seeing as it's irreversible, it never happened."

"Okay," she replied quietly. There wasn't really a lot of fight left in her, and wasting any of it on Sebastian would be a stupid mistake. "I'm going to beat the shit out of that accountant when we get home. Even if he is innocent."

"Sounds like a good diversion," he sighed, taking another sip of water. "Mind if I join in?"

The flash of light was almost becoming expected, but it was no less unpleasant. Moran was expecting them to go for Lorna again, but instead she was dragged off of him and he was grabbed and cuffed, before being shoved out the door.

She lunged forward the second the last goon was out the door, shoving the pitcher to the side and grabbing the tray to stuff it vertically into the door as it slid shut, the plastic complaining slightly as the door smacked it.

Holy shit. Holy shit, she'd kept it open.

The door squealed, trying to close a few times, before an alarm started going off overhead, loud.

Lorna shoved the door open, wriggling her fingers into the gap and pulling with all of her strength until she was capable of slipping through the space, and then she was running, looking for a place to hide and get her bearings. They would assume she'd immediately go for the exits, wouldn't they? And their security cameras would be limited - they didn't want footage of their dirty deeds leaking out the public, did they?

Sebastian was thrown into the torture chamber, cuffs locked into a bracket on the wall, before the door opened and Mycroft Holmes walked through, his eyes deadly and cold. "I will only ask you once, Moran, so consider your options. Where is she?"

He grit his teeth. Alright, Harrison had escaped. Good.  
Furious Mycroft Holmes. Not so good.

Lorna was in the supplies closet. It was the closest, least likely door to be checked that she could find, and it had just happened to house a lot of things that could be used as weapons. She must have been close to the torture room; there were knives in here, and she didn't hesitate to take those and start arming herself. She wasn't going to back to Jim without Sebastian - she had a feeling that that would not be well-received, so it was in her best interest to break Moran out as well. That meant she was going to have to go through a few people. She grabbed a can of aerosol to use as mace, and a handful of paperclips that she stuffed into her one free pocket to use as impromptu lockpicks. Time to start kicking asses and taking names.

* * *

He was careful not to bite through his tongue as he was beaten with the rod of metal, one end red hot and burning into him.

A calm voice through the haze of pain. "Stop."

The pain stopped amplifying, though his body was still screaming.

"Now, Moran. Tell me where she went."

"Thought you weren't... gonna ask... again.." he panted, managing a smirk.

"I'm not asking. I'm telling."

* * *

She'd gone through two hallways looking for Moran, and she left two bleeding bodies behind her, tucked away in corners of rooms. They had strength and reach, she had flexibility and knives. And she was _far_ more motivated. When she finally came to the door she could hear Mycroft behind, she shook the can of aerosol in her left hand and adjusted her grip on the knife in her right before opening the door with her elbow, kicking it open with a bang. The first and biggest target in the room had a knife in it before she let them have any time to react, and as soon as Mycroft turned her way he got a face-full of air spray and a kick to the stomach. "Give me the keys. _Give me the keys."_ Mycroft let out a cry as the chemicals hit his eyes, hands scrabbling at his face as he tried to get whatever it was away from his eyes.

"Stop her!" he called angrily, but there was no response, and he backed away, temporarily blinded. Sebastian let out a weak laugh from where he was hanging from the wall, barely conscious. "Good 'n... shimp.."

Lorna shoved the air spray back into her pocket and backhanded Mycroft with her now free hand, a knife appearing in the other, before she grabbed onto his collar and shoved him back into the wall, making the presence of the weapon known by resting it against his neck. "You tell me where the keys are or I fucking take off a hand, you hear me? I'm _done_ with you, Mr. Holmes. And I have _no_ problems getting my maim on. Where are the keys to Moran's handcuffs?" Lockpicks would take too long. What if there were reinforcements?

He snarled slightly, panting, before spitting "Pocket."

"Thank you," she smiled, keeping the knife to his neck and sliding her hands into his slacks pocket to retrieve the keys. Before she moved away, a cruel, vengeful look crossed her face. "If you move this will only hurt more," she warned, before grabbing his right hand, shoving it to the wall, and pinning his hand there with the knife. That would keep him occupied for a bit. Ignoring his sounds of pain, she turned and hurried to Sebastian's side, unlocking the chains from his wrists from the wall. "Come on, Tiger, we're leaving."

He stumbled away from the wall, knees buckling, but he managed to get his feet under her him, leaning heavily on her for a few moments. "S'get goin'," he agreed quietly, completely out of it, just focusing on keeping himself vertical.

She could tell that he wasn't going to be a lot of use, so she grabbed onto the front of his shirt and simply dragging him after her, leaving the room and heading back the corridor she'd come from - she'd seen a window this way, and that meant the outside of the building. Two minutes later, and she'd broken the window, coaxed Moran through, and was leading him cautiously around the edge of the building. "Okay. That looks like a parking lot. I'm going to grab a car and I'm going to come get you, okay? Don't move."

He acknowledged her briefly. His world was a painful myriad of colors and sounds that he had to fight to make sense of, hemmed by a tempting, heavy blackness that seemed only a few seconds from overtaking him. He held onto the ground which was tilting beneath him, his body burning, too hot...

When she came back in the car (it had been shockingly easy to get; the keys were in the ignition), he seemed to be swaying on the ground, looking like he needed to throw up. Swearing under her breath, she swung out of the car and hurried over to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulder to help keep his weight up as she led him to the car and stuffed him into the back seat with no time for finesse.

He was moved, wanted to protest to whoever it was, tell them to let him rest, but part of him still knew who he was, and his soldier training kept him moving, kept him from complaining. He curled up wherever he was put, and didn't complain.

Lorna kept checking on him in the rearview mirror as she drove them home, purposely taking a confusing course in case the car had a tracker on it. She was worried about him if she was being honest with herself, and it bugged her that she couldn't just stop and take care of him. When she finally parked a block away from the office building, already bringing out her phone to text cleanup to get rid of it, she quickly got out of the front and opened the back, carefully easing Sebastian out of the car. Luckily they were in a back alley or they would have looked suspicious as hell. "C'mon, Sebastian. You only have to walk a little bit. C'mon."

The blackness had made a definite fight for the game, and he had to struggle back into consciousness as she moved him. "H-hey shrimp..." he muttered finally, catching sight of her in a flicker of clarity. "S'get outta here..."

"Christ, you're a mess," she sighed, beginning to lead him through the back alley towards their building, keeping up his weight almost single-handedly. No point in fighting him about her nickname, not when he looked beaten half to death. "We're almost home, Seb, just please don't pass out on me."

"Not gonna..." he managed, focusing on his steps and not the agonizing pain each one caused, or the creeping numbness starting in his toes and fingers. _Step, step, stumble, right yourself, step, step step..._

When they reached the back stoop of HQ she just set him down, unable to force him to keep walking. She banged on the door and shouted for a moment before she knelt in front of Sebastian, holding his face in her hands and lightly slapping his cheek. "Hey. C'mon, just stay awake a little longer for me, okay? Don't pass out here, you'll break your skull. Stay awake."

He flinched as she hit him, trying to focus on her, eyes crossing and uncrossing as he faded in and out.

Malcolm the chauffeur opened the door ten seconds later, looking cross, but his face went pale as soon as he saw them. "Christ..." he muttered. "Alright, come on, inside, let's go." He bent to help hoist Sebastian's hulking, deadweight form.

She helped Malcolm get Moran inside before she broke away to an intercom to call someone from their small infirmary, then she rushed back, her hands beginning to shake as everything caught up to her. She tried and failed to get a word out to Malcolm, then just stayed silent.

He lay Sebastian on the ground gently, before turning to her, and without another word, guiding her gently to lie down as well. "They'll be here any minute," he said quietly but firmly. "It's gonna be fine, Harrison. Just keep it together."

Lorna wasn't sure that she could, so she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes and just concentrated on continuing to breathe, her teeth clenched and her body tense as she tried to keep herself from full-on shaking from the stress of it all. It wasn't every day that she brutally murdered three men, or that she was strapped onto a table and tortured by nightmarish beetles. She couldn't help her reaction.

The medics rushed over a few minutes later, lifting them both onto gurneys, and starting to examine them as they headed quickly for the infirmary. "I've never seen wounds like this," the one in charge said, studying Lorna and Sebastian intently before catching Lorna's conscious gaze. "Can you tell me what they did to you?"

"Flesh-tunneling beetles," she forced out hoarsely, not wanting to remember them more than she had to. "You're probably going to have to wash us out with disinfectant. Do it while he's still out."

The medic's eyes widened slightly, but then he was back to professional. "I'm going to put you under as well," he said firmly. "I don't like the look of these injuries, there's going to be a lot of painful probing and cleaning to do. Better that you sleep through it."

She nodded, honestly relieved to have escaped being awake through that. Sometimes she forgot that not every person hired by Jim was required to be a criminal. "Not gonna argue," she murmured. "No morphine, though. No opiates."

The doctor nodded. "I'll make sure of it," he said firmly, looking up as someone intersected their path in the hall. "Get the word to Moriarty. He can call people in. We've found them."

"You didn't find shit," Lorna muttered, letting her eyes close with a long, shuddering sigh. "We came and found _you."_

"Details. The boss needs to know you both are alright," the doctor said as they were finally wheeled into the infirmary before he began barking orders. A few moments later, someone placed a mask over Lorna's mouth, and she drifted off into unconsciousness.


	8. Lame Sleepover

When she woke up again, there was a split moment where she thought she was still in that room where she tensed up all over, and then she realized that the room she was in was a lot less clean and a lot less intimidating, and made herself relax. She stung all over, like she'd been submerged in alcohol and then scrubbed until her skin was raw. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

The doctor from before noticed she was awake, and walked over. "Hey there," he said calmly, shining in a penlight in each of her eyes briefly to check her pupils. "How're you doing, Harrison?"

"I feel raw," she groaned, shifting slightly in her cot, trying to sit up. "Where's Moran? Is he alright?"

"Hey, stay put," he warned gently, holding a hand over her but not touching her. "You've got some pretty major sub-dermal lacerations. Moran's hanging in there. He should pull through."

"Okay," she murmured, sagging back into the bed, reassured that at least the sniper wasn't going to die. "What time is it? What _day_ is it, actually?" She had honestly no idea - there was too much time she'd spent in rooms unconscious with no reference to the outside world.

"It's Sunday, four days after you two went missing," he said, starting to look over her charts. "We've had you for just over twenty-four hours."

Lorna muttered a swear under her breath. It certainly didn't feel that long. That probably explained why she was so hungry, though. "Tell Jim I stabbed Mycroft Holmes through the hand. I think he'll find that funny."

"He's not exactly in a joking mood at the moment, so I'll let you pass that along at a more opportune moment," he said, smiling lopsidedly.

"Mm. Okay. What's up with him, then?" she raised her eyebrows up at him, curious and concerned. Was this something that could potentially be taken out on her?

He sat down, still glancing at his charts. "If I had to guess? His second and third in command gets taken into custody by his enemy and tortured. That has to feel a little close to home. But you didn't hear that from me. He's been pacing Moran's bedside, alternating between impatient and livid."

She chewed on the inside of her cheek at that news, trying to make heads or tails of it without becoming concerned for Moran's safety. "When can I go? I really don't like sleeping in hospital beds..." she hedged, hoping to get away and drink herself to sleep like she'd promised herself.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to live with it for another day at least," he said, unconcerned. "I need to keep an eye on you. We've never seen injuries like these before, and I need to monitor them carefully to make sure they heal."

"Jesus Christ," she groaned, glaring up at the ceiling like it had anything to do with her condition. Truth was, she didn't like sleeping in hospital beds because she had a tendency for violent, embarrassing nightmares, and when she was in a hospital, she usually had the most reason for those to occur. She really didn't need to freak out the medical staff in the middle of the night because of a nightmare about dumb beetles. "Let me know when Moran wakes up, at least, huh?"

He nodded. "Of course. And prepare yourself. I'll need to tell Moriarty you're awake. He may decide to drop in," he warned.

"Fabulous. Can't be any less fun than the Khan beetles though, so, fuck it," she snorted, raising her arm to look at the marks left by the disgusting things. She was not going to be grifting for a while.

"Khan beetles?" the doctor said, raising an eyebrow. "That the species?"

She gave him a disbelieving look. "Really? The _doctor_ doesn't get that reference? Nevermind. I was joking. I have no idea what species of beetle they were. I'm not an entomologist."

He sighed, shaking his head and smiling a bit, before walking towards the door. "Do you want anything? Pain medication, food, water?"

"All three. You can send it in after Jim leaves, for the sake of whoever's delivering," she added, looking sympathetic. Especially if the boss was in a bad mood.

He nodded, giving her a sympathetic grin. "Alright. I'll make sure to do that."

She settled down as he left and set about entertaining herself by counting the number of drips in her IV that went by in a minute. It didn't really lessen her tension for the idea of Jim coming in while she was prone in bed and weakened from torture.

The door swung open five minutes later, and Jim came striding in, eyes on her. "Harrison. Good. You're awake. Perhaps you can explain what happened."

"Would you like me to start before or after we were so gently taken into custody by Mr. Holmes?" She asked, the sarcasm in her tone not directed towards him, but towards the asshole she'd left pinned to the wall in his own torture chamber.

"Please, start at the beginning," he said, pulling up a chair, his voice sweetly venomous.

If that wasn't a cue to clean up her tone, she didn't know what was. So, when she spoke again, it was with a lot more politeness. "Moran and I reached Baker Street at around 5:45. He decided I would do recon inside the flat, and, if the opportunity arose, he would enter from the roof. I can't say what happened on his end except that he ran into trouble, but when I entered the flat, Sherlock Holmes invited me to have tea, and his brother was there in the kitchen. When Moran was brought in trundled up like Christmas turkey, I didn't fight," she paused for a moment, frowning slightly. "I'm not sure how long the drive there was, and I was too out of it to make sense of it on the ride back, so I can't tell you exactly where we were, but they put us in a white room with no furniture, no obvious doors. Then Mycroft Holmes personally took me to his _filthy_ torture room. I assume the doctor has told you about the beetles. I had about two hours in there, and when they got Moran he had... I don't know, five? And they must have beat him, too."

Lorna forced herself to stop there for a moment because she was starting to trip over her words. Concern for Sebastian was also creeping back into her, and this was no time for that nonsense. "When they gave us some water and took Moran again, I jammed the tray into the door before it could close. Found a supply closet. Killed three of Holmes' men, then sprayed him in the face with air freshener and pinned his hand the wall with a knife. Came home. That's about it."

He smirked just slightly at her description of what she'd done to Holmes, but then his eyes grew cold again. "Idiots, both of you. You should have been more careful. Holmes could have gotten an incredible amount of information."

Her eyes flicked away from him, the closest thing to a head-duck she could manage at the moment. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

He took a slow breath, pressing his hands together, standing. "If we lose Moran, expect to pay for it," he said.

"Sir.." she hedged, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood. Oh, she was stupid for saying this. "You know I could have left him there."

He stopped, turned on his heels crisply, and walked slowly back towards her, pulling the chair forward and around and straddling it, leaning on the back. "Yes. Yes, you could have, Harrison. Now, tell me, what do you think would have happened to you, had you done that? I'm _curious_."

"I'd have paid for it," she said carefully, folding her hands together on top of her stomach. "Like I'll pay for it if Moran doesn't pull through now. The same outcomes. Maybe harsher on one end than the other. But God did I try, sir," she swallowed hard, unable to meet his eyes. She didn't know why she needed him to know how much she feared Moran dying.

"Trying isn't what I look for, Harrison. It's success. If you don't succeed- if you fail _this_ significantly- then we have a problem." His eyes were ice. "My second in command is dying in a hospital bed, and you're a significant part of the reason."

"With all due respect, sir," she started, and she fully meant it, or she would have been swearing by this point, "I was only following orders. My orders were recon. That was it. Anything that came after that point was cleaning up the mess that I had no part in making. I don't _plan,_ sir," she said, squaring her jaw and finally meeting his eyes. _You and Sebastian do. Don't blame me for your error in judgment. I fixed this._ She would take what wrath followed. After the beetles, it couldn't be much worse.

He studied her for a few moments, and then his mouth twisted into a smirk, eyes glinting slightly with approval. "Moran might be right about you," he said coolly, standing. "Concentrate on healing. We have work to do."

"Understood, sir," Lorna sighed, the tension flooding out of her body with relief. "Please.. keep me updated on his condition, sir."

He nodded, glancing at her for a moment. "He's not conscious, but they seem confident that he will be soon."

She cleared her throat, nodding slightly. "Thank you," she murmured. If Moran died...

He nodded curtly, heading out the door and not bothering to close it as a woman pushed in a cart with a tray of food and a glass of water on it. "You live," she laughed softly after she shut the door.

"Yeah," she breathed, shaking her head. Her mind was still on the conversation, on Moran. How had she gotten out of all of that? "Surprising, I know."

"Well, let's get you sitting up just a little, and then work on food, alright?" the nurse asked gently, reaching for the button to angle the bed up slowly.

"Christ, I feel like a child. It's only a few holes. To think I'm only a few floors away from a good bottle of scotch," she sighed, keeping most of the bitterness out of her voice. No need to take out her frustrations on the nurse. She hadn't done anything. In fact, she was a little relieved that she could sit up.

"It's quite a few holes," the nurse said, smiling. "Do you want to try eating on your own? Or I can help you."

"I think I can manage it on my own, thanks," Lorna chuckled. She'd killed a few men in this condition, after all, feeding herself couldn't be too hard.

* * *

Jim had given up wearing a track in the floor to sit at Moran's side, a tablet in his hand that he was pretending to pay quite a lot of attention to. He was too distracted to really get any work done, though. He had made a miscalculation that had lent Holmes an enormous advantage, for a few hours, at least. And now his second was hooked up to a heart monitor. It was... disheartening.

"You know... it's very rare that you stare off into space," Moran rasped, eyes flickering open for a moment before he shut them slowly against the bright light. "S'kinda cute." Sarcasm.

"Hilarious, Moran," he said dryly, covering up his relief. Good. He was out of the woods, then. "You look like shit."

"Feel worse. The hell'd you do to me? Can't wait until a man's conscious to give him his a beating?" He smirked slightly.

"Apparently I don't have to give you a beating. Someone else will do it for me," he snorted, setting the tablet down in his lap with an imperious look on his face. "This won't happen again. Yes?"

"Wasn't really planning on it happening the first place, to be honest," he grunted, forcing his eyes open again and looking over at Jim. "So no, not on the agenda."

He nodded, tapping his fingers against the screen of the technology in his lap. He wasn't sure what to say, now - an exceedingly unusual occurrence for him. He always knew what to say. "Are you.. hungry? Thirsty?"

Moran shook his head just a little. "No... not yet... more nauseous and fucking out of it, what the hell did they give me?" He tried to examine the IV drip, shifting a bit in an attempt to sit up.

"Hell if I know. They put the two of you out so they could give you a proper _cleaning._ Would you like to see the beetle bits they pulled out of you? I had them saved in a jar," Jim smirked, kicking lightly at the bed, not enough to jostle it. "Don't sit up. I need you healing."

He glared, but lay back down. "We should get some of those things, boss... they're good. Had me squirming. I want to play around with them. Next person we brought in wouldn't last ten minutes, I don't care who they are."

Jim made a considering noise, leaning back in his own chair. "And did Harrison last? I've always wondered about her pain threshold," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, giving off the air of a predator, before he blinked and met Moran's eyes again. "I will get you those beetles, don't you worry."

He grinned slightly. "She lasted. Gave 'em some useless shit to keep 'em running circles. She ran it all by me. Nothing up to date or useful." A bit of a stretch on the implied order of operations, but it was all technically true.

"Guess I'll have to update her file," he muttered, frowning slightly to himself. Above his expectations. Not the first miscalculation he'd made this week. Disconcerting. He stood suddenly, nearly dropping the tablet. "I have to go. Get better. That's an order."

"Will do, sir. And thank you for waiting around for me to wake up." The last bit would have been said with a self-satisfied smirk if he didn't think the expression would have gotten him killed.

Jim only paused to let Moran finish his sentence before he swept out the door, trying to keep himself together. What was _wrong_ with him?

Sebastian watched him go, studying the retreating back with careful eyes before whatever drugs they had him on dragged him under, and he slipped into unconsciousness again.

* * *

Lorna suffered through her overnight stay mostly because they put her under for it, and then in the morning she was discharged with a lot of warnings and commandments about taking it easy for a week that she only half listened to on the way out the door. Normally she might have stopped to see Moran, but her hatred for hospitals was too overwhelming, so she just headed for her own flat.

Moran was discharged the day afterwards, mostly because he threatened to murder the staff if they kept him under any longer. He was released, a good portion of him wrapped in bandages with orders to check in daily for the time being. He rolled his eyes, but made his way towards the elevator and then his apartment at a pace only slightly slower than usual. He hesitated, then knocked on Lorna's door.

"Come in," she called, ignoring the mess around her. She'd torn the place apart looking for bugs, cameras, _anything,_ and had only resulted in getting angry and purposely breaking a few things. She wasn't proud of that. Now she was sat on the floor, one knee drawn up to her chest and a half-finished bottle of scotch in hand.

He walked in, raising an eyebrow at the mess, though he didn't need to ask the reason. "I'll have cleanup come in and do a sweep later today," he said immediately, voice calm as he limped over and flopped onto the couch.

She nodded, throwing back another shot of scotch. It would probably do little to soothe her paranoid nerves. Either way, she was surprised that he was here. "You here to mooch off my liquor supply? I'm afraid I broke a few bottles in my search," (she hadn't, she'd thrown them) "but I suppose I still have enough to share."

He waved a hand. "I'm still high on whatever the fuck they put me on. Rather not mix alcohol with that, not eager to projectile vomit today."

She snorted slightly and gave a small lift of her shoulders. "Guess I'm glad I opted out, then. I'm on my way to getting thoroughly plastered." She gave him a curious look, then sighed - she was tipsy enough to be blunt, at the moment. "Why're you here, then?"

He shrugged. "Make sure you were alive and mostly upright," he provided. "if I was going to have to replace you I wanted to know sooner rather than later."

"That was hardly enough to kill me, Moran," Lorna huffed, a little offended. "Give me this week to heal, sort through any lingering terror, I'll be fine. I _have_ been hurt before."

"Mhm," he said, sighing and closing his eyes as he leaned back into the couch. After a few minutes he muttered "You did good in there, Harrison."

"Thanks," she sighed, her voice quiet. The praise meant a lot, both personally and professionally. "For what it's worth.. I'm glad you're not dead."

It was his turn to be mildly insulted. "Been through worse scrapes than that, believe me," he snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Take the sentiment and shut up, arsehole," she muttered, pushing some crumpled newspapers out of the way and sitting back against the couch.

"That boomeranged quickly," he muttered with a smirk, nudging her very lightly with his leg, careful as they were both sore.

"Sorry," she mumbled, setting down the scotch with a mild look of distaste directed towards it. "I'm a little defensive right now. It's hard to just.. let things go, at the moment."

He nodded a bit. "How's your headspace?" he asked quietly. He wasn't sure why he was asking. He supposed he needed to know how his workers were mentally as well as physically... that made sense.

She didn't answer for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek, which was already sore from abuse. "It's.. in worse shape than this flat, to be honest," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's not good."

He nodded just a little bit. "I picked that up. Want to tell me what's going on in there?"

Lorna gave a helpless shrug, shaking her head. "I don't fucking know. I'm scared it'll happen again. I keep seeing people here and wondering if they're moles. I keep- I keep feeling _bugs_ on me that aren't real," she gritted out, taking in a deep breath. She looked like she was going to throw up. "I know I'll have nightmares. I always do, after something like this. Last night they drugged me and I was okay, but tonight..." she shook her head again, then looked down at her feet, swallowing hard. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. We all get screwed up, it's part of the job," he sighed, his leg shifting, resting against her arm now, just a little. He closed his eyes, thinking. He could feel it too, sometimes. There had been a time, this morning, when he was waking up but the drugs held him under, and he could feel the damn things skittering over him again. He was trapped for a long time, awake but with eyes closed, unable to move, before the drug wore off enough to release him. That was right about when he'd started threatening creative types of murder. He thought for a few minutes. "This place is a disaster, glass fucking everywhere. If you're going to get drunk you aren't staying here, I don't need you anymore perforated. My couch pulls out. You're staying there. Come on."

She made a noise of protest, looking embarrassed. "No, no, you don't- my nightmares- I get loud, Moran, you don't want that."

He laughed. "You think you can wake me up? Hell no. Come on. I've slept through bombings." Not technically true, but he wasn't leaving her here to die of alcohol poisoning and a slit artery on some of the damn glass. He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, considered her, then snatched the bottle of scotch out of her hand, walking towards the door, holding the scotch out to the side. "Come and get it if you want it," he said with a shrug.

"You're a strange man, Moran," she groaned, standing and following with a clink of broken glass. God, he was unpredictable.

"I'm high, don't blame me," he muttered, opening the door and crossing the hall into his own, much cleaner, apartment. "You throw a breaking-things fit in here I will kill you myself," he muttered, passing her the scotch once she entered.

"Your sparse possessions are safe, don't worry about it," she rolled her eyes, sipping her returned liquor. "This place looks unlived in."

He shrugged. "Don't need much," he retorted, walking over to sit on his own couch with a grunt, indicating the opposite end. "There. Crash, get drunk. When you want to sleep we'll pull the thing out."

She sat where he gestured to, curling up and making herself small. She didn't want to take up space here. "You called me shrimp again when you were out of it."

He glanced over at her, shrugged. "I don't remember that. Didn't mean to."

She chuckled slightly. "No, I know. Do you remember what happened to Holmes? I kinda proud of that."

He shook his head a little. "Don't remember much after he brought out the iron, really. It's all a blur. What happened?"

"I maced him with Lysol and left him with a hand against the wall and a knife through both. Hopefully I gave him nerve damage," she muttered, looking vengeful. "I should have killed him."

He chuckled a little, then sighed, nodding. "Probably, yeah... though doing so might have launched a very careful investigation. Holmes would have been in posthumous hot water, but our DNA was all over that place. We'd have been in the system."

She made a slightly comforted sound. "I suppose you're right. It'd be a shame to go this long being outside it to mess up now."

He nodded just slightly. "You did well, Harrison. Just concentrate on getting your feet back under you."

"Okay," she murmured, looking at the bottle of scotch in her hand for a long moment before setting it aside. "I shouldn't keep drinking right now. I'll probably only get worse. And, no offense, but I don't really want you to see me cry."

He smirked. "I wasn't going to police you, but it isn't a fantastic idea to keep drinking, no."

"You're actually pleasant when you're high, you know that?" She chuckled, raising her eyebrows at him. "It's ridiculous."

He shrugged. "Just trying to make sure I don't lose a decent agent to the rubber room. Wouldn't be the first time it's happened." He reached up to rub at his eyes a bit.

"That doesn't surprise me," she sighed, brushing hair out of her face. This work wasn't exactly conducive to mental health.

"Mmm..." he grunted, nodding and reaching for the remote, flicking the television on on low volume and starting to surf channels looking for anything decent.

"Jim said you might be right, yesterday. I don't know what you said to him, but I have the feeling it helped me not get my ass whooped," she murmured, just loud enough to be heard.

He glanced over at her for just a second, then returned his attention to the telly. "Under what circumstances was this comment made?"

She paused a moment. "Erm. He tried to blame me for your condition. I politely reminded him that I have no part in the planning process and that I could have totally left you there."

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. "I told him you had potential. He was testing the waters, seeing if you had the balls and brains to politely indicate that he might be misinterpreting the situation."

She blew out a long breath, raising her eyebrows. "I have the boss testing me now instead of just little old you? Jesus Christ."

He shrugged. "He was probably bored, and it was a good opportunity. You're moving up in the world, Harrison, whether you like it or not." He chuckled quietly.

"It's a little disconcerting," she remarked, finally unfolding herself and relaxing into the couch a little. "Even without my fragile state."

"'Fragile state'," he snorted. "Didn't you object to the word 'fragile' not that long ago? Don't let yourself get into a pity pit, Harrison. Not worth it."

"I destroyed half my apartment. Fragile is better than crazy." She sighed, shifting a little uncomfortably. The pain meds were wearing off.

He nodded just a bit. "Fair enough." He glanced over at her as she shifted, noticing her wince. "They give you anything to take?"

"No," Lorna grimaced slightly, "I didn't want anything. I'm not a person to give pills to. I think being an alcoholic and a bit of a smoker is enough for the moment, don't you?"

"Touche," he said, shrugging and standing with a grimace. "You want some of mine for the time being, till the sting wears off? You can't get to them if they're in my apartment, and it'll help take the edge off."

She shook her head, frowning down at her hands. "No. No, thank you." It wasn't that she thought she could get into his flat, it was that it would be so easy to get them somewhere else. The edge was safer than that risk.

He nodded, respecting that for what it was, and getting a couple glasses of juice, coming back and handing her one as he sat down.

She looked skeptically at the colorful liquid, sniffing it suspiciously. "The last time I had juice without vodka in it was years ago. What else have you got in your fridge, popsicles?"

"Look, it's usually for mixing, but seeing as we're both off the booze for the time being, I figure we might as well have something to drink, yeah?" He rolled his eyes, taking a sip.

She snickered, taking a drink and swishing it around her mouth to get the scotch flavor out before she swallowed. "Never took you for a cocktail kind of bloke. Although, you're not really one to hold out for stereotypes of any sort."

He shrugged. "Sometimes I like it straight, sometimes I enjoy a bit more flavor. Nothing wrong with enjoying your tastes."

"No," she hummed thoughtfully, "I figure that if you're going to work in crime there's really no reason to get judgmental about little things. Just not worth it."

He laughed. "Generous of you," he said, taking a long sip of his drink, thirsty.

"Generous would be donating to charity. Buying my crazy mother a better flat. You're just referring to not giving a shit," she snorted, finishing off the juice quickly and setting the glass by her scotch.

He shrugged. "Tomato tomahto." He glanced over at her. "So, bored now, what do you want to do?"

She huffed. "I want to beat the living hell out of that accountant, but he's gone. I checked. No one's seen him in days."

"Probably our leak then. Don't worry about it too much. We'll get our chance. Moriarty doesn't let leaks go."

She nodded. She wanted nothing more than to express her displeasure to the mole over the amount of information he'd collected on her.

"I'll make sure you're around to help," he added, returning his attention to the news, interested to see if there was any news on the government official's injured hand.

"Thanks," she murmured, resting her head on the arm of the couch and closing her eyes. She just wanted to stop thinking for a little while.

He watched for a bit, but when it became clear that nothing interesting was coming on, he shut the thing off, standing. "Alright, up you get," he said, heading for the linen closet to grab sheets.

She reluctantly got up, not keen on moving, then sighed and bent to start taking off the cushions and to pull out the bed. "This is a pretty lame sleepover, Moran. Didn't even get my hair braided."

"Your survival and sanity were more the focus, not your entertainment," he said sarcastically, walking back over and helping to pull the bed out, before starting to put the sheets in place.

She chuckled, stepping back to get out of his way as he made the bed. She didn't need sheets to sleep, but she wasn't going to reject the offer. Then she sighed, growing more serious. "If I wake you up with the noise, don't worry. I'll be fine."

He shrugged. "I said you wouldn't wake me up," he pointed out, walking back to the closet to grab a thicker blanket and tossing it onto the bed, along with a spare pillow. "There. Get some sleep, don't break anything. Remote's there if you want to watch something. I'm going to go pass out."

"Okay," she murmured, drumming her fingers against her thigh. Nervous about sleep. What was she, six?

He waved absently, heading for his room. He should probably change, but he didn't have the energy, so he just lay down in the shorts and tee shirt he'd changed into at the infirmary and closed his eyes. He was asleep in moments.

When she finally crawled into bed, shedding her jeans first - which smelled like alcohol - it was surprisingly easy to go to sleep. She was still healing, after all, and she had a good dose of scotch in her system. But it wasn't long before she started dreaming. She dreamed of being dunked into a tank full of the flesh-eating beetles, kicking and screaming and trying to drag herself out only to burn her hands on the edge of the tank. When she woke up with a shout, sitting straight up in the dark, she could still feel them crawling over her.

He had lied about being a deep sleeper.

A deep sleeper didn't last long in his profession. They died as soon as they took a nap.  
He woke at the first signs of her nightmare, his hand closing around handle of the knife under his pillow, but he knew who it was and relaxed, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes, sighing slightly. He glanced at the clock. They'd barely been asleep an hour. If he wanted any sleep tonight, things were likely going to have to change. He debated for a few moments, before standing and walking into his living room.

She'd kicked off the sheets a few seconds after realizing she was awake, feeling constricted along with the fact they were damp with sweaty, and was still trying to catch her breath and get her heart rate under control when she saw his form enter the room. "I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I- I should really just sleep in my own flat."

He mumbled something that was lost in the general haze of tiredness, walking over to scoop her up without comment (and ignoring the protest from his arms) and heading back to his room. He set her down on the bed, climbed in, and opened his arms. "Come on," he muttered. "I want to sleep."

She stammered some argument before she realized that there was no way she'd get a second of decent sleep without complying, then fell silent and crawled into his arms, her erratic pulse finally beginning to settle. He pulled the blanket up, flopped his arms over her, and was out again within moments, his chest rising and falling slowly with his breaths. When she fell asleep again, it was with a lot more ease than before. This time her nightmares were all interrupted before they got bad enough to wake her.

He woke up to a warm, heavy lump in his arms, and sighed slightly. Lorna. Right. Man, he had very much been out of it last night... He disentangled himself carefully and stood with a wince but no actual noise, making his way to the bathroom. Lorna shifted as he left the bed, taking over the warm spot left behind by him before she realized where she was and was yanked rudely out of her sleep. He probably wouldn't like her here. She immediately slid out of the bed, hissing as she aggravated her injuries, and braced herself against the wall as her balance wavered. Okay. Maybe moving quickly was a bad idea.

He heard the creak of the mattress and the thud of her hand hitting the wall, and rolled his eyes, heading out and into the kitchen to make coffee. "Take it easy."

She took a deep breath, following him stiffly and pausing in the living room - she felt like one gigantic scab. Every time she moved she felt like something was cracking open. "Sorry about last night," she called into the kitchen, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked at the mess she'd made of the covers on the pull-out. The sheets were pulled up from two corners.

He shrugged. "I didn't complain," he called from where he was making coffee. "Did I?"

"No," she admitted, suddenly very aware that she wasn't wearing any trousers, and began looking around for where she'd kicked them off. "I just... assumed, I suppose."

"You're a slow learner. Haven't you picked up by now that I'm unpredictable?" he smirked, walking over and handing her a cup of coffee.

She took the coffee one-handed, the other hand clutching her inside-out jeans. "I knew you were unpredictable, I just.. thought you were a little _less_ unpredictable," she shrugged, a small smile finally creeping onto her face.

"Got to keep you on your toes," he deadpanned, taking a slow sip of bitter coffee.

She rolled her eyes, taking a swig of her warm beverage and tucking her jeans under her arm. Struggling into them in front of him would be more embarrassing than what they were currently doing, so there was no need to do that. She sighed. "I should probably clean my flat today, huh," she muttered, looking towards the door reluctantly. Not that she wanted to. "I don't know why people let me have things."

He shrugged. "I don't care if you do, but you're not crashing here again." He walked over to sit at the table.

She smirked into her coffee. There was the Moran she expected. Of course, that meant in 24 hours she was going to be a sleep-deprived zombie, but she'd make do. "Thanks for last night, anyway."

He snorted slightly. "I wanted sleep. The logical conclusion was to get you sleeping."

She sighed quietly, looking down at her coffee with dissatisfaction. He didn't really get it. It was rare that anyone ever looked out for her, even if it was just so they didn't have to go through the trouble of replacing her. She finished off the rest of her coffee with a slight grimace at the overpowering flavor and took a few steps forward to set the mug on the table. "I should go."

"Probably. You do have a fair bit of cleaning to do," he said, smiling just a little. "And who knows what Jim will have for us to do."

"Ugh. Please don't remind me I'm on call," she muttered, bending to pick up her scotch from the floor and then walking out. "Bye, Moran."

"Bye," he called, walking to shut the door behind her, before letting out a soft groan and walking over to collapse onto the couch.

Lorna stepped into her own flat and shut the door with her foot, looking in distaste at her flat. It smelled like liquor, she'd ruined several books, and there was glass _everywhere._ She took a deep breath, then let it all out. Time she got to work.

He fell asleep on the couch again, and woke up groggily a few hours to the ping of the intercom. "Moran, head up to my office, we need to talk before you head to medical."

He shifted painfully, stiff, and reached out to press the intercom. "On my way, sir. I'll be there in ten minutes." He stood, heading for his room to get dressed.

Jim waited patiently in his office, for once relaxing on the leather couch he had tucked into the corner, a newspaper in front of him. There _were_ times he needed a break. Of course, they only rolled around once in four months, but that was a weakness he'd long accepted.

Sebastian managed to work his way into his uniform, and headed for the elevator, taking it up and knocking on his boss's door crisply, preparing himself to move without stiffness or signs of pain.

"It's open," Jim called leisurely, a conscious effort to avoid winding himself up. One day in four months where he stopped constantly inventing new ways to kill people. Why else did he have so many employees, after all?

He pushed the door open, immediately noting the empty desk and turning to the couch. "Break day, sir?"

"Yes," Jim nodded, folding up his newspaper and placing it on the coffee table in front of him with a calm demeanor, looking up at Sebastian thoughtfully. "I had a cinnamon bun for breakfast, and I plan on ordering pizza tonight. Tomorrow I'll feel _quite_ silly," he snorted, then gestured slightly to the armchair across from him. "Sit. You're a mess."

He didn't argue, lowering himself into the chair as casually as possible, though his body ached. "So, no offense, sir, but if you're on break, why am I here?"

"On average, you have one day a year where you have a true break," Jim sighed, folding his hands together and leaning forward to rest them on his knees. "So take one tomorrow. I'll assume your duties for the day. Heal. For me."

He considered him for a few moments. "God, are you having me killed?" he asked calmly after a moment. "This whole thing was a disaster, yes, but consider the paperwork."

Jim drew back, looking mildly offended. "What? Sebastian, be _serious,"_ he scoffed, laughing incredulously. "I don't plot _anyone's_ death on my breaks, you know that. I don't touch business on these days. If you don't want the day off, I'll have you do something mind-numbingly dull. Consider _that_ a threat."

He raised his hands."Fine, I'll take the day. Though I'd rather you give it to me on a day where I can go fuck someone. Like this I'm mostly useless." He smirked slightly.

Jim rolled his eyes, snorting quietly. "Oh, I'm sure you'll manage to fuck someone anyway," he said casually, leaning forward to pick up his newspaper again. He shook it out with a loud crinkle of paper, signaling that the conversation was over. "Or was I wrong in my assessment that you liked a little pain?"

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Glad to hear you were assessing, sir. Certainly keeps things interesting."

He raised the newspaper slightly, covering up his face. He couldn't trust it to stay blank like he wanted. What was it about that damned Cinnabon that'd made him so personal? He wasn't a teenager, for Chris'sakes. "Mmhmm. Now go.. do something. Else. _Not_ here."

He wasn't going to argue with a direct order, though he was extremely amused by his boss hiding behind the newspaper. "Yessir," he said, pushing himself to his feet silently and heading for the door.

As soon as Sebastian was out the door Jim relaxed, huffing out a breath. He'd assess his strange reaction to Moran tomorrow. It wasn't something to do on break.

He headed back towards the elevator at a slow pace, sighing slightly as he reached it. Time to head in to medical. But he paused for a moment, before punching in the button for his apartment floor. Might as well stop and get Harrison along the way.

Harrison had just finished cleaning her living room. In the process, she'd accumulated a nice collection of small nicks and scratches from surprise shards of glass hidden in other bits of debris. It didn't really concern her; she just washed each one out, made herself a cup of tea, and flopped down onto her couch.

He knocked on the door briskly. "Harrison, you been down to medical yet?"

"No," she returned, already sounding resigned. Her tea would have to wait. She set it aside and then headed for the door, slipping out and looking up at him. "I assume you're here to drag me down there."

"I don't think dragging sounds pleasant for either of us, I would prefer you walk," he said evenly, heading for the elevator again.

She snorted, following him carefully - movement still hurt, and it would be a little while before the red tracks disappeared from her skin. Yet another reason why she didn't think she'd get a job this week. "Malcolm called earlier. Said that cleanup had the car scrapped. I thought you'd like to know."

He nodded, looking at her as they got into the elevator. "Good. Any other loose ends you can think of?"

"Well, they got our phones, but unless they gave them to an expert I don't think they got them unlocked before we had them shut down. Other than that and a few CCTV's I had to fuck up, I think we're okay," Lorna sighed, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

He nodded, sighing and reaching up to rub at his eyes. "You shouldn't have had to deal with all of that, but you did well," he muttered as the elevator dropped towards the correct floor.

She shrugged slightly, stepping out of the elevator as it opened with a ding. "I didn't think it had to reach you. It's alright, I was in another network's cleanup when I was nineteen, I learned all the tricks."

He nodded just slightly in approval, heading for medical at his stiff, slow pace.

Lorna kept up with him easily - he was in worse shape than her, after all. His eye was looking better, but he was probably still suffering from the iron. She slipped her hands into her pockets as they entered medical, hiding her cut-up hands. She didn't want the scolding look she'd get from the doctor.

A nurse came over, eyeing them both up. "Right. Mr. Moran, with me, if you would. Ms. Harrison, into room one, right there."

She shuffled into the indicated room with a lazy wave towards Moran. _Yay, doctors._

* * *

An hour later they'd given him a full exam and changed the bandages over the worse bits. He had some cracks in his ribs, but they were minor and there wasn't much they could do about it, so they just told him to take more meds. He didn't argue, just nodded and headed out to see if Harrison was still around.

She was waiting for him by the exit, her fingers taped up and her abdomen feeling constricted from the new bandages. "They told me you'd be out in a few minutes. Thought I'd wait," she said as she saw him, picking at the linen on her hands.

He nodded slightly, finishing the last few buttons of his shirt as he walked. "Appreciated. I take it they say you're alive and well?"

"Alive, maybe not well," Lorna snorted, turning to walk with him. "They took blood while I was out and I just spent ten minutes getting scolded for my drinking habits. Whatever. I'm fine. You?"

He shrugged. "Some cracked ribs they're keeping an eye on. Mostly just trying to keep me from getting infected, same as you."

"Yeah, both of our values would decrease significantly if we lost an arm," she nodded, heading back for the elevator. Honestly, she was still paranoid about the marks the beetles had left. They weren't exactly hard to see, and if they interfered with her job...

He looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "What's eating you?"

She pursed her lips, jabbing at the elevator button to stall a little before she answered. "Job security, I suppose."

"In what way?" he asked as the elevator started upwards again.

"My job requires a certain.. level of attractiveness, you could say," she replied tersely, pulling her collar to the side to reveal the worst of the tracks. She couldn't help being defensive - she was horrified and embarrassed and worried that the loss of her job would end in her eventual death. "If these scar, my major advantage will disappear. Call me vain, I don't care, but I know where my value lies."

He nods just a little. "You have a lot of value as a grifter, well beyond attractiveness. Scarring can be dealt with."

She made a sound of discontent, reaching up to rub her forehead. The physical reminder of being strapped to that table tattooing itself to her skin for any amount of time made her feel sick. She immediately stepped out of the elevator just as it opened, heading for her apartment with her key already in hand. "I'll be drinking if you need me."

He nodded just a little. "I owe you dinner," he pointed out as he waited for the thumb scanner to recognize his print.

She glanced back at him as she opened up her apartment door. "And when you want to pay up, you'll know where I'll be. Yeah?"

"You up for it tonight? Or want to wait on that?" he asked, opening his own door.

She considered it a moment while standing in the threshold before giving a small nod. "Tonight is fine. Let me throw on a jumper so I don't look like a science experiment."

He nodded, smirking just slightly. "Sounds good. Just knock when you're ready."

"Alright. Don't make yourself comfortable," she hummed, stepping into her flat and closing the door behind her. When she reemerged two minutes later, she'd managed to brush her hair, completely change her outfit into something that bared almost no skin, and had slipped a newly-filled flask of whiskey into her boot, just in case. She knocked on his door, resting her shoulder against the door frame.

He opened the door a few moments later, nodding at her. "Ready to go, I take it?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," she shrugged, stepping back. "Usually when bosses want to buy you dinner they just give you a giftcard."

He shrugged. "To be honest? With things the way you are, I'd rather you not be out on your own. If you'd rather the giftcard I could do that."

Lorna shook her head, not at all eager to revisit the experience she was still sweating about. And, if she was being honest, dinner with Sebastian wasn't exactly a hardship. "No. C'mon, let's get something really bad for us."

That managed to get a grin out of him. "What did you have in mind?" he asked, heading for the elevator.

She smirked, shrugging slightly. "I don't know, I have a lot of things in mind. Something fried, maybe. I mean, yeah, normally I'd take advantage of this with something outrageously fancy, but I'm not in the mood."

He nodded. "I know a good fish and chips place down by the docks. Interested?"

"That sounds fantastic," she agreed cheerfully, stepping into the lift with a slight spring to her step. She didn't get out often enough, and she really did love the city. Even the grimier parts.

"Brilliant," he said, grinning. "What say we take a fun car, for the hell of it?"

"If you promise not to crash, I promise not to shriek in terror," she quipped good-naturedly, drumming her fingers impatiently on her thigh as the elevator made its descent into the garage.

"I'll work on that," he grinned, walking over to Malcolm's station and peering in, chatting. A few moments later he returned jangling the keys for the Charger. "Come on."

"Did you threaten him or offer an incentive?" she smirked, raising her eyebrows as they reached the car. Even she could appreciate it.

"I'm in charge of staff, Harrison. It has a few advantages," he smirked.

"You're not lying," she snorted, pulling open the door as he unlocked it and climbing into the rich interior. "How long is the drive to your fish and chips place, anyway?"

He shrugged. "Depends on traffic. Fifteen, twenty minutes." He climbed in, starting the car, which came to life with a rich purr.

She nodded, buckling her seat belt as the engine started up. Better safe than sorry, with Sebastian at the wheel.

He buckled in as well, before revving the engine and heading out of the garage with a grin.

She'd been right to buckle up. Driving with Moran was... an experience. She was surprised nobody had run him off the road in a fit of rage years before. When they pulled into public parking by the docks, she still had one elbow braced against the door and a hand holding on tightly to the seat.

He glanced over at her, and laughed. "Nothing like a bit of adrenaline before dinner," he grinned, turning off the engine and climbing out.

"That's a real fancy word you've got for 'fear', Moran," Lorna joked as she got out to follow him, pulling down her jumper sleeves to cover her hands. Not something she would risk if someone as dangerous as Moran wasn't around.

"All the things we do, and that's what managed to scare you?" he asked with a laugh, heading along the docks towards the restaurant.

She smirked, shrugging slightly as she walked alongside him. She had the feeling that she'd been along this stretch before. "I have mundane fears. I can't protect myself from a car crash, can I?"

He shrugged. "Maybe you should trust me not to crash," he teased.

"Trust," Lorna scoffed, highly amused, "Moran, have you ever trusted a single person in your life?"

"Not one," he said, smirking as he walked a bit stiffly down the road. "It's down that road there."

"Oh. I've been here," she murmured distractedly, frowning slightly. She'd been here quite a lot, actually. Had met Ryan here. Had been high out of her _mind_ here. "Good fish."

He nodded slightly. "I don't tend to like fish and chips much elsewhere."

"No, I understand why," she said quietly, shaking her head slightly and forcing a smile onto her face. Better that he didn't know the extent of the history she had here. "Do they still have those benches by the water?"

"Think they do, yeah. Don't see any reason they wouldn't. Benches tend to be rather stationary," he said, turning down the street and heading for the restaurant.

She rolled her eyes, kicking at a loose bit of gravel and watching it skitter away in front of her. She expected his sarcasm, yes, but while in public she felt she could react a little more freely to them. Safety in numbers.

He laughed at her obvious distaste. "Sorry, did I offend you?" he asked patronizingly.

"I'm not _offended,_ I'm just taking the opportunity to respond to your sarcasm as a normal person in a normal environment. The opportunity doesn't arise often enough," she smirked, glancing over at him as they reached the restaurant. She fought back against the revulsion she felt for going inside, for revisiting those memories, then tapped her fingers against her thigh, considering. "I'll just wait out here, hm?"

He raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "I take it you want the fish and chips? Anything to drink?"

She tapped her ankle with her other foot, the dull sound of the flask being hit rising up from them. "No, thanks, I've got that covered. And yeah, fish and chips would be great."

He rolled his eyes but nodded, heading inside. He returned a few minutes later with two orders of fish in chips wrapped in newspaper, and a beer for himself. "Right. Benches."

She pointed towards the Thames, already beginning to lead him over. "Right this way, Mr. Moran. I'll carry that," she added, reaching to take one of the bundles from him, partially just so he didn't look so silly.

"Thanks," he said appreciatively. "I pocketed a bottle of malt vinegar, so there's that, too, if you want some."

"That'd be lovely," she nodded, sitting down with the pained grunt of a woman much older than herself and unwrapping her meal, glancing out over the river. "It's a nice night."

"It is," he said in agreement, sitting next to her with a similar grunt and peeling back his own newspaper, pulling the bottle of vinegar out of his pocket and applying it generously before handing it over to her.

She did the same as he and then set it down between them before starting into her meal with vigor, despite the fact that she was getting vinegar all over her fingers. Messiness wasn't her concern at the moment. The scenery was. "This is where I met the man who got me into the grifting business," she said suddenly, setting down a half-eaten chip. "Before I came here I was just a drug mule. Strange."

He raised an eyebrow at the sudden offering of information, but didn't object. "I didn't know that was here."

"No, you couldn't have. Wouldn't be in any files of mine. It's not significant to anybody but me, really," Lorna shrugged, reaching one-handed for the flask in her boot and awkwardly unscrewing it before she took a swig.

He took a sip of his beer. "Doesn't say why he tracked you down, either. What's the story there? Why convert a drug mule, no offense."

She shook her head, swallowing a mouthful of food before she could respond. "That's just it. He didn't track me down. It was a coincidence. He bought me a drink inside, just started up a conversation with me. When we started dating he didn't even know what I did for a living. Three months in, I slipped up, he found out," she gave a slight shrug, looking amused and a little rueful. "When I first met him he sold insurance over the phone. Seven months later and he'd forced his way into the network and had a business of his own. Thought being a drug mule didn't suit me. So he insisted I change professions. It helped that he'd hooked me on heroin a month earlier and now controlled my supply, of course."

He nodded slightly in understanding. "Well, there are worse ways that could have ended." He broke off a piece of fish, eating it with a content sigh.

"I suppose you're right," she agreed softly, returning to eating for a few minutes. "Hooking your girlfriend on opiates is a pretty dick move, though."

"For once, I completely agree with you," he said, nodding slightly. "Did he get off on the control or something?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, taking a drink. "He didn't like me fighting back, either. So he took away my will. Smart. Just... dick-ish."

"Very." He reached for the vinegar, adding more to the chips towards the bottom. "Well, you smartened up."

Harrison snorted, smirking slightly and setting her mostly done basket to the side. She didn't need to eat that much. "That's debatable."

He smirked. "True. You going to finish those chips?"

"Nah. Have at them," she murmured, leaning back into the bench and sipping from her flask.

He took the rest, dumping them in with his own, taking another swig of beer before setting into them.

"After this I'll just.. walk around for a bit. Avoid your crazy driving on the way home. Maybe try to get laid. I don't know. I don't feel like going home," she murmured, screwing the cap back onto her flask and shoving it into her boot again. Anything to avoid the nightmares for as long as possible.

He nodded, tossing the vinegar-soaked papers in a nearby bin. "Just make sure you stay alert. Don't get grabbed again."

She smirked, standing up. "Not _that_ kind of grabbing, definitely. I'll probably be back in the morning. If I'm not, I've either been kidnapped or I tripped in front of a bus."

He rolled his eyes, standing as well. "Make sure you didn't just oversleep, or I will be pissed."

"I never oversleep in beds with strange men. Call it a perk of the job," she snorted, turning and beginning to walk away. "If you need me you have my number."

He nodded, heading in the opposite direction towards his car. "Don't die, that would be very inconvenient."

She just laughed, shaking her head as she disappeared between a few buildings. She would have gone home with him, but the fact was that he probably didn't want to deal with her when she was in this sort of mood.

He climbed into the spider, starting it up and heading off back towards headquarters, but part of him was nagging at him that an agent shouldn't be alone in the field, on duty or not. And with Holmes back in business, London was certainly 'the field'. He sighed, and by the time he got back to headquarters he'd already decided. He switched cars to something fairly nondescript with dark windows, and hit the road again, heading back towards the docks to start scanning the area for his agent. He'd keep an eye on her from a distance. She'd never know he was there.

* * *

Playlist: Paramore - I'm Not Angry Anymore


	9. The Gang's All Fucked Up

TW for attempted sexual assault in this chapter

* * *

It was at the third bar Lorna hit that she noticed the car. Hadn't she seen that one a few blocks down? She decided to be a little concerned about it; if it was Mycroft, she'd regret not being cautious. That didn't stop her from drinking a man's wallet dry once inside, of course. When she'd shook him off - her standards were a little higher than that for actually having _fun -_ she went out the back door and cut through the alley, for caution's sake. And immediately turned around. Three rather addled-looking men were laughing a few meters away in the shadows, and that was a risk that she wasn't armed enough to deal with. When she emerged back out on the street, she looked disgruntled and a little bit drunk. Time to hit the next bar. Maybe there'd be someone worth her time.

He saw her make the car, and knew that it was time to switch tactics. He parked a few blocks away from the next bar she stopped at, and proceeded on foot across rooftops, scope case over his shoulder. Once in place he pulled it out, hidden in the shadows of the roofs, watching her as best he could through the place's windows.

It really took a lot of whiskey to get her to the point where she'd kiss a random stranger in a bar during time that _wasn't_ working hours, but then, this was not her first batch of drinks for the night, and ordering nothing but hard liquor got a person wasted fairly quickly. Still, even through her drunk haze she was disappointed. The bloke had _no_ inherent talent, and it seemed as if he hadn't gotten in a day of practice in his life. Without bothering to explain herself she simply pushed him away and walked out, collapsing onto a bench in the front and leaning her head back against the wall. She had no idea what to do with herself. This wasn't _working._

He watched her walk out, but she wasn't the only one. His eyes narrowed as the man she'd spurned began to look angry, and, after ordering another drink, headed outside after Lorna.

By that point, Sebastian was long gone from the roof.

She yelled as the man from inside grabbed onto her collar, pulling her to her feet. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" she snarled, although a lot of the effect was probably lost in her flushed cheeks and her slowed reaction time.

"Getting what I _deserve,_ bitch," he snapped, slamming her back into the wall over the bench, leaving her legs pinned uncomfortably between his and the wood. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, she couldn't reach her knife like this. Someone would come along, though, right? They were in the middle of the street!

* * *

He was walking as quickly as his injuries allowed, gun in hand. He'd run back to the nearest fire escape and practically jumped down, and was backtracking towards where he'd last seen Lorna.

* * *

The man pushed her higher up the wall, leaning forward to kiss her roughly, unknowing and uncaring of the still-healing injuries he was scraping against the wall.

She gasped at the sharp pain lancing through her back, biting down hard on his lip in vengeful retaliation until she tasted blood. He screamed a swear, his hands only pushing into her harder, amplifying the pain she was already feeling, although at least he'd stopped kissing her for the moment. Her victory didn't last long; he reached up to grip onto a handful of her long dark hair, spitting derogatives at her as he yanked her harshly into the alley next to the bar.

* * *

He turned the corner, the bar a hundred yards or so down the road, just in time to see two figures disappearing into an alley, one clearly not willing to go. He cursed under his breath but moved into a jog, then a run, gritting his teeth as he felt scabs splitting open. His grip on his gun tightened.

* * *

The man slammed her up against the wall, paying little heed to her head as it hit with the same force as the rest of her body, and using her momentary stunned stillness to start ripping at her shirt.

For an agonizing, confusing moment all she saw was blackness, then she was aware of her surroundings again, letting out an angry grunt as she brought her foot down as hard as she could on his instep - and that was it for her shirt. She wouldn't waste the opportunity, though - while he was hobbled and clutching her ruined shirt she made a limping break for the street.

He forgot about his foot, alcohol dulling the pain, and started after her with a snarl-

Three soft pops, and he stumbled back, three clean, reddening holes in his shirt. Sebastian lowered his gun, screwing off the silencer and shoving both into his pocket, before slipping out of his jacket and putting it around Lorna's shoulders. "Let's go. We need to get out of here. The car's not far."

She didn't have the mental capacity to question Sebastian's sudden appearance; she was too filled up with a roiling mix of fear, anger, and desperation. She just nodded, slipping into the jacket properly as she walked stiffly beside him. She could feel blood on her back, but she didn't feel any pain at the moment. Bad sign. "I'm going into shock," she managed quietly, spotting the car she'd seen earlier. Oh.

"I don't doubt that," he said, watching her carefully but being careful not to touch her right now. He pulled open her door, motioning for her to get inside. "Strap in, then put your feet up on the dash. I'll get the heat going," he said calmly.

Lorna did as he said, focusing for the moment on just following the simple directions. Just listening to him and processing what came out of his mouth took longer than it should have. When she was properly in the car she took a halting, shuddering breath, the flush that had been in her face completely gone, leaving her an ashen gray.

He closed the door behind her, walking around quickly and starting the car, immediately jacking the heat all the way up and pulling onto the road. "Alright, Lorna, just keep talking to me, alright? How many have you had, do you know?"

"I... I don't know," she shook her head slightly, looking down at her hands. They were shaking violently. "I just... lost track.. I guess." She was freezing cold. The heat blowing across her face was a relief.

"Okay, that's fine," he said, depressing the accelerator further, though he tried to ease off on the corners so as not to toss her around. "Why don't you tell me what happened the last time you talked to your mum? How is she? How's she doing?"

"She- she berated me for not visiting more often," she got out, her breath hitching slightly. That had really just happened. If he hadn't been there... She didn't even have the thought to hide the sudden tears that spilled over her cheeks, raising a hand to muffle a ragged sob.

"Hey, alright, well, tell you what. I have the day off tomorrow, how about I take you to go visit her?" he said, trying to keep her focus on something else. "What's your mum like? Would she think you having a bodyguard is funny?"

"I can't- I can't see her like this," she shook her head, trying to wipe tears from her cheeks in vain. " _She_ can't see me like this- it'll wreck her. I can't." Lorna shook her head again, reaching to the dash and fumbling to turn off the heat. She was burning, now.

"Okay, take it easy," he said, reaching to turn the heat back up to medium. "We don't have to, that's fine. You said she does work like us, right? What does she do?" He took a hard turn for headquarters.

She took a deep breath before answering, folding her shaking hands together. "N-no. No. My stepfather did, she just... runs numbers. I think..." she trailed off, sniffling and attempting to dry her eyes with the jacket sleeve. She didn't want anyone in HQ to see her like this.

"Okay, well, that's something," he said, finally pulling into the garage. "Let's get you to medical, okay?" he said, getting out of the car and walking around to pull her door open.

She managed to get out without tripping, an amazing feat considering she wasn't certain where exactly her feet were. "I don't want to go to medical. Just.. just take me home," she murmured, pulling his jacket tighter around her.

"That wasn't a suggestion. You're bleeding and in shock with fuck-knows how much alcohol in your system. Medical." He started walking, eyes on her carefully.

She kept pace with him, falling silent for a minute, giving them time to reach the elevator. There was no point in arguing twice, after all. Then she cleared her throat slightly, sniffling. "Don't let them put me out, please. I don't want to sleep in medical. Please."

"I'll do what I can," he said, bringing her into the elevator and punching the appropriate button. "I don't expect they'll need to."

She nodded, swallowing hard and leaning against the cool wall. It felt weird against her hand. "Thank you, Sebastian."

He looked over at her, but just nodded slightly. The elevator doors opened a few moments later, saving him from having to make a response. "Come on, let's get you patched up."

She didn't say anything after that, only shadowing him on the way to medical, mostly zoning out. Things were starting to hurt now, and if she thought too much about it it would only hurt worse.

He spoke quickly to the nurse on call, who didn't question, standing to lead Lorna into an examination room. He started to object to Sebastian following, but Sebastian gave him a long look and he ceased his objections, indicating Lorna should take a seat on the exam table. "Dr. Ferguson is on call, he'll be here in a few minutes," the nurse promised.

She nodded slightly, biting the inside of her cheek. She didn't want to have to explain any of it. What a stupid mistake she'd made. She should have kept her knife more easily accessible, should have been ready for any sort of attack. And she hadn't been. She'd let her guard down and this had happened.

"Can you remove the jacket?" the nurse asked professionally, setting his clipboard aside. "So I can take a look at the damage?"

"Yeah," she said hoarsely, forcing herself to stop clinging to the hem of the thing and slipping it off with a hiss. Yes, yes, there was definitely damage done to her. The bandages around her abdomen from earlier were stained in places with red, and her ribs and head ached fiercely.

The nurse didn't comment, walking forward to gently start removing the bandages. "Can you tell me what ha-"

"Don't," Moran said, his voice cold and commanding. "Any information you need, I can give you later. Ask her what hurts, that's all you need to do your job."

The nurse jumped slightly at Moran's sudden voice, but didn't argue." What hurts?" he asked meekly, turning back to Lorna.

She was extremely relieved that Sebastian intervened on her behalf, taking in a shallow breath before replying to the nurse. "My back, head, and ribs are the worst," she stated quietly, "The rest is minor. Just bruises, I think."

He nodded slightly, finishing unwrapping her bandages, shifting behind her to examine her back carefully. "You have a fair amount of abrasions, and have reopened quite a few of your injuries, but at first glance nothing looks too serious. The doctor will have more to say." He stepped back, picking up a cuff. "I'm going to check your blood pressure. Have you been drinking tonight?"

"Yes," she sighed, "A lot. I'm surprised you can't smell it," she added, muttering. Her defense mechanisms were kicking back in. That wasn't a terrible sign. "Look- just.. just bandage me up and I'll go home. I don't.. I don't want to be here," she shook her head. Any tact she possessed was not at home at the moment.

"I could, which is why I asked," the nurse shot back calmly. "I'm afraid I can't release you quite yet. A few of those gashes need stitches or they'll scar badly, and you'll need to be checked for a concussion. How bad is the pain in your ribs?" he pumped up the cuff and glanced at the clock.

She fought back the urge to fight with the nurse and took a deep breath, trying to assess the pain. She'd broken ribs before, and this didn't feel as bad. She didn't feel like each time she inhaled her bones were constricting around her lungs. "They're okay. Just bruising, I think."

He nodded slightly. "I promise we'll get you out of here as quickly as possible. I need to test your blood alcohol content, and then the doctor will be in, alright?" he opened a drawer and returned with a breathalyzer.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," she sighed, breathing into the little machine as instructed and then leaning back, glancing at Moran self-consciously. Enough of her faculties were back to let her know that this was terrible and that if he saw any more of her fractured mental state she'd be thrown into a rubber room.

He nodded, reading the device screen. "Point-two-three," he said, disposing of the cover and returning the machine to its drawer. "Alright. The doctor will be in shortly, just sit tight." He walked out. Sebastian watched her quietly.

"How are you holding up?"

Lorna shrugged slightly, the paper on top of the exam table rustling loudly as she shifted a little. "I'll be okay, eventually. Not the first time something like this has happened. Doesn't make it any less terrifying, though," she murmured, clearing her throat. She couldn't look at him. She felt weak, out of control. Nothing she wanted him to see.

He nodded slightly. "You're staying with me tonight," he said quietly. "You can have my bed. I need you to get a decent amount of sleep, and I don't want you choking on your own vomit if you're as intoxicated as he said."

"That's pointless," she huffed, raising a hand to rub at her eyes wearily. "I'm not going to get decent sleep. This week has been the week from hell and my sleep is going to suffer for it. You don't need that shit. Don't."

"Again, you appear to be treating my orders as if they were suggestions. I thought we'd agreed that wasn't going to happen?"

Before she could respond, the doctor came in. "Hello, Ms. Harrison. I hear you got a bit scraped up. Let's get you cleaned up and out of here, how's that sound?"

Lorna knew that continuing to argue was a terrible idea for many different reasons, so she just gave the doctor a tired smile and nodded. "Yeah, please. Thanks."

She did need stitches, but they were done quickly, and within an hour they were walking out of the medical bay, both of them in fresh bandages (Moran had reopened his fair share of wounds as well.) He headed for the elevator. "Let's get to bed."

She made a sound of acquiescence, fiddling with the hem of his jacket in her fingers as they reached the elevator. It was on their floor already. Lucky. "I'm sorry," she said quietly as they stepped into the lift, biting her lip and once again avoiding looking at him.

He looked over at her sharply, studying her. "What are you apologizing for?"

"For being so.." she made a helpless gesture with her hands, looking for a word that accurately described it. "High maintenance."

He smirked slightly, punching the elevator button. "Remind me to tell you about myself sometime. And by that, I mean I will never tell you, and you will never ask, but you should know that you're fine."

She remained silent, slightly comforted. The elevator ride seemed longer than usual, but that was probably just her warped senses; when she stepped out, she momentarily forgot which door was his and which was hers. She was exhausted, though. He was right about needing sleep.

He watched her consider the hallway in a stupor, touching her shoulder gently as he passed to guide her with him, scanning his thumb to unlock his door and opening it. "Go take a piss and crash, alright? I'll leave a tee shirt you can wear on my bed."

"Okay," she agreed softly, stepping inside. She headed for where she remembered the restroom being, leaving his jacket behind on the couch as she passed. Once she'd relieved herself she stood in the mirror. The extra damage was... unsettling.

He chose a comfortable tee, setting it on the bed, and paused for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing. He shouldn't be helping her like this. Shouldn't be sending mixed signals. Any other agent he would have shouted into the ground and then left to their own devices. She'd been stupid, gotten wasted and let her guard down. But... she was his comrade, now, it felt like. They'd been through hell together. She was struggling, and he was, too, though he would never admit it. So he helped her. He shook his head a little, heading out into the living room to pull out the couch so that he could sleep.

Eventually Lorna made her way back into his bedroom, changing into the (on her) oversized shirt and then slipping under the covers. It felt strange to be taking his bed all alone like this, especially when she could literally smell him there. She sighed, curling up and piling all the sheets she could on top of herself. Maybe the extra comfort would keep her from waking up in the middle of the night, screaming.

"Sleep on your damn side, Harrison," he called from the next room as he threw some sheets and blankets onto the bed and walked into his room to get pajamas. "How drunk are you? Should I sleep on the floor in here?"

"I'm drunk enough that I can't really reason out any of what you're saying," she muttered, burrowing further under the sheets. "I'm not going to vomit, Moran. The alcohol isn't going to be the problem, tonight."

He considered her for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. If you're dead tomorrow morning I'm going to be fucking pissed." He headed into the next room, turning off the light.

She sighed as he left, although she was relieved when the lights went off. Finally, she could fucking sleep. Well. For maybe an hour.

He changed quickly, lying down on the pull-out stiffly. At least he had tomorrow off. He shut his eyes with a sigh.

* * *

She fell asleep quickly; physically, emotionally, and mentally exhausted. Her dreams, of course, quickly became nightmarish. The white room and the near miss earlier in the evening combined. When she woke up, it had been three hours, and she was silent, only a small gasp escaping her. Next time wouldn't be so lucky. She stumbled out of Sebastian's bed with a soft grunt, carefully toeing into the living room and heading for the door. He'd be pissed in the morning, but at least he would get more than a combined five hours of sleep.

He heard a click. There were so many reasons to wake up if one heard a click. A gun cocking clicked. A door latch clicked. A switchblade clicked. He'd learned not to ignore them. His eyes opened quickly, though his breathing didn't change and his body remained still. There was a figure by the door. His hand closed around the handle of his knife, planning. He couldn't move slowly, the bed would creak, so it would have to be all in one movement. He coiled, preparing to jump-

"Lorna," he sighed a few seconds later as the light from the hall illuminated her. "I almost stabbed you. Where are you going?"

"My own flat," she whispered, hand still on the doorknob. "I'm sober enough, it's okay. I'm going to wake you up constantly otherwise and I don't want to do that. Sorry for alarming you."

He sighed, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. "I need you sleeping, Harrison. How do we achieve that?"

She shook her head, lifting a hand to rub at her eyes. "I don't know. Erase the last week. Wrap me in a straight jacket and lock me in a small room so I can feel safe again. I don't know. I really, really don't. I wish I did."

"When was the last time you slept well?" he asked, standing.

She stayed hovering in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob, torn between listening to him and leaving. "I.. Six days? Seven? Before.. all of this," she mumbled, glancing into the hall again, squinting.

He walked forward slowly, pressing his hand to the door and shutting it. "Come on, Lorna," he said quietly. "Sit."

She drummed her fingers anxiously against her thighs when she was forced to let go of the door, ducking her head in a sharp sort of nod and walking to sit carefully on the edge of the pull-out. She was so, _so_ tired. If only she didn't have such horribly vivid dreams.

He sighed, walking into the kitchen. A few moments later he returned with a glass of water, handing it to her. "Get this into your system while you're up," he murmured, pulling a chair over. "You're going to have to talk about it."

She downed half of it in one go, partially because her throat was dry beyond belief, partially because she really did not want to have this discussion. "I don't know what you expect me to say, Moran," she breathed, giving a tiny lift of her shoulders. "I don't see how that will _help."_

"It's simple," he said, voice matter-of-fact. "Those nightmares? A lot of it is your mind trying to sort through information. It's trying to process the events which occurred and how they relate to your heightened emotions, and thus those emotions are replayed and escalated. So, logically, the best way to lessen them or make them stop? Actively process the information. Think through each detail, talk through the scenario, and place it in a logical manner in its happy little box... then lock the box and stack a few anvils on top. Alright?"

Lorna sighed, biting the inside of her cheek before nodding reluctantly. She couldn't make herself look at him, though. "Where... where do I start, then."

"The nightmare that just woke you up. What was that about?" He kept his voice calm and unobtrusive.

She grimaced, her grip tightening on the glass and her jaw clenching. "I was- I was in that stupidly clean room. The white one, where Mycroft had us. But you weren't there. It was t-that _arsehole_ from the pub. Fuck, I never even got his fucking name..." she trailed off, drawing in a long breath.

He nodded just slightly, remaining quiet. "He's gone now," he reminded her quietly. "What happened in the pub? Start to finish, like you were briefing me."

"I went in already drunk. Not too bad, but... Anyways, I sat at the bar because that's usually all it takes, and this bloke comes up, starts trying to chat me up, bought me something like four glasses of scotch? He was reasonably attractive, I was bored, I started snogging him." She stopped for a moment, looking disgusted. "He was awful. Really, truly bad at it. So I left. I think you.. saw the rest."

He shook his head. "I didn't. That's when I left to get to you. Talk me through it, Lorna. It's a job, come on. Tell me about him. Analyze the hell out of him. Who was he, what did he want, what did he do? Like you're watching a movie."

"I was just outside. Just.. sitting. Should have been paying more attention. Should have heard him come out. He grabbed my collar, yanked me up, into the wall. He looked _furious._ He thought that I'd.. violated some agreement. Drinks for sex." She suddenly realized she was pulling the fabric of his t-shirt in her hand and made herself let go, curling her hand into a fist. "When I tried fighting back he pulled me into the alley. Bashed me against the wall.. hard. I heard my shirt r-rip. I stomped on his instep and tried to make a run for it."

He nodded slightly. "Which is where I came in," he said calmly. "I fired three shots, gave you my coat, and we left. Does that sound right?"

"Yes," she confirmed quietly, finishing off the water he'd given her. "Yes, that sounds right."

He nodded a little. "Alright. Anything else you can remember about him? What clothes was he wearing? Was he drunk?"

"He was drunk," she murmured, then shook her head slightly. "I don't remember anything else about him. Just his face. And his voice." She shuddered, clenching her teeth together. She knew she remembered his voice because she'd had to suffer through it in her dream.

He nodded just slightly. "Alright. What about when we were taken? Brief me."

"I've already briefed you, sir," she murmured - she'd told him about meeting Mycroft inside 221, and she'd told him about her interrogation. "Fear of torture is.. inescapable, in our line of work. It could happen again. I know I have to deal with that fact. They somehow bugged my flat and there's no way for me to feel safe anymore. Like he could somehow reach through the walls and.. _grab_ me. I thought getting drunk would- would _help_ somehow," she rambled, working herself up until she cut herself off, closing her eyes.

He sighed, trying to think. "Is that the problem, you think?" he asked after a bit. "You feel unsafe?"

"I guess," she whispered, glad that it was dark in the room. She probably looked as much of a wreck as she felt. "I don't know what to do about that."

He nodded just a little. "Where have you felt the safest over the past few days?"

She didn't respond for a moment, because the answer felt cripplingly, thoroughly embarrassing. She clear her throat, ducking her head slightly. "Here."

He didn't blink. "Then, for now, you stay here. What else makes you feel safe?"

She wasn't going to say what immediately came to mind - he was _not_ a cuddler - so she just shook her head slightly, ignoring the hair that had shifted down into her face. "...Small spaces," she eventually replied. Not a lie.

He nodded just slightly. "Alright." He stood, walking over to the thermostat and turning it down, before walking to his bed and the linen closet. He returned with a heap of blankets. "I don't have small spaces, but I have blankets. Make yourself a small space. Would that help?"

She nodded in return, reaching forward to take them from him gently. "Just the weight will," she said softly, looking sheepishly down at the pile. At least he wasn't making fun of her.

He considered her for a quiet moment. He knew when she had slept best. He sighed, turning back to the thermostat and dropping it a few more notches, before climbing into bed. "Come on, then. I'm tired."

"What?" she asked, startled. She held the blankets perfectly still on the tip of her fingers, like they were something fragile and valuable. "M-Moran, you don't have to do that."

He raised an eyebrow. "You need sleep. I need you to sleep. The last time I remember you sleeping decently was not, in fact, 'six or seven days ago', but the night you slept in my bed. Come on. It's not like I have an objection to sleeping with a beautiful woman in any sense of the word. Jim might object to one sense, but I don't think he gives a rats ass about the other."

Lorna didn't even try to make heads or tails of the part on Jim - she didn't think she'd ever understand their boss, let alone what their boss of thought of them personally - and just climbed into the bed with Moran, leaving half the blankets still folded on the floor and dragging the other half over herself. The extra security wouldn't hurt. "Thank you," she murmured, struggling to keep her voice steady. "I was afraid you'd.. blame me."

He pulled away from her for a moment so he could meet her gaze. "We're criminals, Lorna," he said quietly. "We, more than anyone, know what an attack is, and it is in no goddamn way your fault, alright?"

"I know. I know," she breathed, rubbing at her eyes and willing herself not to tear up again. "There's just.. no accounting for what other people will think, sometimes." There was no accounting for what _he_ could think sometimes. She pulled the blankets up over her shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'll let you sleep, now."

He lay back down, putting an arm over her and pulling up the main blanket. "Sleep, alright?" he sighed softly.

She nodded blearily, relaxing into him and letting her mind quiet a little, comforted by the tiger beside her and the blankets above her. Within a few minutes, she was fast asleep again.

He wrapped himself around her smaller form fairly tightly, drifting off soon afterwards, hoping that she slept. He would never admit it, but he cared.

* * *

Playlist: Spoon - The Way We Get By


	10. Lorna Goes Through 500 Shirts

She slept... surprisingly well. There were still nightmares, but they had a feel about them that told her that nothing could truly harm her, and stopped any of them from getting truly horrible. When she woke up in the morning, she was pleasantly warm.

He woke up to light filtering through the shades, and a warm, balled-up lump in his arms, which seemed to be a good sign that Lorna had gotten at least some sleep.

She noticed his change in breathing after a moment, debating whether or not to pretend she was still asleep for a moment or not before she realized that was childish. She shifted slightly under the weight of probably four blankets. It still felt nice, even if she wasn't freaking out. "Sorry for doin' this to you again," she mumbled.

"Don't apologize," he said, tucking her in a bit more absently. "I'm glad you slept. Got to keep an eye on you, you know?"

She was perfectly happy being tucked in, the slight bit of tension she'd worked up from wondering what his reaction would be melting away a bit. "You're being uncharacteristically nice to me," she pointed out quietly. "I'm a little worried you're going to kill me or something."

"That would be far too much effort as far as ways to go about killing you," he pointed out. "It's in my best interest to make sure you're mentally sound."

"Sebastian Moran, therapist and sniper extraordinaire. If you ever require a business card, please put that on it," she joked quietly, too groggy to really get out a good quip. And she desperately did not want to offend him.

He rolled his eyes, patting her head sarcastically. "Will do."

She laughed, then yawned, then groaned. Fuck, she ached all over. And, as if the injuries from last night weren't enough, she was hungover, too. Although probably not as bad as she would have been if he hadn't gotten some water into her.

He didn't have much intention of moving, though he smirked slightly at her groan. "Have a bit much last night, there?" he muttered, grinning.

"Yes," she moaned, shifting and burying her face in the pillow. "Last night was _awful. Christ._ I mean, it seemed so _promising._ I really fucked it up, though. _Ugh."_

"Yes, yes you did," he said lightly, smiling and sitting up, heading into the kitchen. "I'll get the ibuprofen."

"God bless," she said loudly into the pillow, then rolled onto her back and forced herself to sit up, pulling down the hem of the shirt he'd given her. Not that he hadn't seen it all before, but she didn't like looking at the damage.

"Just stay there, I'm not officially up," he grumbled, returning with a tall glass of water and a bottle of pills before flopping onto bed and sighing, stretching just slightly, trying not to pull any of the injuries. "I've got the day off, and will be very lazy."

She smirked slightly at that, resting the cold glass against her leg with a slight hiss and unscrewing the bottle to pop a few pills in before washing them down. She glanced down at him then looked away, cautious of staring. "Just let me know when you want me out, won't you? Don't want to overstay my welcome or anything, yeah?"

He shrugged. "You've got the day off, too, my say so. Do what you like. You want to stay here, that's fine, just don't blast music or anything," he mumbled from where his face was pressed into his pillow.

"Don't worry, I'm not the music-blasting type," she replied softly, sinking back down into the bed next to him, just focusing on keeping herself relaxed. She didn't really want to leave.

He nodded slightly, sighing. "How's the rest of you feeling, other than what's hung over?"

"My back stings like hell, and," she pulled up her shirt slightly, and hissed at the black and blue patterning across her ribs that looked too much like hands, "My ribs are definitely bruised. But it shouldn't hurt too much when the medication kicks in."

He nodded a little, turning his head to look at her. "I'm sorry," he said after a few moments. "That was a bad call on my part, letting you head out alone."

She pulled the shirt back down, shrugging slightly. "If you'd insisted on coming with me, I'd have tried to sleep with you. If you'd made me come home, I would have tried to sneak out and would have been drunk enough to fight you if you tried to stop me. There was no good scenario. It's not your fault."

He nodded slightly. "I know. I know a no-win scenario when I see one. Just don't like them." Since when was he care-and-share? He made a slight face, pulling the blanket over his head.

"No," she heaved a sigh, staring up at the ceiling and watching the dim light outside grow a little brighter. "I don't think a lot of people do."

"Jim loves them," he muttered from beneath the blanket. "Thinks they're fucking invigorating."

"Jim's an adrenaline junkie to the max. Not damn surprising," she snorted, pulling up her big mass of blankets up to her chin.

"Hmph," he agreed, rubbing at his eyes a little. "He gave me the day off today. Told me to 'get better, for him' or some shit. I think he might actually be discovering some semblance of a soul."

She broke into laughter at the part about a soul, completely taken aback. "Jesus Christ, if he hears you say that you'll be skinned. Honestly. Keep that to yourself. Fucking hell."

"I'm well aware," he said, grinning under the blanket. "He can't hear me. I'll live."

She chuckled, running a hand through her tousled hair. Christ, she was a mess. "Feeling awfully rebellious on your day off, Moran, you ought to be careful. You never know when he might pop up, hmm?"

"Touche," he agreed with a sigh. He flopped over to face her. "Dear god, it's like we're having a fucking sleepover," he groaned, though he was grinning slightly.

Lorna chuckled, turning her head to look at him. "All my co-ed sleepovers have involved a lot less talking than this, believe me. This is more like a small house party both the guests happened to fall asleep during."

He nodded in slight agreement at that, emerging from under the blankets for some fresh air.

She resisted the urge to fix his rumpled blond hair and looked back up at the ceiling, sighing. "This pull-out is surprisingly comfortable, I'll give it that."

"Being paid by Jim has certain advantages. Our salaries aren't meager," he pointed out.

"No. That's for damn sure. Although most of mine goes back into the job. Clothes, you know," she shrugged slightly. She had a lot of very expensive clothes for jobs. All of them were meant to make her even more eye-catching.

"Mm... should file that under expenses," he pointed out. "Jim wouldn't care. He'd see the logic of it if he even paid attention to it."

She paused, considering. "I would, but then they'd count as company property, wouldn't they? And part of the satisfaction of owning that many attractive clothes is knowing that they're _all mine._ I'm very proud of my collection."

He smirked. "Whatever you say. Though I'm the same way about my guns, so I suppose I can't really argue."

"Everyone has their hobbies," Lorna hummed, grunting softly as she pushed herself into sitting position, the blankets pooling at her waist. She raked her hair out of her eyes. "Hmph. I need a shower."

He nodded. "You do. You smell like dive bar," he grunted in agreement. "Though that's not gonna feel pretty with your back. Maybe just sponge off or something."

She groaned. That sounded like a lot of trouble. "Fuck, you're right. I guess I should take a bath," she murmured, rubbing at her face with a long sigh. "I'll head back to my place, then."

He grunted his consent, rubbing at his eyes and sitting up as well with a sigh. "Maybe wait on that... They're going to want to see us both downstairs again. Up to you, but I'd rather relax in a bath after I've been poked and prodded."

She took a deep breath. That did not sound like fun. "Fuck. What are the odds of throwing a successful fit and getting out of that? Or getting them to wash me."

"I'd say the latter is more likely than the former," he sighed, shifting out of bed, gritting his teeth slightly. "Feel like breakfast? Or the hangover still hitting?"

Lorna gave a slight shrug. "I could eat. I might leave half of it on the plate, but I don't think I'll lose my cookies," she murmured, stalling getting up. She was afraid of ripping open any of her new stitches. Honestly, emotionally, she just felt... a little empty, this morning. "Thanks for giving me the day off."

He shrugged. "You need it," he said simply, heading into the kitchen. "Bacon and eggs sound alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good," she nodded, pushing herself into standing with a pained grimace. She could really feel the marks on her back. She could even feel his shirt sticking to her back a little bit. "I may have gotten blood on your shirt. Sorry."

"Wasn't an important one," he said, pulling out a pan and tossing it on the stove, pulling eggs out of the fridge. "I've seen enough injuries to know better than that."

She leaned against the counter, blowing out a long breath. She couldn't think of anything to say for a moment. She didn't know what to do with herself anymore.

He cracked a few eggs into the skillet, before starting to hunt down the bacon.

"Do you want help? I'm actually pretty good at breakfast foods," she said quietly, hoping to be of some use. She really didn't like feeling useless. Lazy was okay.

"If you want to keep an eye on the eggs while I get the bacon and toast going, feel free," he nodded.

She nodded, stepping forward and rifling through a few drawers before she found a fork and then stood poised over the skillet. "This is weird." she stated after a minute "The last time I made breakfast with anyone was with my sister. I must have been, like, fourteen."

He grabbed another pan, starting to lay out thick slices of bacon. "Not too strange. Just breakfast."

"Breakfast is sacred, don't you dare try to tell me otherwise," she quipped, immediately dropping back into her sarcastic self. It took a little effort. Less dropping and more picking it back up.

"I wouldn't get far if I tried," he pointed out, putting bread into the toaster.

"As long as you know," she smiled slightly, turning back to prod at the eggs with the fork, pleased with their progress. After another long moment, she glanced back at him. "What are you planning on doing with your rare free day, besides being poked by a bunch of doctors?"

He sighed, shrugging. "Usually I'd go out and shag someone, but given my state that's not exactly ideal. I did try and get Jim to postpone the date a little but he was less than inclined."

Lorna snorted softly, turning off the gas under the eggs and starting to look for his plates. "That doesn't surprise me at all. You know how he is more than I do. Did he say something about believing in yourself? If not I'm a little disappointed."

He let out a bark of laughter. "Now you're the one that's got to be careful about what you say. You'd be as dead as I would."

"Oh, c'mon, you're telling me you didn't get _one_ quip out of him? The quip _master?"_ Lorna smirked, shoveling the eggs onto two plates. "Fuck, I _am_ disappointed. I feel like I've lost a hero, you know?"

"I don't know, it all blurs together after a while," he said, shrugging and adding bacon and toast to both. "You want juice? Yes? Good."

She rolled her eyes at his pushing for her hydration and simply picked up a piece of bacon with her bare fingers and scarfed it down. "I'm thinking I might get drunk again today. Don't worry, not in your place. Safely in my own bathroom."

"I'm thinking you might not," he returned easily, along with a tall glass of juice.

She made a noise of complaint, taking the glass with a sullen look. "You're going to keep me from drinking? What the hell am I going to do with my free time, then?"

He flopped down. "Wow, not even going to argue? That was easier than I thought." He broke into an egg, sopping up some of the yolk with a piece of toast. "Not from drinking, completely, but from going into liver failure, yes. Just cut back. It's not a terrible idea. You were out of control last night, and you know it."

Lorna sighed, staying where she was and eating standing up. "Like I could argue with _you._ And okay, yeah, last night was bad, but that was only because I was 'out on the town', or whatever the kids are calling it these days. Seriously, what the hell else am I going to do, knit?"

"Practice your marksmanship, or your hand-to-hand, or take up painting, or read. I don't know. There are a million things you could be doing."

Lorna made a bored sound, stuffing her mouth with toast. "I have distinct hobbies. But apparently, all those are bad for me."

He shrugged. "Look, I don't care if you drink. But you went past a line last night, and there are consequences for that sort of thing."

She sighed, finishing off her eggs and bacon and setting down the plate a little too hard. "Do you think Malcolm would be too fucked up if I messed around with him? Think of it as practicing for the job."

"Define 'messed around'," he said, taking a long sip of juice.

"Seeing if I'm good enough to charm a man into being interested when my looks are... debatable," she shrugged, casually taking a swig from her own glass.

He shrugged. "Malcolm's pretty damn level. Have fun." He smirked just a bit.

"As long as I'm not going to get him killed," she snorted, emptying her glass and turning to place it in the sink. Her goal was to get out of her system what had been driving her to every bar she'd visited last night, and since Moran wasn't a candidate anymore she'd just have to settle for Malcolm.

"If you do it won't be my call, but either way I doubt it." He took another sip of his juice, taking his time. "You're welcome to sleep here again tonight if you like. If you're not occupied."

Lorna cleared her throat. "I probably won't be. Fresh stitches and the like. Anyway, after last night... Jumping into that would be stupid of me," she shook her head, brows drawn together.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. Either way." He stood to clear his dishes, starting to rinse them off.

She stood around, increasingly unsure of what to do with herself besides wait until he dragged her to medical. What did she _do_ with herself besides drink? She wasn't even sure.

He noticed her shifting uncomfortably. "You going to medical in my tee shirt?" he asked, deciding to take mercy on her.

She pulled at it a little, frowning. "Well, it's dried to my back with blood, and I figure that if I take it off before I go I'm only going to rip something open. If I'm there they might be able to magically stop that from happening and-slash-or patch me up immediately. I'm probably going to pop back to mine to get on some shorts or something, though. Even if this thing fits me like a dress."

"Trousers might be appreciated," he agreed, putting the dishes on the rack to dry.

"Yeah," she mumbled, then cocked her head towards the door, grateful for the opportunity to take a small break from navigating the minefield that was conversation with Moran. "I'm going to go grab some."

"You do that," he agreed, drying his hands. "I'm going to clean up. Meet you in the hall in five."

She nodded consent and then spun on her heel to leave. The five minute breather would have to be enough. When he appeared in the hall five minutes later, she smiled like she hadn't considered stalling and pretending she hadn't washed any trousers.

He could see her discomfort as she left. It amused him, keeping her on confused toes, though he knew he couldn't push it too far. A few headgames were fine, but nothing scarring.

"You ready to go to hell?" She chirped sarcastically as he closed the door behind him. She was only half kidding. She was getting quite sick of visiting the infirmary.

"We'll be going to hell quite a few more times before this is all through," he said, heading for the elevator in familiar routine. "You've bled enough to stick to your clothes. That's not exactly peak condition."

"I never said that I didn't _need_ to go, I'm just _extremely_ reluctant," she pointed out, wondering why the walk to the lift seemed so long when she was with him. "Like going to the doctor's to get vaccinated. You don't want to be stuck in the shoulder and injected with a cold, viscous liquid that aches and burns, but you also don't want to die of bacterial meningitis."

He nodded, conceding the point. "At least you'll be more comfortable after they clean you up and get that shirt off."

"That's true," she murmured, stepping into the elevator. She realized vaguely that she hadn't brought a shirt to change into, and sighed. Too late. "I'm not really a fan of feeling my own crusted blood chafing against my back."

"Somehow I doubt too many people are," he pointed out, rubbing at his eyes a little as the elevator dinged and he stepped out.

She made an amused noise of agreement and stepped out after him, drumming her fingers against her thigh in a display of reluctance.

"Come on, wimp, just get it over with," he muttered, rolling his eyes and walking down the hall towards the clinic.

"I'm not a wimp," she stuck her tongue out at him a bit childishly, considering shouldering him and then realizing it would hurt the both of them. "I got through Mycroft's shit, yeah?"

"Yeah," he conceded, sighing as he pushed into the clinic.

She slipped through the closing door and sighed as it closed behind her, grimacing just a little as a nurse made his way over to them. "Mr. Moran. You can come right this way. Ms. Harrison, you can wait in there."

The session was routine by now, but painful none the less. By the time he was released, he was aching and sore.

Lorna appeared a few minutes after him, having endured the process of detaching the shirt from her scabs with only mild swearing. Now she just felt like she'd been dragged behind a truck. "I can't believe they don't give you a lollipop when you're done."

"How about a drink?" he suggested tiredly. " _A_ drink. Emphasis on 'a'."

"Yeah. Okay. I can compromise," she nodded, hurting too much to argue. Not that arguing with him was the best idea. She could think of worse ones, of course, but that wasn't the point. "Something strong, at least?"

"Yeah, yeah, I've got 90 proof, let's go," he sighed, climbing into the elevator for what seemed the 100th time that weekend.

She leaned gingerly against the inside of the lift as the doors closed, reaching to hit the right button with her foot, mostly just to see if she could. At least her flexibility wasn't ruined.

He watched her do it. "This fucking sucks," he sighed finally.

"What, the being physically wrecked part, or is something else bothering you?" she snorted, with a slight nod. She agreed. This did fucking suck.

"The whole situation," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

"Sorry," she murmured, feeling a little guilty for that. He was practically having to babysit her, after all.

He shook his head, sighing as the elevator jolted to a halt, straightening. "It's not your fault."

Lorna gave a slight shrug as she walked out of the elevator. That was debatable. "If you say so, Moran."

"Good. Least you still take orders," he snorted, heading down the hall.

"If anything, I take them better now than I ever used to," she rolled her eyes, stuffing her hands into her pockets as they reached his door and standing to the side. No way she'd be able to open it.

He scanned through. "You know, oddly enough, that's true."

Lorna followed him in, giving a light shrug. "Eh, it's not so odd. I was violently overpowered by more than one person this week. I'm a little cowed, I'll admit it."

He laughed as he walked into the apartment, heading for the kitchen.

She lowered herself gingerly down onto the pullout, throwing the rumpled sheets back into a more orderly shape as she waited for him to reappear with the alcohol she'd promised. It might dull the worst of the pain, and drinking was always therapeutic.

He came back in, sitting next to her and handing over a generous shot. "Here."

"Thanks," she breathed, knocking it all back immediately and shaking her head at the strength of it. He hadn't been lying. "Christ, that's strong. Not complaining, though."

"Figured if we're only getting one drink it had better be a good one," he grunted.

"That's generous of you," she chuckled, leaning back to lay down carefully, resting the now-empty shot glass on her stomach with a slow sigh. "Remind me to get you liquor for Christmas."

He grinned. "Sounds good. I'll get you the same."

She laughed. "If we get each other the same thing it's going to be so embarrassing. Ah, fuck... Hey, did Jim say anything about any new jobs or whatnot? I mean, I thought it'd be nice to have some time off... but now that I have it I'm bored out of my goddamn mind."

"We'll have something to do when he has it," he said, sighing. "Undoubtedly something to do with Holmes."

"Okay, I'm not sure I'm that bored," she grimaced, carefully stretching. He was right, before - she needed to make sure she didn't heal too tight. "I think he'll kill us next time. Well, he'll kill me, at least."

"Yes," he agreed softly. "So we won't give him the opportunity."

Lorna fell silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling before looking back at him. It was... _weird,_ seeing him hurt, off his game. She'd begun thinking he was infallible at some point. Stupid thing to think. Still, it almost depressed her that he turned out not to be. "I'll take a gun next time."

He smirks. "I'll make sure you have one. You know how to shoot?"

"'Course I know how to shoot. Who do you think I am, huh? Being proficient in just _knives_ is pretty fucking stupid," she huffed, setting down the shot glass next to him and then moving up the bed a bit so she could get under the covers. "Sorry, but I need to shed your ruined shirt. I think my own blood is scraping me."

He waved her off. "Just lose it. You want another one?"

She shucked it off and made herself comfortable with the sheets pulled up to her chin, for the sake of maintaining normal conversation. "I don't need one until I get up, so don't bother yourself."

"Don't need one when you get up, either," he smirked.

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "You're funny, Moran. You ever going to use up those dares from that plane ride, or what? You can dare me to dust your flat if you want. I noticed some when I left today. I would have thought ex-military would be more obsessively clean than you."

He smirked. "I've been busy. And I'm saving those dares for when I really need them."

"What the fuck are you really going to need, a late night shopping trip? Most of what you'd need from me you could just order me to do anyway," she pointed out, making sure that he could hear the doubt in her voice, since he wasn't going to see her eyeroll from the foot of the bed.

"I'll think of something," he said, smiling. "Too useful to waste."

"Uh huh. God, I wish I'd gotten one on you. I really ought to learn how to win at poker, not just play it distractingly," she groaned, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in one of the pillows, then reaching to flick away the sheet so her wrecked back could get some air.

He laughed, shaking his head a little. "Maybe that's what you should do instead of getting drunk. Learn to play poker better."

Lorna's chuckle was muffled for a moment until she turned her face to the side. "Yeah, I'll just waltz on down and play with some of the hitmen, they won't mind. I could probably learn how to cheat really well."

"Probably. Be careful about betting with favors. They're less nice than I am," he grinned.

"I'll just find a particularly handsome bunch and let them know that if they push their luck I'll rip them a new one," she hummed, relaxing. It felt nice to not have anything pressing against her stitches.

"I'm sure they won't doubt that," he nodded seriously, sighing. God, he wanted another drink. "The hell we have today off for, anyway? Thoughts?"

"Fuck, I wouldn't have it off if it weren't for you, so you tell me," Lorna snorted, giving a very small lift of her feet for a substitute shrug. "Maybe Jim has the same reason you gave me off."

"Maybe," he admitted, nodding. "He was taking a 'rest day' yesterday... Said he'd cover my duties today. It was oddly generous. Makes me nervous."

"I don't think he's going to kill you, if that's what you're worried about. You fucked up, sure, but overall, from what I've been around for, your record is outstanding. Hell, if he was going to kill you, I think he'd at least have a replacement hovering around, you know? I don't know. Holmes has his live-in, doesn't he? Jim could think you're interesting," she shrugged a little, voice in a considering tone. "I'm a little biased, because I think you're interesting, but whatever."

He let out a loud laugh. "Jim? _Jim?_ Jim thinks people are dust specks," he muttered, shaking his head. "Not that I haven't swung that way, but Jim doesn't look twice."

"People are specks to him, yeah," she agreed, her voice level. Surprisingly so, considering she was unfoundedly jealous. "But you're not exactly people, Moran."

He shrugged. "I don't think you're right, but I suppose, agree to disagree."

"Well, if you can come up with a better idea, I'm all ears. I'm not sure it really matters, though. I think you'll find out why soon enough, one way or another, if it suits him," she muttered, closing her eyes and enjoying the slight draft through the apartment that floated across her back.

He nodded, considering. "What must it be like to shag him? I know he's shagged people. It must be fucking intense. Pun intended."

"I haven't a damn clue, I'll tell you that," she huffed, rolling back over and throwing back the sheets so she could get up. "I'm going to go take that soak. If you'd like to keep talking about boys you can sit in the shower."

He rolled his eyes, but actually got up. "Might as well keep company," he sighed.

She was honestly surprised, so hid it with a small snicker as she led the way to the door. "I apologize in advance for the assault on your senses that my shampoo will be. It's really way too fruity but government officials like it, so."

"Oh, well, if it's for the government officials," he smirked, following her and wishing he had a drink in his hand to take the edge off the still-present ache of his body.

She led him into her easier-to-enter apartment and headed for the bathroom, chuckling under her breath slightly. "I'm all about the job, Moran, you know that," she teased.

"Aren't we all?" he muttered, making a seat for himself on the closed toilet, leaning back with a sigh and closing his eyes.

She turned on the tap and sealed the drain, making sure the water coming out was hot before she sat on the edge of the tub and waited for it to fill up a little more. No need to sit around nude and awkward. "You should take vacations more often. Get the fuck out of here sometime."

He shrugged. "I have the time saved up, but it's more trouble than it's worth, and if things go to hell when I'm gone, it's still on my head."

"That's as good an argument to stay as any, I suppose," Lorna murmured, reaching over to shut off the faucets at the tub reached optimal fullness. Standing, she slipped off her shorts and underwear and stepped into the water, slowly sinking in, hissing as the hot water touched her injuries.

He peeked an eye open at her hiss of pain, making sure she wasn't doing anything stupid, before letting it slip shut again. "Best one there is, anyway. Not that I don't like the work, but fuck if it isn't consuming."

"Oh, I know. I have the fortune-slash-misfortune of being bossed around by you all the time, I damn well know how high strung you get," she commented, relaxing into the near-scalding water with a slight sigh of relief.

He smirked slightly. "You'd get high-strung, too, in my position. Already do, half the time."

"'Course I get high strung. You've seen first hand the kind of shit I have to deal with," she scoffed, leaning back her head to get her hair wet and then relaxing again. "What on earth do you suppose all that drinking is _for?"_

"Yeah, well, I told you. I tolerate almost anything, until it starts getting out of control and endangering my people. Then it stops." He scratched at a bandage, trying to alleviate the itching of the scabs underneath.

"Don't itch. Knowing you, you'll rip yourself open through the bandages," she scolded carefully, making sure to keep any authority at all out of her voice. He was more likely to listen if he took it as a suggestion. "I don't know why you aren't soaking too. When's the last time you got clean, huh?"

He snorted. "Stop mothering, Harrison. Christ. I don't know, but the idea of stinging all over just doesn't sound pleasant."

"I don't mother. I do careless nurture," she retorted, flicking him with a few drops of water. "I'm serious, though. You get infected, who's going to take over your job? Me? Do you want that to happen?"

"They wash me off every time they change the damn bandages," he snorted. "Besides, you'd do fine. I'd love to see you trying to deal with Jim. I'd bring popcorn from the afterlife."

Lorna made a frustrated noise, immediately shooting back with "Really? I still have to see you deal with Jim. You ought to be prepared if he's interested, Moran, because I don't think he'll be deterred."

He laughed, shaking his head slightly. "Whatever you say. I still say it'll be interesting."

"Yeah, real interesting. Be a lot of me being very polite. Ultra obedient. Pulling out all the stops," she muttered, reaching for the shampoo by the edge of the tub and going about the process of lathering her hair up, a painful process. Her arms didn't exactly want to be lifted all the way above her head. Plus, the exceedingly fruity smell was a little bit much.

He wrinkled his nose. "God, you weren't kidding, that stuff is rank," he muttered, pulling a face.

Lorna made a noise of agreement. "I know. It settles a little bit nicer when it's just my hair and not a fucking room, but it's still... not what I would personally choose, I suppose."

"I doubt it's what anyone would personally choose, at least not to put in their own hair." He sighed.

"Obviously somebody does, if the assholes who make this shit are still in business," she huffed, washing the obnoxious soap from her hair and immediately pulling the drain, trying to keep the stuff from seeping into her various wounds. That would hurt like hell.

He nodded in agreement, looking over at her and admiring her body, at the same time assessing how her wounds were healing. "The paper reported on that bastard. They've got nothing, police are saying it was a bad drug deal."

"Which bastard are we talking about right now? I seem to have missed a bastard in our conversation," she quipped, highly aware of his eyes on her as she stood up and leaned for a towel hanging from the shower stall. "Are we talking about Holmes, now?"

"No, the bastard from the bar. Sorry. Lots of bastards. Didn't want to be overly descriptive, just let you know the thing's over with." His eyes followed her as she stood, not leering, just observing.

"Ah, that one," she cleared her throat, nearly dropping the towel as she tried very hard not to think about it, Sebastian forgotten for a moment. She didn't want to think about it at all. The sooner she forgot the entire experience, the better.

He saw her discomfort. "Forget I mentioned it," he said calmly, standing and walking over to place a hand on an unmarred patch of skin. "So, did you get a picture of Holmes when you played pin-the-tail-on-the-ass with him?"

"No," she shook her head, tucking the towel around her chest, "I was a little busy at the moment. You looked like you were really done with that party," she added, very, very aware of his hand. It wasn't that she minded. That was just how she was with him. Touches from him were never mindless.

He grinned, his hand dropping as he headed out of the bathroom to find something more comfortable to sit on than the toilet. "I was alright, you were my designated driver."

She let out a slow breath for following him, drawing her wet hair over her shoulder so it wouldn't drip all down her back. "Thank god. If you'd had to drive us home I would be suffering from whiplash." She wondered if she could sneak in a smoke.

He laughed. "More likely you'd be suffering from dead-ness, what with how conscious I was," he shot back. He looked over at her curiously, before leaning his tall figure down over her to sniff curiously at her hair. He straightened, shrugging. "Not terrible once it's died down a bit. Still not fantastic."

"No, it's not. Before I switched to this I used a nice mint one. That one was enormously better. Doesn't exactly send off the same message, unfortunately. People who smell like mint aren't normally who'd you'd peg as the ones who play fast and loose," Lorna gave a small shrug, looking up at him thoughtfully.

"Touche," he said, nodding a bit and meeting her gaze calmly. "So, now that you're mostly sober and staying that way for a while, what are your plans?"

"Staving off boredom with things equally as unhealthy. Smoking. Ice cream. Unrequited flirting. I don't know, I'll figure it out as I go. What are you going to do with your rare free time?" she raised an eyebrow, turning away from him to walk to her coffee table and to grab her pack of cigarettes.

"Bum a light off of you and amuse myself by annoying you as much as possible," he said, walking over to grab a fag out of the pack.

She rolled her eyes, tapping out one of her own and lighting up before handing off the lighter to him. "How are you possibly going to find a way to amuse yourself for more than ten minutes? I can get pretty zen, Moran."

"And I can be pretty annoying," he returned with a toothy grin, lighting his own cigarette and tossing the lighter back to her. "Suppose we'll see."

She took a drag off the little white deathstick as she caught the lighter and returned it to its place on the coffee table, sinking down onto the couch and crossing her legs. "Well, if it makes you loosen up for once in your life, I can't complain. You're too wound up, Moran."

"I'm wound up?" he asked with a lazy grin. "I'm the least wound up person I know."

She scoffed, giving him a truly incredulous look. "Really? You're wound up so tight that if I stuck a lump of coal up your ass I'd have a diamond in a week. I mean, excluding now - for once you actually look like you're enjoying yourself."

He rolled his eyes. "I take pride in being calm and collected in pretty much every situation," he retorted with a smirk.

She had to laugh at that, taking in another drag off her cigarette and tapping ash into the little tray on the coffee table before she responded. "Yeah, well, I'll give you that. You know what you're doing _all_ the time. It just makes me a little suspicious that you haven't done enough."

"What's that intended to mean?" he shot back, not harshly, studying the ember at the end of his light.

"If you know what you're doing every second of every day, it sounds like you've experienced everything. But no one's done that and no one's ever going to," Lorna shrugged, a little relieved he hadn't fixed her with some sort of glare. "I'm saying you should probably get out more."

He laughed. Shrugged. "I like what I do. I get out enough, just not when you're around, Harrison."

She smirked, almost reaching for a drink that wasn't there - that was a habit deeply ingrained in her, unfortunately for her health. "Oh yeah? Well, goodness me, I guess that means my point is moot then, huh?"

"Suppose it does, Harrison," he said, drawing slowly from the cigarette as he walked over to sit in a chair.

She had a sudden curiosity about what his family must have been like; no one learned that kind of smooth sarcasm without a little genetic predisposition to help them along. Then she shook the thought from her head. What a stupid thing to think about. "Why'd they kick you out of the army, Moran?" she asked instead - a much safer, more work-related form of curiosity.

He flashed white teeth under dark eyes. A grin, neither tight nor easy. "Not playing nice with others."

"Had a hunch it was something like that," she smirked, her free hand working some of the water out of her dripping hair and wiping it off on her towel. It was making her cold.

He shrugged. "Wasn't an 'others' who I felt deserved nice playing. But I was slightly less discrete than I should have been. I've learned better."

She raised her eyebrows slightly. "Now I'm not sure if you beat up a fellow soldier or you ravaged one. How about you clear it up a little bit?"

His grin widened. "Oh, you're simplifying things, I think. There was a list." He chuckled.

"Christ, Moran, you must have been wild back in your prime," she snickered, purposely digging at him, just to see if she could get a reaction out of him. He did have a few years on her, but not enough that she meant it.

"Mmm..." he smirked. "My prime, huh? I don't know about that. I've gotten much more inventive since then. Then things were really just about brute force, but now..."

"Brute force can get the job done, don't get me wrong, but I think finesse _is_ probably a better route for you to take. What if your motor functions stop working as well and you start tripping over yourself, right?" she teased, sucking in a long drag on her cigarette that put her right down to the filter. She leaned forward to stub it out.

He smirked, savoring his cigarette. "Don't age me out too quickly, there, Harrison. I'll retire and put you in charge."

"Don't worry, old man, the age jokes are a one time deal. You won't hear another peep about them tomorrow," she grinned, standing up. "I'm going to go put on some real clothes, if you don't mind."

He waved her off, finishing off his cigarette and leaning over to stub it out. "Just don't push it, or I'll return to my previously discovered nicknames for you."

"If you weren't so curmudgeonly all the time I wouldn't be so tempted," she laughed over her shoulder, disappearing into her bedroom and chucking the towel behind her into the living room.

"Curmudgeonly? Really?" he sighed, stretching. "That's a new one. Makes me sound almost nice, in an odd sort of way."

"You're letting me crash in bed with you because I'm too much of a wimp to get any decent sleep otherwise," she pointed out, returning wearing a tank top and shorts.

"That's practicality," he snorted. "Don't go making me sound soft."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she chuckled, flopping back down onto her sofa. "Neither your personality nor your actual body has any suggestions of the sort. I think your reputation will remain intact."

"It had better," he grumbled, though his smirk returned. He reached up to rub at his eyes. "Gods, I'm bored. I'll be happy when I can get back to work."

Lorna made an agreeing sort of sigh, putting her feet up on the back of the couch. "If you can think of something suitably healthy for our wrecked vessels, by all means, I'm willing. I thought I would enjoy having work off more than this."

"Jim ordered me to take the day off," he muttered, annoyed. "Can't disobey that."

"Then come up with something else you like to do. Clean your guns. Work on your guns. Shoot your guns. You like guns, right?"

He sighed disparagingly but glanced over at her. "Is your view of me really so simplistic? I'd be annoyed, but honestly, at the moment that sounds better than just staring at the wall." He stood.

"No, I just like pissing you off every once in a while," she shrugged, snorting a little. "Either way, its a better suggestion than trying to convince you to drink, fucking, and then a lot of regretting later. Honestly I'm considering getting out a little sewing kit to while away the time."

He shrugged, heading for the door. "Useful skill to have. You coming over or staying here?"

She heaved herself to her feet with a mildly pained sound to follow him. "Yeah, I'm coming. Never hurts to freshen up on guns."

"Grab any you have, I'll see what you can do with them," he muttered, heading across the hall and scanning in.

She turned on her heel to do just that, retrieving her three very well-taken-care-of handguns from their various hiding spots and crossing the hall to his apartment. For some reason she felt a little like she was being tested.

He had opened his gun locker, pulling out a few pieces that could stand a going over, along with his tool box and some oil. He'd already laid out a layer of canvas on the table when she came in. "Grab a seat."

Lorna placed her handguns carefully on the table as she sank into the chair across from him, drumming her fingers on the covered tabletop. "I feel oddly self-conscious about what you think of my weapons, I'll confess."

He glanced up, raising an eyebrow, and held out a hand, waiting for her to pass him one of the guns. He considered it for a while. "It's a good piece," he said after a bit. "You've taken good care of it. A lot smaller than I usually deal with, but you're a lot smaller than me, and are looking to conceal more than intimidate."

"Mm," she agreed, giving a nod, "If it comes down to using one of these there's no point in intimidation. It's just self-preservation at that point in time." And she had used them, when she'd been forced to, although she could take a fair amount of abuse before she even reached for one. She prided herself on the quality of her work.

"I'm aware," he murmured, nodding. He flicked the safety on and off, felt the weight of it in his hand, before passing it back over to her. "It's nice."

"Thanks. It would have been your replacement in Italy if you hadn't been sent to chaperone me," she hummed, setting it fondly back onto the table.

"Glad I can be replaced so easily. One less thing on my to-do list," he muttered with a grin, picking up a much larger handgun and starting to disassemble it for cleaning.

She snickered, starting to do the same with the gun he'd just given back to her, although much more slowly. She wasn't at the point where she trusted herself to not make mistakes. "If it makes you feel better that job sounds like it would have gone a lot more poorly without you spying on me."

He smirked just slightly. "It certainly would have been more interesting for you," he retorted.

She set apart cleaning her gun, chuckling a bit. "What were you doing, anyway? Did somebody try to interrupt or did I garner just a little too much attention?" She glanced up at him, curious. If she'd slipped up she wanted to know how to avoid it next time.

He shrugged. "Once or twice a servant or maid tried to check in, and I diverted them, but one of the kitchen staff ended up recognizing you. I think they worked for a previous mark of yours at some point. It's alright, though, they slipped and fell before they could tell anyone."

"Mm. Maybe I should steer clear of Italy for a few years," she murmured, frowning to herself for a moment and then returning to her weapons. "I could take over the France missions. I speak the language better than Rogers anyway."

He nodded. "That's true. I'll adjust assignments."

"Thanks. I'd like to go as long as possible without being shot," she snorted. Not that she thought it would be all that bad; she'd been through torture, hadn't she?

"Always a decent goal," he nodded, spreading oil over a few parts and starting to clean them carefully.

Lorna made a bit of a face as she got oil on her hands, her natural distaste for doing any work whatsoever rearing its lazy head as she suddenly questioned why she was doing this. "I hope you're not one of those men who doesn't have any hand soap. I seem to have been repressing the memories of how messy this is."

He looked up at her with a snort. "Oh, sorry, princess, you have to get your nails dirty."

"Damn straight I'm a princess. You ought to be nice to me or when I get my full queen status I'll have you killed," she shot back evenly, humming to herself. "Speaking of queenhood, have you given the thing with the boss any more thought?"

He couldn't help but laugh at her transition. "And by 'thing with the boss' you mean...?"

She glanced up at him, raising her eyebrows. "Don't hedge. You know what I'm talking about."

He shrugged. "Anything right now is just speculation," he said. "Who knows if he'll say or do anything, or not?"

"It's Jim, remember," she pointed out, reassembling her gun with a frown of concentration. "He _always_ has something to say."

He laughed. "Not regarding this sort of thing, he doesn't. If he decides he wants to do something about it, he will."

She smirked. "Good luck anyways, I suppose. For whatever outcome you find preferable. You can always find me hanging out with the ordinary folk like any person with a streak of self-preservation."

"I like the challenge," he smirked, starting to assemble the gun again. "Living on the edge. It suits me."

"Oh, believe me, I know you do. Most of the people in this business have the good sense to walk around on the streets with their heads down and their hands on their guns. You, on the other hand," she fought down a laugh and shrugged her shoulders slightly, "walk around like you own the place and you want everyone to know it."

"An accurate assessment if I've ever heard one," he smirked. "It pays to be the big dog."

"Literally," she snorted, looking pointedly at his gun. "That's not standard stock, is it? You spend your money dangerously. And not in the fiscal sense."

His grin widened a bit as he positioned the gun back in its case, snapping it shut. "I like to be prepared."

Lorna chuckled, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest. "The day I catch you unprepared will be the day I can die happily. Probably from dying of laughter."

"Given that I could kill you unarmed and with my hands tied, I'm not sure you'd even get that far," he shot back, eyes glinting.

"You're right, you're right - I can't live to tell the tale, can I?" she snorted, rolling her eyes playfully and pushing back her chair to rise to her feet. "You got coffee? If I can't have liquor I need a little caffeine to keep me going."

"Go ahead. Coffee maker's on the counter, coffee's in the far left cabinet," he said, starting in on the second gun.

"Thanks," she replied, heading into the kitchen as soon as he gave her permission. Some part of her that sounded a lot like her mother told her that she was going to get caffeine poisoning if she kept up this habit, while the rest of her ignored it and focused on more important matters. "Is it really safe to stay in London right now? Holmes has to be looking for us, doesn't he? And he's shown himself to be more than capable of illegally using security cameras that aren't his."

"Not Jim's. Closed circuit, all hard-wired, with anti-tapping software and touch-sensor alarms on the whole circuit, swept daily. No one's getting in here." He lay the gun parts out on the table.

"Not what I meant," she shook her head, despite the fact that he couldn't see her. "We have to leave this building eventually, believe it or not. If we don't leave with less than a full platoon of support I don't see how we won't be snatched off the street."

"We won't be snatched off the street because we aren't morons," he snorted. "We'll be careful, and we won't leave until Jim has Holmes's balls in a vice, which shouldn't be too difficult."

She gave a sound of amusement at his language, then sighed. "Fuck, I hate being cooped up in here for more than a few days. I get restless and then I get sore because I use the gym equipment like a maniac. Don't let me exercise, no matter how much I ask."

"I'll do my level best," he returned with sarcastic 'sincerity'. He started to reassemble his gun with careful, practiced hands.

She rolled her eyes, although she supposed that being surprised at Sebastian's sarcasm was, by now, a moot point. "Do you want a cup of coffee, Moran?"

"Wouldn't hate one," he nodded, finishing assembling the weapon and giving it a final polish before returning it to its case and wiping his hands off with a rag.

She poured out two mugs and then returned to the table, setting one in the center of the table for him and nursing her own closer to her chest, relishing the heat. She let the conversation drop, just considering him for a moment over her steaming coffee.

He reached out for the mug, taking a long sip of the hot drink with a sigh.

"You're one of those people I can't imagine as a kid-" Lorna started, then cut off by the sound of the intercom chirping. A different ringtone from Jim's, but still startling. "Did you not tell anybody you were taking the day off?"

"No," he said with an amused smirk, standing up and heading over to the intercom, coffee still in hand, punching the button. "Make it good."

Whoever was on the other side of the com made a sound of nervous hesitation, then went on, "Uh.. Well, we caught Harold Nichols sending out information to a third party, and you, um... you said to alert you a few weeks ago if anything like that came up.. he's in a holding cell. Just... wanted to let you know.." The voice trailed off and Lorna snickered into her hand.

He took his finger off the button for a moment, sighing, before returning it. "And I'm speaking to... who, right now?"

"Ah.. Um.. Clarkson, sir," the voice hedged, sounding as if they'd rather forgotten their name for a moment. Lorna swiftly exited into the kitchen, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Oh, Terribly sorry I didn't recognize the sultry tones of your voice, Clarkson. I wanted to make sure I knew who was interrupting my day off. Tell me- have you by any chance gone about standard interrogation protocols before you took it upon yourself to so boldly elevate this particular issue?"

The person sputtered, a few awkward attempts at backpedaling stumbling out before they managed to put together anything coherent. "Oh- no, I thought - Well, that you wanted to handle it? Ah - Fuck - Sorry - I'll handle it, sir!"

"I want you to handle it until it becomes apparent that there's an actual threat, Clarkson. Then, by all means, feel free to interrupt," he drawled, leaving the intercom and heading back towards the kitchen.

Lorna was leaning over the sink shuddering with laughter, the evidence of a few black dots on the counter and her position suggesting that she'd almost spit out a mouthful of the stuff. "Fuck am I glad that's not me!" she laughed, looking over at him with pink cheeks.

He laughed, too, taking a long sip of his coffee. "So I see."

She wiped at her eyes, trying to calm herself down. "Ah, fuck. You'd scare the shit out of a dragon, Moran. Although that kid _probably_ ranks a few tiers below that."

"One or two," he agreed, amused. He was in a good mood, now. Terrifying someone properly was always a booster.

She finally recovered enough to chance a sip at her coffee, eyes still twinkling. "I wonder who's out sick that he's the one they sent to talk to you."

"He learned," he said, the neat graveyard of teeth flashing through his lips. "He won't make the mistake again. At least, he won't and live."

She smirked, setting down her mug on the table beside her. "Do you let everyone get off the hook so easily, or are you just in a good mood today in general?"

"It was more of a 'too lazy to interrupt my day off to go kill someone at the moment' sort of thing," he sighed. "He got lucky. He won't again."

"That sounds about right. Luck only holds out so long," she agreed, brushing hair back from her face idly. "Well, at least killing people isn't exactly a detraction from the enjoyment of your job."

"You have a fair point," he agreed, topping off his coffee and heading back to the living room.

She followed him after a quick moment to politely wipe up the small mess she'd made from her spluttering, feeling that if she was going to practically live there ( _practically:_ she had no illusions that the situation wasn't both temporary and likely unsuitable) she ought to at least clean up after herself. "Have I ever asked you what made you get into this business, or have I asked and you've just told me to stuff it?"

"I think we've had the discussion," he said, flopping gingerly onto the couch, wary of his injuries. "Improper conduct in the military, got drop-kicked out, but had very specific interests and skill sets..." He sighed.

"No, not what I meant," she shook her head, setting herself carefully on the arm of the sofa. "I meant what got fucked up in your early life that you ended up acting with poor manners in the military."

He snorted. "You're kidding me. You want the tragic backstory?" he sneered, kicking his feet up on the end table.

"Hell yeah," she grinned, playing it off as a joke, despite the fact that she was legitimately curious. "I love them. And I'm a _spy,_ come on, I know when to keep my mouth shut. Most of the time."

"Which one do you want? The one where I was orphaned and tortured cats, or the one where daddy beat me and mommy let me share her drinks?" he deadpanned.

"Dammit, there isn't a version where your rich daddy dies while you're in boarding school and your only friend is a french maid? I'm disappointed. I was really hoping for that one," she sighed dramatically, then sobered a little, her face becoming considering. "But you know you look like him, right? That one lord with your Irish-as-fuck last name?"

When he smiled, it was cool and empty. His face gave nothing away. "Now, that would be a story, wouldn't it?" His eyes might have been slightly tense, or it could have been the lighting.

She gave Moran an unabashed grin in return, pretending she wasn't absolutely sure she'd guessed his big, dirty secret in one go. She had her suspicions, and if he didn't outright confirm or deny, that was enough for her. "It _really_ would. I don't suppose you're ever going to tell me about it, though."

"No, but I might decide to field gut you anyway, just for kicks," he muttered, reaching out to grab a book from the end table.

"What, is there a difference between that and _meadow_ gutting? No, don't answer, I've decided I don't actually want to know," she smirked, settling back and basking in the sensation of feeling like her usual sarcastic self for a moment. God, she loved pestering him.

"It's the difference between that and clinical gutting," he said casually, eyes on the book as he opened to a bookmarked page. "One involves rope, a tree, and a broad selection of knives, the other involves straps, a sterile table, and a broad selection of scalpels."

Despite the fact she knew he wasn't lying by any stretch of the imagination, she refused to take him seriously. "Kinky. The first one's not real sanitary, though. Bring hand sanitizer."

"If I want sanitary, I use the clinical version," he muttered. "Field gutting is much more entertaining in my opinion. Makes flaying much easier, and gravity helps with the guts, since the subject is vertical."

"Well, it's hard to argue with the benefits of gravity itself, isn't it?" Lorna snorted, equal parts amused and irritated that she wasn't successfully needling him at all. "I suppose my relative inexperience in playing the Most Dangerous Game leaves me mostly out of the gutting discussion to begin with."

"We should work on that. Important skill to have. You need to know how to keep someone alive during the process, as well. What organs can and cannot be removed. All that." He turned the page.

"I never said I wasn't well-versed in torture," she reminded him, eyeing his book with a good amount of doubt. He would never absorb his attention in something mundane with somebody else in his company, would he? That was actually a bit of a jab of what he thought of her abilities. She pushed the thought from her head. "I'm _well_ practiced there, believe me."

He glanced up, smiling. "I didn't say you weren't." He lowered the book. "First time you tortured someone, then, let's hear it."

" _First_ time? Oh, Christ, it was an embarrassment," she huffed, even if she was mildly fond of the memory. Everyone liked an amusing first time tale, didn't they? "I was nineteen, and I didn't know better than to start with the teeth. 'Course, he wasn't real good at talking after I'd yanked out half his molars, was he? I think I picked a nice spot for it, though. In the bloke's very own sound-proofed basement, his family just upstairs." She grinned, remembering her own smug humor.

He grinned, flashing his own teeth, and nodded in approval at the location choice. "Definitely a prime location. What were you trying to get out of him?"

"Oh, just where he was keeping a few hostages. He was a rival kingpin of a significantly more successful cartel than the one I was in," she shrugged, "He didn't do so well running the cartel when he kept accidentally spitting out his dentures."

He grinned. "I would imagine that did put a damper on things, yes," he murmured, laughing.

Lorna snickered, remembering the bloody mess he'd turned into in front of her with fondness sprinkled by just a tad of squeamishness. "I did learn my lesson, though. Start with the extremities first. They don't need _those_ to talk."

"An important lesson to learn." He returned to his book. "Order is everything. We all have to learn it at some point."

"That's likely the most distinctively military thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth," she muttered, though not expecting him to acknowledge her. She wished, in fact, that she'd had the foresight to bring over some books from her own, separate, out-of-building apartment so she wouldn't be bored out of her mind now.

He rolled his eyes. "It never really gets beat out of you, to be honest," he muttered. He glanced up at her. "You can watch telly or something if you like."

She made a noncommittal noise, shrugging slightly. "I don't watch it. I figure I'm mouthy enough without pop culture references under my belt too. I think I might take a nap. That will cut the time between me and my next drink by, what, three hours, hopefully?"

He shrugged a bit. "Maybe," he agreed, returning to his book.


	11. Two Steps Forward

Playlist: Panic! at the Disco - Miss Jackson

* * *

A month later, Lorna was sitting in the security room in HQ, feet on the table, coffee in hand, and eyes on the screen. Not the most boring job she'd ever detailed while her ass was seated safely in a second-rate office chair. The Boss hadn't been joking when he'd said the Adler woman would work fast; Christ, was she giving that woman a whipping, though. She chuckled tiredly into her coffee, setting it down after a moment and rubbing at the darkening circles under her eyes. She may have been all healed up after possibly the most nightmarish portion of her life ever (and thank god the scarring was so faint, although she had gotten a tattoo across her hip to cover up the worst of it; a crane), but that didn't mean staying up all night just to make sure the pictures were taken was good for her health.

Seb walked in a few minutes later, taking the mostly-empty styrofoam cup out of her hands and replacing it with a large cup of good Ethiopian coffee from the place a few blocks over. He sat down next to her, kicking his feet up as well. "She seems to know what she's doing," he commented idly.

She made a noise of pleased thanks and then lifted her shoulders noncommittally. "I haven't seen her make any mistakes, at least. I always wince when professionals don't know enough to avoid the kidneys," Lorna replied, stifling a yawn into the crook of her elbow. "Haven't seen the camera yet, though."

"You won't," he says, watching the screen. "Think about it. If you wanted pictures in this situation, would you honestly carry the camera on you?"

She snorted softly, side-eyeing him. "That woman is in there paying to be whipped. Somehow, I doubt, for the first time. Whose to say she doesn't like it?"

"She wouldn't risk it," Seb says. "Not if it's not agreed to beforehand. She might like being whipped, but she's not stupid. She's royalty, she wouldn't risk letting someone have that power."

"Royalty isn't required to be _smart._ But I'll concede that you're probably right," Lorna hummed, mostly because he'd gotten her coffee that wasn't the shit that came from the cafeteria downstairs.

He shrugs. "Who knows. I've just seen Adler work before, and I doubt she'll risk it."

"The up close and tight in the britches kind of seeing or the being cramped and tired in a smelly old office kind of seeing?" she smirked, purposely not looking at him. It was easier to pester him when she wasn't required to fend off his death stares.

"Both, actually," he says with easy calmness, eyes still on the screen. "You'll probably get your shot at both as well, at some point."

"I certainly hope not. I spend enough of my time wearing uncomfortable clothes, I don't think putting on really tight britches is going to be a useful expenditure of my time," she quipped, then made a face. "I couldn't, anyway. Promised Malcolm no out-of-job promiscuity. I cannot remember for the life of me _why."_

"You two still managing this whole 'steady' thing?" he asks with bored curiosity. "Gotta admit, didn't see that one working out."

She made a vague hand gesture and an even vaguer noise. "I don't know. I'm more sticking around until I don't feel like it anymore. I don't know his motivations, and I haven't asked because I'm worried he'll want to _talk_ about it."

He snorts with laughter. "It's your own damned fault. I told you he was a sap."

Lorna groaned. "Yeah, I _know._ Ugh, I should have just kept sleeping with people who don't give a shit. This is why someone else should be in charge of my personal life. I'm not responsible enough to handle it on my own."

"I wouldn't have complained," he laughed, reaching out to steal her cup of coffee and take a sip before standing, handing it back to her. "Right. I've got a meeting with the boss."

She rolled her eyes, swatting at him in defense of her caffeine. "You broke it off, remember? Good luck with the meeting, anyways."

"Whatever you say," he deadpanned. "Anything you want me to pass on?"

"Tell him the coffee in here is shit. Also, that I don't know what I did to be able to watch porn on the job," she snickered, then frowned. "Okay, not the first part."

"I'll do you a favor and edit out the second part as well." He rolled his eyes, heading out the door and for the elevator, scanning his hand and eye and heading upstairs. He stepped out and headed for the boss's office.

Lorna laughed as he left, settling herself down for at the least another hour of being stuck in this room.

* * *

Jim, on the other hand, was reading down a long list of statistical probabilities as Sebastian neared his office. It wasn't often he went out of his way to go ahead and have somebody hammer out the specific likelihoods, but on plans as long and as big as this one... he needed to be prepared for every possibility.

He knocked, entering just before he was told, as per usual. "That the statistical analysis?" he asked, eyeing the thick document.

Jim didn't answer for a moment, finishing absorbing a line of data and then allowing himself to look up. He was perhaps just a bit more unkempt than usual, and he knew it, but if Moran wanted to risk commenting on it, that was his head. "Yes. Useful for narrowing down possibilities. A tad more dry than I like it."

"I'll remind the statisticians to add illustrations to the next draft, sir," he deadpanned, leaving it up in the air as to whether he was being serious or a smartass. He took a few steps forward and sat across from his employer. "But the results seemed promising."

He grunted, folding down the corner of his page to mark his place before pushing the hefty document behind a pile of building-up business proposals and out of his sight. "I'm not a superstitious man, but I'm still withholding judgment on that until I finish the whole thing," he huffed, running a hand over his hair in a last-ditch attempt to smooth it into submission. "Anything to report?"

"The Adler affair is going well. She seems to be handling things as well as we expected. Harrison's keeping an eye on her," he said coolly. "On another note, new studies suggest that sleep every few days and a meal or two during the time between are vital for sustaining human life." Definite sarcasm now.

Jim snorted, fixing Sebastian with a dry look. "If you can find a way to download those statistics directly onto my brain while I'm asleep, I'd be happy to drop into a more normal schedule. Until you figure that out, however, I will have to continue with this one. Either way, I'm healthier than the majority of my employees. I'm happy with that, for the duration of this little project."

He was relieved that there was minimal backlash for his comment. Jim seemed to be in a good mood. "I'm not sure who you're thinking of that's so unhealthy, sir, unless you're referring to Harrison and I, in which case I should remind you that we're both cleared for active duty as of Tuesday."

"I was actually thinking of the various failing hearts and livers I'm sure are in many of your futures, but I should remind _you_ that you began working before you were cleared," he pointed out, leaning back in his chair with a squeak of leather. Not that he was angry - he appreciated the overtime.

He shrugged. "This place doesn't run itself," he snorted. "And you've been occupied. Speaking of livers, how's that dry spell of yours going?"

"I hardly have time to drink a cup of something containing _caffeine,_ let alone anything that's a depressant. It's going well," he smirked, even if he could still feel sleep nipping at his heels. Perhaps it was actually time to take a break.

He nodded, considering Jim and the way his eyes were glazed slightly. He sighed. "Why'd you hire me, Boss?"

Jim blinked, focusing on Moran with surprise. If he'd been expecting the sniper to ask anything, that hadn't been the question he'd have thought it would be. "You have an excellent eye and a matching talent in guns. When it turned out you were as good at managing inferiors, it would have been a mistake to leave you open for employment from a rivaling network. And you're far more useful alive than dead."

He waved the response off with a snort that was a bit risky, but he was annoyed. "Top of my job description, boss, what is it? If stuff goes to hell, what's my job?"

Jim's eyebrows lifted slightly, keeping a cool demeanor glued firmly to his face. "I fail to see what you're asking, Moran. You're a sniper. Am I wrong?"

"That's my primary occupation, sir, yes. But the first thing in my official job description is to protect you, sir, at all costs. My request then, that I can best serve that duty, is that you not run yourself into the ground and force me to take action." His voice is back to calm and respectful.

He was honestly speechless for a moment, only keeping himself from sputtering by clutching the last tired dregs of his dignity to him. "Are you _threatening_ to make me go to _sleep?"_

"No, sir," he says calmly. "I'm informing you that if I am required to take action in order to fulfill my contract- which you designed- I will."

Jim looked at him for a long moment, tapping a finger against the top of his desk. "...Fine. I take your point. I will retire in twenty-five minutes. Is that... _satisfactory?"_

"Completely, sir," he said, nodding. "Might I suggest in that time period you allow me to make you a steak or something?"

Jim sighed, reaching for the stat document again. "If you're determined to feed me before I sleep I suggest you whip up something quick. I won't be picky."

"Yessir." He stood, straightening his jacket. "Anything else, sir?"

"Wake me if there are any developments that need to be dealt with. Otherwise, no, there's nothing else," he murmured, rubbing at his eyes for a moment before leaning over the papers again.

He nodded sharply, turning to exit the room. Once he did, he allowed himself a small smirk at the victory, before heading to the kitchen to start to prepare some food. Within fifteen minutes he'd prepared a stir fry with steak and a variety of vegetables which wasn't half bad, and headed back into the office, plate in hand, along with a large glass of water. "Here, sir," he said, placing it on the desk, raising an eyebrow.

"I appreciate it, Moran," Jim muttered in thanks, dragging the bowl towards himself without lifting his eyes from the data, and began digging in. His stomach growled immediately.

He allowed himself another smug smirk when his employer wasn't looking, before he sat down in the chair across from the desk again, intent on making sure that Jim actually went to sleep when promised.

He glanced up at his sniper as he cleared off the stir fry and reached for the glass of water, taking a sip before speaking; "You look like my nanny."

"I wasn't aware that you needed one, sir," he said. The 'but apparently you do' was left unsaid and obvious.

"Harrison suggested I installed a trap door in here. I've never taken her seriously until this moment," he said ineffectually. He really couldn't work up the energy to get truly angry with Moran's sass.

"Shall I put it on your to-do list, boss?" he deadpans.

Jim groaned letting his head fall forward to rest on his closed fist. "Jesus and Mary and all the _saints,_ Sebastian," he sighed, then slumped down the rest of the way and waved the back of his hand at Moran. "Get out. I'm going to sleep."

"In a bed, not your chair," he risks, standing and saluting crisply. "Night boss." He headed out.

Jim stayed where he was for a moment out of sheer stubbornness before he got up and moved, swearing, to the sofa. It wouldn't do to wake up cramped.

Sebastian went back downstairs, pushing through the door to the monitor room, practically giddy. "I live," he crowed, flopping down in a chair next to Lorna.

She looked over her nearing-tepid coffee and raised her eyebrows, impressed. "Wow. Are you just high off the adrenaline or did you actually go and have _fun?"_

He was buzzing. "I made him eat food and sent him to bed. And I _lived_."

She accidentally inhaled a sip of coffee and spent a few seconds hacking it back out of her windpipe before squeaking " _What?_ You sent him to _bed?_ Holy fuck, you just got off a roller coaster that has a habit of eating people _alive."_

He barely restrained a grin, adrenaline coursing. "I know. I know. But he was running himself into the ground and I told him it was my job to look out for him, and if he wasn't going to go sleep then I'd make him. And he fucking _went."_

"Holy shit. It's like I'm sitting in the presence of God. If you have something statistically unlikely to get done, now would be the time, because you're not going to get any bloody luckier than this for the rest of your life, I'll bet you anything," she chuckled, now at the point where she was just laughing at his giddiness.

"Alternatively, it could go horribly wrong just to make up for the luck," he retorted, reaching up to rub at his eyes, chuckling. "Christ, I've worked this job too long."

"I'll agree with you there," she snorted, returning her eyes to the monitors. "When's the last time you took a proper vacation? 2000 B.C.E.?"

"Just got off one, as you well know," he says, kicking his feet up and watching Adler fuck the living daylights out of her quarry with a rather impressive strap-on. "In this business, disability and vacation are synonymous."

"Mm. I suppose there's some truth to that," she agreed, reaching for the flask of whiskey she'd tucked into her jacket and splashing some into her coffee before setting it on the desk where he could reach it. "Actually, speaking of which - Cohen down in hits is peddling coke to other employees. Not the fun kind, either. Well. The too-much-fun kind. I'd have a word with her, but..."

"But...?" he asked, reaching out for the flask. "You know the policy. No drugs. There isn't a warning system here. Get him taken downstairs and confined. I've got a few techniques I've been meaning to try out."

"Her," she corrected automatically, then shook her head. "That's not- I'm... Hm. I'm avoiding temptation."

"Her, right, sorry," he muttered. "Distracted. There's sort of live porn going on." He returned his attention to her. "Temptation to... Ah." He made the connection. "I'll deal with her," he said easily. "I think I've found a way to replicate what Holmes did to us."

"Live _lesbian_ porn, though, I'll point out. Hard to mess the pronouns up. And thanks. And... gross?" she glanced over at him, scrunching up her nose. "If I never have to spend another minute a room with those creepy-ass beetles I'll be a happy woman."

"Replicate. Not exactly the same. But suit yourself. I'm just looking forward to capturing the sniveling cunt at some point and giving him a bit of a tour."

"I'll be there for that one, don't think you can even try to stop me," Lorna growled into her now Ethiopian-Irish coffee, watching as the Adler woman brought out a gag that looked deliberately uncomfortable. "I still have nightmares about the sod." Ones that weren't held back by the presence of Malcolm, who she'd never thought of as particularly threatening, and therefore not particularly safe.

"I wouldn't dream of trying to stop you," he said calmly. "I thought you'd shaken the nightmares."

She sighed. "Mm. No. They're not as bad as they used to be, in terror or frequency, but they haven't left. It doesn't interfere with my work, though, so you needn't worry about it. They'll clear out _eventually,_ I'm sure."

"I wasn't worried. Just curious." He raised an eyebrow as the whip reemerged. "She's got endurance, you've got to give her that."

She glanced at her wristwatch. "It's been an hour and a half since they started. I'm starting to be concerned about dehydration, to be completely honest."

"It is what she does for a living. Adler, at least. Though I'm pretty sure most royalty fucks off for a living, as well, just in a less literal sense." He took a swig of the whiskey from her flask. "Weren't you staying mostly dry?"

Lorna scoffed. "What? Me? Moran, the only reason I went mostly dry for like a week was because I was filled with little bitty insect burrows. I've been in a manageable state of inebriation for a week."

"Oh, silly me, and here I thought you had your liver in mind," he snorts.

"It had its vacation," she shrugged, "Its sick leave is over."

"Yeah, well, I bet you it's flying a white flag," he retorts, taking another pull off the flask and closing it up.

She leaned over, taking it back and slipping it into her jacket again. "I'm a grifter, Moran. We don't plan long-term. No point, when my striking good looks could disappear any moment," she smirked, settling back into her seat. Hell, she didn't even want to try worrying about the long term. That's what a Boss was for.

"Yeah, right," he rolled his eyes, then nodded towards the screen. "Looks like they're finishing up."

Lorna followed his nod to the monitor, then let out a sigh of relief, immediately kicking back from the table and climbing to her feet. "Thank _god._ I have an hour before I have a date with Malcolm and I need sleep or I'm going to kill him. Unless you, I don't know, have a job for me?" She hummed half-hopefully, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Want to get out of the date?" he asked, mildly curious, reaching to turn on the recorder just in case, before standing and stretching as well.

"Yeah, a bit," she admitted, lifting her shoulders and letting them fall back down in a defeated gesture. "I lack the energy to lie without motivation from a job. Ugh, never grow a conscience."

He considered her for a moment, then shook his head, smirking a bit. "I'm not your mercy squad. You're a grifter. Grow the guts to handle your own interpersonals."

She put her free hand on her hip, the other still holding on possessively to her coffee, and stuck her tongue out at him. "You're a very cruel man, Moran. You're going to be up shit creek without a paddle when you need a little compassion from me, just you wait and see," she tried saying disapprovingly, and failed when she only ended up smirking. Then she waved a hand at him, turning on her heel. "Sleep. I'm going to do that."

"I could be less compassionate and offer to lie about some mission to Malcolm and fuck you into the wall. Our surveillance has me all ramped up. But I'll be nice, shall I?"

She narrowing avoided spilling her tepid coffee all down her front at that, stopping in the doorway and turning again to look at him. She didn't know whether to be shocked or pleased, so she settled for both. "That's really the only kind of compassion I could ask from you, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "Compassion's pointless if you don't get something out of it," he retorts, walking past her out the door and down the hall.

She chucked the coffee into a very full bin by the door and then followed him, just a step behind. "I won't argue. But that's only because I'm sure you'd make me pay for it if I did."

He smirks. "Good. You can be taught. Now go sleep."

"Aye aye, captain," she chuckled, taking the next left and heading for the elevator, more than a little excited to be able to sleep in her _own_ bed. He watched her go, sighing, and headed for his apartment. Time to get some work done.

* * *

The very first thing Lorna did when she woke up from her catnap was to check her phone for any messages from the Boss or Moran that told her she had an _actual_ job waiting for her, as had become routine during the few weeks she had been confined to sobriety and had found herself lacking things to do. Nothing. A long email from a lower-level grifter who was asking for a bigger costume budget - which only showed a disappointing lack of creativity - and a text from Malcolm that she couldn't even force herself to open, because there was a 50% chance it would contain a heart emoticon. When that was settled she got up to grab a bottle of the brand of bourbon that Moran had seemed to taken a liking to and stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her. Unless _he_ was asleep that would be enough for him to know she was awake.

He heard the door, and smirked slightly, looking at his door from where he was reading and counting down in his head. _Five, four, three, two..._

It took her a moment to resign herself to the fact that he simply did not possess the manners to get up and open the door without actual prompting, but she delayed her knock on the door by a few seconds just to see if she could throw him off anyway.

He rolled his eyes. "Get off your high horse," he called, listening to the silence outside his door that told him she wasn't walking towards or away, just standing there. "I'm comfortable."

She snickered, opening the door and stepping inside, amused and very secretly pleased with herself. "Believe me, if I had a horse I wouldn't be hanging out with this crowd. I brought that bourbon I'm pretty sure you like. I might be completely making it up, though, so feel free to correct me."

He glanced at the bottle, secretly impressed at her memory, though his expression remained unchanged as he nodded slightly. "Not a bad brand. Didn't you have a date?"

"I'm blowing it off for your half-offered 'compassion'," she shrugged, setting the bottle down with a thunk on the coffee table. "Unless you were joking, in which case I'll leave the bottle as a token of appeasement and trot right on out of here."

He raised an eyebrow, considering the situation. He had been joking. But he hadn't gotten around to jacking off, and hell if the idea of actually landing some decent tail didn't sound appealing. Not that he'd missed Harrison's company, remotely, of course. But an infrequent line of bar-stool bimbos could only get you so far. He stood to go get glasses. "So, what's your mission that you're supposedly off on, then?"

She sank down into the couch, fighting back surprise, and shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Something in Wales, maybe. Had to attend a blackmailed abbot's secret party. I do a lot of ridiculous things, coming up with an excuse will not be difficult."

He returned, chucking a glass her direction. "This high school drama is becoming ridiculous," he pointed out, rolling his eyes. "He's becoming more of a mark than a boyfriend. All you ever do is lie to him to get what you want."

She caught it one-handed and leaned forward to uncap the bottle, chuckling. "Yeah, you're right. I'll break it off soon, don't you worry. I've gotten all I wanted from him, after all."

"Remind me what that was again?" he snorts, flopping back onto the couch next to her and holding out his glass.

"Free dinner, frequent sex, a few large-but-comfortable shirts," she hummed, filling his glass and then her own before setting the bottle down again. "I was hoping for emotional security, silly thing that I am, but alas, it was not to be."

"You're a grifter," he guffawed, taking a sip of his drink. "Good luck with the emotional security thing. Not saying it's impossible, just... difficult."

"Ah, I know. No point in worrying about it right now. If it happens, it happens," she snorted, following suit and making a small dent in her bourbon. "Either way, I know better now. I just hope Malcolm doesn't sabotage any cars I need to take out."

"If he knows what's good for him, he won't," he laughed. "A chauffeur who can keep his mouth shut is extremely expendable. A grifter is not. Anything happens to you, and I will enjoy testing out my new equipment on him."

She grinned. "You see, it's times like these I really appreciate my job status. In times of doubt I have to try and remember my job security."

"That you do," he chuckled, taking another sip of bourbon. "How'd your nap go?"

"It was fantastic, thanks for asking. I'm still running on a very low tank, but I'll manage. How was that paperwork?" She didn't really know what he'd gone off to do while she was conked out in bed, but it was a safe bet it was something dull.

He shrugged. "It wasn't bad. Mostly going over the boss's plan of attack for this whole Holmes business, getting details covered."

Lorna grimaced a bit, taking a swig from her drink. "I don't like the whole business. It sounds an awful lot like a war to me, and I've always been better with small, unconnected skirmishes."

"It isn't war," he said quietly, shaking his head a little and contemplating his glass. "It's a hunt. Captain Ahab looking for his White Whale."

"Except his Whale knows almost exactly where he is and how to fight back. Maybe it is a hunt. But I have a learned respect of that goddamned Whale," she muttered, frowning slightly.

"So did Ishmael," he pointed out. "The 'goddamned Whale', as you put it, is Ahab's equal. The mad man versus the mad beast."

"Excuse me for my lack of knowledge about it, I never got to the end of it. Ironically, I dropped it in the sea while on a whale-watching trip."

He snorted, setting his glass aside for the moment. _"Please_ tell me you're joking."

"Nope," she shook her head, keeping a straight face, "I was fifteen and my mom decided to take me out for something educational. In preparation, I started reading it. Unfortunately, we hit some rough seas... _Moby Dick_ went right overboard. I was quite upset at the time."

He decided he wasn't going to respond to that, instead taking a long sip from his glass. "You gonna text Malcolm some excuse? And a reason why you haven't borrowed a car from him?"

She made a noncommittal noise. "I was thinking I'd text him in a few hours saying someone or another pulled me off the street and drove me straight to the airport. Something came up, blah blah blah. I think he's the kind of man who'd rather accept a weak lie than a harsh truth, don't you?"

He nodded, the barest hints of a smile turning the corner of his mouth. "Very true."

Lorna downed a good portion of her drink and then looked fondly down at the bottle. "Christ, I missed hard liquor. You can still keep the bottle, though. Merry Christmas."

He snorted slightly but nodded his thanks, raising his glass her direction. "Appreciated."

"You're perfectly welcome. It's the least ass-kissing I could do. Besides getting you a cat or something. You strike me as the type that's allergic, though."

"Not allergic, but I'm not sure how well a cat and I would get on," he smirked. "It might end up dead for sneaking up on me while I was sleeping."

"Good point. Maybe I'll just drop a tank full of live lobsters outside of your door on Christmas Eve," she grinned, finishing off her bourbon and leaning forward to set the glass down on the coffee table. "Unless you're partial to some other type of seafood."

He laughed, tossing back the last of his own glass. "You are eager to suck up, aren't you?"

"Continued job security on my part," she chuckled, leaning back and making herself comfortable, "But it's still not really necessary. I'm _painfully_ ahead of the other grifters. Painfully. Even if you wanted to kill me - I mean, assuming you don't - I'm a lot more useful than my ultimate successor."

"A lot more full of yourself, too," he smirked, leaning forward to pour himself another half-round of bourbon.

"I've _earned_ it," she hummed, staring up at the ceiling to avoid looking too smugly at him. "And I'm pretty, I'm allowed to be full of myself. What else am I going to pour my time into, knitting?"

He shrugged, sitting back. "You really should find a hobby. Even I have a few, though they remain job related."

"I would take up one, if I didn't spend so much time on the job. Any job-related hobbies I have don't look like hobbies to anyone else, anyways," she snorted, lifting her head from its resting place on the back of the sofa to look at him. "What do you do that doesn't involve guns?"

"People, in various forms of the word 'do'," he mutters into his glass, the smooth drink enticing. "Do, or do in, or a bit of both."

She grinned. Oh, that was just too good not to dig into. "Really? In what case did the 'do' and 'do in' happen in the same instance? Were you hammered or something?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I have to be hammered to want to have fun with my victims? It's a hobby, after all."

"Alright, I'll give you that," she smirked, shrugging lightly. "If I'd known that could be considered a hobby I'd have told you. My job is mostly my hobby, let's face it."

"No, this is outside the realm of my assigned work," he retorts. "Like I said, I've almost perfected Holmes' work. This is experimentation on the side."

She just smirked at him, toeing off her shoes and drawing her feet up so she could sit more comfortably. "Moran, you just enjoy going extravagantly above and beyond the line of duty. And fulfilling your own needs, sexual or sadistic. Don't get me wrong, it's nice to have a manager who knows what he wants all the time. Means I don't always have to guess."

"Sounds like I've made things too easy," he deadpanned. "I'll need to work on that." He set his glass aside again, a little warm from the alcohol, but not much else.

"Hmmph. Eas _ier,_ maybe. If it stems your making things difficult for me you should know that it's taken me this long to even get over checking you for weapons every time I see you. And it's because I know you always have them."

He allowed his teeth to show in a broad grin. "Oh, but it's so amusing all the ones you miss when you do that."

She groaned. "And that is precisely the reason I _stopped._ I don't need to know how big of a threat you are to my life at _all_ times; I know you could kill me fairly easily. Knowing how easily is just something I don't need, you know?"

"How easily I could kill you has very little with how I'm armed," he points out. "It's just a matter of having more options. I wasn't aware you were so squeamish." Still the cold smile.

"I didn't _used_ to be," she huffed, "And then I met Squeamishness in the form of flesh-eating beetles. If you _somehow_ have weapons worse than that on your person, they're something I don't have the desire to find out about."

His smile dropped slightly. "No. I don't. Nor would I want to." He reached out and picked up the glass again, considering the thin layer of liquid in the bottom and tilting it back.

"Then I can start checking you for weapons again, if you've truly missed me eyeing you up every day," she quipped, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I don't know how I've gone this long without it," he returned, voice devoid of inflection.

"Horribly, I imagine," she hummed, her voice perfectly pleasant.

He snorted. "Alright, if you think it's so important. What am I carrying at the moment?"

"An empty glass," she smiled, only barely stifling a laugh.

He smirked slightly. "And that's the end of your thorough search, is it?"

Lorna broke into a full grin, lifting her hands and giving her fingers a wave. "If it's going to be thorough, it's going to be handsy, Moran."

His expression didn't change, nor did his posture, leaned comfortably against the arm of the couch. "Do I appear to be objecting?"

"No, but appearances can be deceiving," she chuckled, leaning over anyway and kneeling beside him so she could start unbuttoning his shirt. She'd seen the knife in his pocket a while ago, mostly on accident, but she was fairly certain he had a small gun on under his shirt, and she wasn't going to get to it without getting the fabric out of the way.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking just slightly, crossing his arms behind his head and letting her explore. "That's fucking gold, coming from a grifter."

Lorna laughed, finishing with the buttons on his shirt and reaching inside to tug pointedly at the gun holster with a muttered 'yep'. "On the contrary, when I walk into a party or a restaurant or a club with a tight dress on and an obvious lack of morals I suggest to people that they're going to get laid. I tend to follow through on that wordless promise. Just because I'm there for another reason doesn't mean my appearance is deceiving."

He nodded as she located the gun holster. "I'm not sure that's a sound argument, but I'll give it to you because I'm feeling generous."

"If that's the word you want to use for it, fine," she teased, leaning in for a better angle to stuff her hands into his trouser pockets, coming up with a knife and what looked like a small bottle of pepper spray. She set both on the coffee table instead of trying to hazard stuffing them back in.

He grinned, letting out a quiet laugh. "You're more invasive in your frisks than the airports," he grinned, though he let a hand drop to push her hair back out of her face.

She patted down his legs with a smirk, lifting one foot at a time to get down to his ankle before coming up with one last knife. "I'm aware you're capable of carrying a lot of weapons on you at a single time, unlike the airport agents. And I'm a lot more interested in getting into your pants."

"Both excellent reasons to be more thorough," he agrees, smirking. The hand in her hair shifted and tightened a little, gaining a lightly held handful.

"More thorough, huh?" She chuckled, bumping her head into his hand lightly and then reaching for his belt. "Well, if you _insist.."_

He grinned, fingers tightening a little in her hair, enough to establish a bit of control, his other hand coming forward to trace fingers over her hip.

She would have started kissing a line down his bare and, frankly, tempting chest if not for the hand in her hair telling her that she was not going to be the one making any decisions here, and instead used the time to drop his belt on the floor and unbutton his trousers. "You want me somewhere, or do you plan on keeping my head hostage?"

"I'm deciding," he said simply, his free hand sliding into the back of her trousers and getting a firm grip on her arse. He considered her for a moment, before pulling both hands forward in one smooth movement, overbalancing her and pulling her down against his chest as his teeth found the side of her neck, the hand in her hair pulling her head with firm control to the side.

Against all odds she managed not to let a surprised squeak escape her as she was pulled into him, although couldn't stop the gasp that left her at the feeling of his teeth scraping across her skin. If there was anything she'd actively missed about the infrequent and few times she and Sebastian had fucked it was his willingness to be rough. And, since she was in no position to move to straddle his lap, she simply contented herself with rocking her arse back into his palm and dragging her nails down his abdomen until they dragged at the waistband of his pants.

He sat up, bringing her with him, his teeth making marks in her neck before he released. The hand in her hair moved to grab her waist and he lifted her with both hands as if she weighed nothing, until she was more conveniently across his lap. Both hands moved then to the front of her shirt, and he held her gaze as he tore it easily down the center, eyes daring her to question.

She only gave him a vaguely exasperated look, pushing at his own offending article of clothing down his shoulders and arms until it wouldn't go any further, then smirked. "Well? _I'm_ certainly not going to rip your shirt off."

"Good, I like it," he smirked, sitting forward to pull it off of his arms and toss it to the side. Then he returned to his previous task of making his mark on her neck, this time his teeth closing directly over her jugular as his hands found her hair again, tilting her head back until she was forced to arch her back a little to accommodate, shifting her off balance and putting her weight into his arms. Control.

She gasped again as he got back to what was sure to leave a bite-shaped bruise while simultaneously putting her in a position that left her no leverage, her hands searching for purchase on the sofa before she was wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her fingers in his hair, a last ditch effort to hold onto some of the power. There really wasn't any point. She was perfectly fine with giving it up to him.

He yanked his head against her grip in his hair with a mild snarl, his hands shifting from her hair to claw lines down her back as his mouth softened suddenly on her neck, shifting up towards her ear with scraping teeth and a hot tongue bent on exploring. His fingers found the clasp of her bra, undoing it deftly.

She gave up holding onto him to shed her bra and shuck it off to the side, arching as close to him as she could, her skin singing under his touch. This position was severely frustrating to her; not only was she held over empty air at his mercy, she was completely unable to grind her hips against his and give back a little of what he was giving.

He smirked at her frustration, and at the abandonment of her bra, his mouth seizing the opportunity presented by her arched back and exposed breasts, feathering down over her shoulder and collarbone, stubble scraping, until his lips closed over a flushed peak, tongue tracing circles. His hands found her shoulder blades, pulling her hips down against his for just a moment and grinding upwards before pulling away again, controlling their interaction, challenging her.

"Fuck, _Moran,"_ she growled, half in complaint at his playing and half a plea for _more, dammit,_ her cheeks flushed and back arched as close to him as she could manage in silent, wanton encouragement. Christ, it was hard enough wanting him without him keeping such a rigid control over the situation that she hadn't even gotten her teeth on him yet.

He bit down on her nipple firmly enough to hurt a bit, though no further yet, and released, watching her lustfully as she shifted and squirmed, at his mercy. After a moment, he shifted backwards, pulling her up until her center of gravity was back over him and she had her balance again. He pressed his palms flat against her back, fingers spread wide, and slid them up and over her shoulders, down her arms to close around her wrists, but other than that he gave her freedom to move, eyes challenging.

Determined not to waste a single second of her relative freedom, she ignored his grip on her wrists and the pleasant aches from his bites and stubble burn to close the few inches between them to kiss him with a rushed lack of finesse. There was no point in taking her time, not when he could stop her at any second.

He laughed against her mouth, but returned the kiss eagerly, tongue pushing its way into her mouth to scrape against hers, hands pushing her arms behind her back but not pushing her away, just enjoying the feeling of her slightly strained under his force.

She let him dominate the kiss, even though it was tempting to bite down on his tongue and take back her hands for her own use. Still, she did roll her hips down into his with the express purpose of attempting to make him lose a little of his cool.

He was already plenty hard, to the point where the confinements of his trousers was becoming uncomfortable, and that certainly didn't help. He let out something between a growl and a moan at the friction, pulling his tongue back and biting into her lip as a retort.

It was her turn to laugh, pulling back from his lips completely to suck a mark into existence on his throat, beginning to undulate against him a slow rhythm. She would drive him crazy if it was the last thing she ever did.

He took a sharp breath through his nose, but moved right along with her, one hand moving to hold both her wrists in place, the other trailing across her back and over her ribs until he could get a full, firm handful of one of her breasts, kneading firmly.

She let out a pleased hum against Moran's neck, nipping at his collarbone before kissing and licking a trail up to the corner of his jaw and to bite at the shell of his ear. "D'you think you could give me my hands back?"

"Depends on if you ask nicely enough," he retorts, tilting his head back slightly as she explored his neck. He gripped her wrists a little tighter.

"Alright. Please?" she ventured, leaning back and smirking at him. On his lap, she just barely made it to eye level. "Unless you're going to bust out your handcuffs you can't do this forever."

"Handcuffs... Not a bad idea." He smirked, but released her hands.

"You can add it to the queue, if you feel like it," she chuckled, rolling the tension out of her shoulders briefly before she was kissing him again, hands skating down his sides. One she slid between them to squeeze him through the fabric of his trousers, the other dragging red lines back up his sides. If he didn't like it, she was sure he would let her know.

He did, though, the pain of her nails in his skin invigorating and clear combined with the smoldering heat in his gut as she handled him. He slid a hand down the back of her trousers again, fingers curving forward to brush against her heat through her knickers in retaliation. He pulled back from her lips to take a breath. "We have a queue, now, Harrison?"

She was breathing a little bit harder now and fighting the urge to rock back into his hand, chasing any bit of friction he'd give her, but she still managed a cocky grin, leaning to one side and lifting her knee to reveal the patch of the sofa she'd torn the last time they'd gotten handsy with each other. "I think I remember you saying you were going to fuck me into a wall when this happened. I remember you saying that _today,_ actually."

He glared at her, then sighed. "Fine. There's an idea queue. Don't get cocky." But he grinned slightly, his fingers pushing aside the material of her panties to get to her actual skin.

"Don't worry, I-" she cut herself off with an indecent moan as he pressed against her, rocking back into his hand needily. Some part of her cognitive functions that remained reminded her that her hand was in prime position to start tugging down his trousers, which was what she immediately started doing.

He grinned, his middle finger circling her entrance a few times before he pulled his hand back, instead grabbing at the waist of her trousers and working to get rid of them as well.

Lorna managed to yank his trousers half down by sheer force of will before she let out a grunt of frustration and got off him to kick off her own half across the room and waiting impatiently for him to do the same. "You're very good at looking smug, you know that?"

"It's what I do," he said, standing at his own pace and pulling his trousers off. They were both covered in matching sets of pale, barely-there scars, really only noticeable when you saw them all together, a network of shimmering, slightly-pinker lines of new skin over their body. He pulled his pants off, as well, tossing them aside and reaching out to push her knickers off with a smirk.

She didn't answer him, too caught up in stepping out of her underwear while surreptitiously taking in the new scars. She knew what she looked like with them and had begrudgingly made peace with that, but it was slightly comforting to see someone else having them and still looking just as fine. If fine was a strong enough word. She stepped back into his space, running her fingers up his arms to rest her hands on his shoulders. "You're inconveniently tall, by the way."

He raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you're just inconveniently short." He shrugged. "Anyway. That's where the wall comes into play." He grinned, grabbing her waist and lifting her as he turned quickly to push her against the cool wall, held up so that her face was level with his. "See?"

"Mm. Very useful," she agreed with mock-seriousness, wrapping her legs around his waist to get better leverage and then breaking out into a laugh that mostly stemmed from the endorphins in her system, and shut herself up by kissing him again.

He kissed her back, roughly now, his hands sliding down from her hips to grab her arse and give him a bit of leverage as well as he ground into her slowly, letting out a moan against her mouth, his teeth scraping her lips and tongue.

She pressed her shoulders back into the wall so she could rub into him easier, biting into his lip to spur him on faster. She could feel heat uncurling up her spine, and it was distracting to the point of madness.

He grinned, tasting blood on his tongue as she split his lip. He could feel how hot she was against him, the desperation in the way she moved, and he lifted her away from him, pinning her hips and waiting for her to stop moving. He turned his head to bite- slowly, painfully, till he caught a taste of blood in return for the one she'd taken. Then he set her down for a moment. "Condom," he muttered, going into his bedroom and digging one out of the end table.

"Okay," she breathed out once he was already gone, leaning back against the wall for support while she waited for him to get back, a hand absently coming up to check for blood on the bite he'd left and not being surprised when she found it. Yes, she would have to break up with Malcolm the next time she saw him. She was going to _covered_ in marks by the time she and Moran were done.

He returned, condom in place, and didn't pause, stalking across the room towards her and lifting her, slamming her none-too-gently against the wall as his hips pressed roughly against hers, bending to trace his tongue over the slowly bleeding mark on her neck.

She nearly lost her wind as he slammed her into the wall, gasping for breath as she wound her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers into his hair, more for something to hold onto than any sort of vain bid for control. Hell, she didn't _want_ control, she just wanted him to soothe the growing aching heat in her core.

He lined up with her and waited for no permission, he could feel it vibrating through her body if he wanted it, anyway. He pushed into her with smooth force, a hand snaking up between her arms to find her throat and grab hold, pressing her head back against the wall as his hips rolled against hers for a moment, getting a feel for the angle.

She moaned shamelessly as he finally filled her, digging her nails into his scalp without care - his grip on her throat had the effect of making her feel like it wouldn't be pushing any lines, after all. "Don't stop," she demanded, panting for breath and doing her damned best to move her hips in rhythm with his.

"Is that an order?" he sneered, his fingers digging into the side of her neck a little. But he didn't stop, instead starting to increase the length and power of his thrusts.

"You and I both know I can't order you t-to do anyth _ing-ah, fuck_ ," she moaned, her sentence breaking up as he started to pick up the pace. The wall was starting to rub a little uncomfortably at the skin of her back now, but _god_ it was worth it.

"M-might be amusing... if you tried..." he grunted, breath a bit short. Her movement against him was glorious, and he shifted his hips farther underneath hers, pushing her up the wall a bit and giving him a stronger angle of approach.

She managed a breathless laugh. "I think it might lo- _mmph_ -lose it's oomph with y-your hand around my neck," she panted, using her grip on his shoulders to help lift herself and drop _hard_ down onto him, swearing triumphantly behind clenched teeth.

" _Fuck_ -" He let out a groan, losing himself in the sensations for a few moments, tilting his hips until he was dragging against her walls with each stroke. His thumb grazed the side of her jugular, back and forth, possessive.

If she wasn't pinned to the wall she would have buried her face in the crook of his neck and held on for dear life, but as it was she had to gasp for breath with her head tilted back to the ceiling, and thus she was quite a bit noisier, high-pitched whines dispersed amongst her pants for air. She thought she was going to pass out, he felt _so_ good, like she was filled to the damned brim.

She was tight and fluid around him, grasping at him as he moved and reacting to him with strength. He could feel her pressing against his grip on her neck a little and it turned him on more than he was prepared for, the feel of her swallowing and breathing and whimpering under his palm, her legs cinched tight around his waist. Flames were licking their way up his spine and across his shoulders like wings, and he cried out slightly as he pressed his forehead to the wall next to her head.

Lorna didn't think there'd ever been anything more satisfying in the world than hearing Sebastian Moran coming apart right beside her ear, even over the sounds of her heart pounding in her head and her own strangled cries. She could feel the pleasure boiling its way towards the tipping point, arching into him in a frantic, needy demand for more, for anything that would push her over the edge and stop her from burning alive.

She pressed into him hungrily, and took him in that much deeper, making him cry out again, his teeth finding her shoulder and sinking in there for a moment as he reached down with his free hand to slip between them and find her clit. It wasn't an easy matter with them moving around so much, but he did manage to locate it, and started rubbing quickly with their movements.

That was it. That was all she could take. The extra stimulation sent her sparking over the edge, her voice suddenly silent as she gasped and shuddered and clawed her nails across his shoulders and she held on as tightly to his waist with her thighs as she could, because if she let go now she was certain it would kill her.

She twisted around him, clamping down around him tightly and sending fantastic sensations through him as he continued to move, but he didn't last long past her. A few moments after she came he joined her, teeth digging into her shoulder as he muffled his cry, white light flashing behind his eyes.

She found herself winded as she blinked black spots from her eyes, her pounding heart slowly beginning to quiet as they caught their breath. Absently, she ran her fingers over the faint raised lines she'd left with her nails. "M-Moran, I'm going to.. need my neck back," she breathed, stumbling over her words a bit sluggishly and not helped by the building ache in her windpipe.

He nodded, releasing her neck quickly and finding her hips, pulling out of her and gently lowering her to the ground, still supporting a good portion of her weight as he let her get her feet. His eyes were still closed, forehead against the coolness of the wall.

She slumped back against the wall, legs shaking beneath her, and just took a long moment to retrieve her breath. Contented exhaustion was beginning to settle in her limbs and chest, making her feel weighed down. Still, she remained where she was without moving, giving time for Moran to come down from the endorphin high on his own.

He gradually relaxed, grunting slightly as he stood, reaching up to rub at his face. "Feel fucked into a wall enough?" he asked with a touch of bleariness.

"Yeah," she breathed, too well-fucked to bother with a snappy retort. She lifted a slightly unsteady hand to wipe at the drying blood on her neck, looking slightly inconvenienced about it more than anything else. "Think I want 'nother nap."

"Yeah," he muttered, nodding in agreement and motioning for her to follow as he headed for his room. He disappeared into the bathroom to clean up, but returned a few moments later to flop onto the bed.

She followed without questioning, crawling into bed next to him and immediately stopping herself from curling into him - a habit she'd gotten into with Malcolm that wouldn't fly here. Instead she just grabbed one of his pillows and burrowed into it, making a contented little sigh.

He grabbed the blanket, pulling it up, and buried his head under a pillow. A few moments later, he was asleep.

She followed immediately after, falling asleep without dreams for the first time in a week.

* * *

He woke slowly, groggily, letting out a low grumble as he shifted in his bed, reaching out for his pillow, only to find a warm body next to him. His hand was on his knife from the bedside table before he had time to really process, but then it came back to him and he relaxed, setting the weapon aside.

Lorna woke up when the bed shifted sharply under her, coming to her senses in time to hear the blade Moran had grabbed being set on the nightstand. Soon after she registered that she cataloged the various aches and pains that her bedmate had left behind and rolled over, grunting as she stretched. "I think I have stubble burn on my chest," she mumbled, cracking her eyes open.

"Am I supposed to apologize?" he asked, laying back and turning to look at her, grinning at the purpling bruises left behind by his teeth and hands.

"No," she chuckled hoarsely, "I enjoyed it. Have to put some disinfectant on that bite mark, though. Are you sure this isn't why Boss calls you Tiger?"

"I have no fucking clue why he calls me Tiger," he snorts, rolling his eyes. "Just picked it up one day. And I've never bit him, so that's not a valid reason."

She yawned, nodding, then sighed. "Mm. What time is it? I should text my cuckold and tell him not to plan for any more dates."

He glanced at the clock. "Almost two in the morning," he grunts, amused.

She snorted, drawing the covers further up her torso in a clear display of her intentions of not moving. "Never mind. I'm comfortable anyway."

He laughed. "What do you think he's thinking right now?" he snorts, staring at the ceiling.

She chuckled, shrugging. "I don't know. I wonder if he'll try to confront a few men in the building when he sees my throat, really. I'm already bruising, it should be spectacular."

"I'll happily tell him who's responsible, if he really wants to know," he smirked. "I'd love to see his expression."

"Christ, if you really want to ruin your working relationship I won't stop you," she laughed, dragging her fingers through her mussed hair.

He laughed out loud. "That won't ruin anything, if he knows what's good for him. And if he doesn't, like I said. Chauffeurs are incredibly replaceable."

She grinned, stretching out and muffling another yawn into the crook of her arm. She felt like she needed a shower, but it was two in the morning and she was tired and comfortable. It would have to wait. "Well, then. Take a picture. That way if you really like the particular shade of purple he turns you can save it for later to paint your walls."

He smiled. "Sometimes it's scary how well you understand me." The phrase surprised him, not one he would usually use. But it was 2 in the A fucking M, and he was tired and well fucked, and nothing was of consequence.

She was too tired to do much more than chuckle. "I've carried your sorry ass out of a crazy torture dungeon, I think a small amount of familiarity is to be expected," she hummed, letting her eyes close, even though still awake to participate in any conversation.

"True," he muttered. He sighed, relaxing a bit, mind spinning back towards sleep before he forced himself to wake up a bit. "C'mere..." he mumbled quietly, lifting an arm to offer her space next to him. "So I don' try t' kill you in my sleep."

"M'kay," she yawned, rolling over and sleepily cuddling up against him, too appreciative of his warmth and general safety factor to question any further.

He tucked her against him, shifted once more, and then was asleep.

She fell asleep the second he was still - which was about two seconds after he'd fallen asleep - and slept like a fucking baby.


	12. Guy Fawkes Nightmare

He woke the next morning feeling more himself. He considered the woman tangled in his arms, and had a vague memory of telling her to go there so he wouldn't kill her when he woke up. Seemed like a good idea at the time, and still wasn't a terrible one. He smirked, bending to kiss the vibrant bruise on her neck.

Lorna was a deep sleeper up until the point people started moving around her, a groggy moan coming from her as she shifted, cracking her eyes open to blink blearily at the sniper. "Hi," she rasped.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Hi." He reached out a finger to trace the bruise over, then tracing her skin to another on her shoulder.

She could feel the ache in the skin he touched without craning her neck to look. Guessed right about the spectacularity of her bruises, then. She let her eyes drift close again, content with just enjoying his touch for the moment. "You admiring your handiwork?"

"Something like that," he agreed, the pad of his finger pressing down a little more firmly than strictly necessary against the center of one of the deeper bruises.

She made a noise of mild complaint, opening her eyes again to squint at him. "Must you?"

"Yes," he said, digging his finger in hard for a moment, before relenting and rolling onto his back. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"I'm not picky. Cereal is fine," she shrugged, in the middle of rubbing the sting out of her bruise. She didn't hold it against him. He was actually being kinda nice, which was a rarity.

He nodded, making no effort to move for the moment. "How'd you sleep?"

"Well. No dreams, that was nice," she replied. "I attribute it to your soothing deadly presence."

"I'm taking that as a compliment." He stretched, knuckles brushing against the head of the bed.

"Take how you like," she chuckled, sitting up and immediately groaning. Christ, she was sore _all_ over. She collapsed sideways dramatically onto the bed, letting out a huff. "Bring me a wheelchair."

"That bad, huh?" his eyes flashed with pride and amusement.

She groaned. "It's like I worked out twice as long as I was supposed to or something. I think I may actually have troubled walking. Well done, you. I'll just... not walk anywhere, it's fine."

"Keep in mind you're talking to a part-time sadist. Keep complaining and I'll order you out jogging."

"'Part-time', right," she laughed. "Point taken, I'll hush up."

He raised an eyebrow. "I have other interests as well, Harrison. I'm not so one-dimensional as you seem to believe."

She rolled onto her back again so she could actually look at him. "People can be multi-layered. You can still be full-time sadist and snuggle with a puppy. They're not mutually exclusive."

He smirked, but didn't press the issue for the time being. "Of course." He yawned, stretched again, and sat up. He was a bit sore, but not terribly so.

She got the feeling that that wasn't the last she was going to hear about that conversation, but she forgot about it for the moment, instead just smirking at the red scrapes she'd left behind on his shoulders, visible only when he was sitting up.

He twisted side to side for a moment, loosening up a few tight back muscles, then climbed out of bed, heading for his dresser in search of pants.

She watched him appreciatively for a few moments and then gathered her courage to get up, pushing herself out of bed with a mumbled swear and shuffling out into the living room for her own underwear. After she slipped those on and remembered that her shirt was in tattered ruins, she put on his.

He headed out into the main room mostly dressed, and headed over to the kitchen. He grabbed a couple of bowls from the cabinet and set them on the counter. "Cereal's there," he said, pointing to a cabinet as he headed for the fridge to grab the milk. "Find whatever you want."

"Cool. Thanks," she nodded, swimming in his shirt from the night before to the point where she had to roll his sleeves up several times to make full use of her fingers once again. When she made her way over to the cabinet and picked a cereal, she chose the most childish one there and poured herself a full bowl. "What do you do with the stuff in your fridge when you go out of the country? You come back to spoiled milk a lot?"

He shrugged. "Depends on how long I'll be gone. If it's too long, I'll bring some of it down to the common kitchen so it doesn't get wasted." He smirked at her attire. "That's two of your shirts that I've ripped now. I have no guilt."

"Christ, I need to start destroying more of your things," she quipped, rifling through his drawers until she found a spoon. "Maybe I'll stick with my theme of upholstery. Better hope you don't ever decide to get rough in a car you like, hm?"

"I'll keep that in mind," he smirked, grabbing a box of Chex and pouring a large bowl.

She hummed around a mouthful of off-brand Froot Loops before swallowing and letting her spoon rest on the edge of her bowl. "On a more serious note, do we have any further orders? We have insurance if someone higher up than Holmes tries to step in, but other than that..."

He shook his head just slightly. "Magnussen's been primed, and the appropriate channels opened. It shouldn't be long before Holmes takes the bait. Then we'll be busy as all hell."

"Well, you will be. The most I'll be doing is sitting back and watching the security feeds. Not much work for my type of job in this one, I don't believe," she frowned, then shrugged lightly and continued eating over the sink.

He nodded slightly. "Who knows. You might be useful yet, don't worry. A lot of this is going to be fear-mongering, and we need information to do that."

"Mm. True. Who knows how often you'll need someone to convince a security guard to open a gate?" she snorted, a tiny bit disappointed. "I more meant this is not going to be _fun._ Team jobs are never fun. Surely you get annoyed with people wandering into your scope?"

He laughed a bit. "Never thought about it like that. I could see that being annoying."

She smirked, pleased that she'd made him laugh when he wasn't drunk and not quite in his right mind. "Always glad to broaden horizons."

He snorted slightly at that, grinning and shaking his head, before digging into his cereal.

She finished off a good portion of her breakfast before she thought of anything pressing enough to warrant pausing for. "You know, you better hope that the Boss doesn't need me to do any last minute work this week, because it'd be difficult to swindle a man while wearing three scarves to hide your handiwork. And teeth-work."

He nodded slightly, considering that. "He's going to know, either way. Probably as soon as he sees me." He pours himself another bowl of cereal, before letting out a growl of frustration. "I just don't understand his fucking problem."

"Fuck if I know," she snorted, setting her bowl in the sink since she was done. "But I _can_ see it being a problem for him if I can't do my work right."

He glanced over at her, then sighed. "If we do this again, no marking," he conceded, before digging into his bowl of cereal again.

"I never said you were safe," she joked, winking once and then snickering. Then she sighed, sobering. "I don't think it will be an issue. I hope it won't. I heal fast and it doesn't look like I'll be leaving the building for a while anyway."

He drained the milk from his bowl and tossed the empty dish into the sink. "I'd better go get cleaned up. Almost time to report in. Hopefully he'll be in a decent mood now he's slept."

She nodded, taking that as her cue to go gather up her jeans and phone from the floor. "Good luck. I'll get the shirt back to you by tonight. No stealing, I promise."

"You'd better not," he agreed, heading for his room.

She tucked her stuff under her arm with a chuckle and then slipped out into the hall and disappeared back into her own room to get properly dressed and to shower off any dried blood.

He shaved and dressed, shoulder holster in place, hair combed flat. He examined himself in the mirror for any obvious marks or anything beyond a crisp, military-grade appearance, before heading for the door and the elevator. Time to go find out what signs he'd missed for the boss to catch anyway.

* * *

Jim was stiff. Inconveniently so, and it was starting to get annoying enough that he was ready for any excuse to get the hell out of this office and to walk up and down a flight of stairs. That would be a grossly inefficient use of his time, however, so here he was stuck, choking down statistical analysis until it felt like his head was just going to pop off. He was _bored._ Magnussen may have been setting him up for a beautifully dramatic reveal, but _god,_ he was fucking slow.

He took a breath, straightened his jacket one more time, and knocked crisply.

"Enter," he drawled, shoving the packet of data into his desk drawer with a vengeance.

The tone did not sound promising. He cleared his face of expression and stepped inside. "Good morning, sir. Sleep well?"

"As well as one can on a sofa with less back support than a stale marshmallow," Jim said flatly, doing a cursory sweep of Moran and then looking back again, eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. The sniper was even stiffer than he normally was. "Started that up again, have you?"

"I did suggest you sleep on a proper bed, sir," he returned, ignoring the latter comment. "Any new developments on Magnussen I should be aware of?"

"Pretending something's not happening won't make it go _away_ , Sebastian," Jim sang, a chilly smile creeping onto his face. This was the kind of entertainment he'd been hoping for. "Let me guess - it was her idea, wasn't it? Oh, poor _Malcolm."_

He stood tall, eyes calm. One way to deal with this that he could see. "If you're finished, sir, I think it might be best to focus on matters of actual importance."

Jim drummed his fingers against the wood of his desk, considering the sniper for a long minute. "Matters of actual importance are taking a small vacation for the moment while I wait for Magnussen to pick his old arse up and get _fucking moving,"_ he snapped, slamming his open palm against the desk, eyes flashing with frustration. "Do _not_ bring it up again."

He didn't flinch, simply nodded. "Sorry, boss. I wasn't aware that the situation was still stagnated. Any administrative tasks you'd like me to take care of? Or would you like me to find a way to speed things along?"

"You find a way to get that bastard to act and I'll keep the needling about your choking fetish to myself, Moran," he shook his head, pulling open his desk drawer with a bang and grabbing the packet again to drop it harshly on the desk. "I am _done_ waiting."

He grit his teeth, but walked forward at an even pace, picking up the packet and starting to flip through it slowly, eyes scanning. "He still hasn't alerted Morstan of his intent..." he said coolly. "Might I suggest the next step would be to do so ourselves, in his guise? He's intent on playing this game anonymously anyways. If there was two anonymous players, they'd never know the difference. We can force his hand, knock over the first domino."

He went still for a moment as he thought it through, picking out the most likely outcomes and contingency plans until he nodded, moving to turn on his computer. "That just might work. We'll have to keep it in Magnussen's style or later on this might take a bite out of our arses, but otherwise... "

"Seems like we have a pretty good information as to his style. Shouldn't be difficult to fabricate. I have a few ideas which could work." He turned a few more pages. "In fact... Guy Fawkes day is the middle of this week, sir. Lots of crowds and yelling, fire everywhere. It's the perfect time to run something subversive but out in the open. We'd blend right in."

"That's an excellent point... Well, I think Mr. Holmes has been too separated from his dear Dr. Watson, don't you agree?"

Moran flashed a smile. "What do you suggest, sir?"

"Well, it never hurts to have an extra effigy on hand, does it? I think we should see if we can make the good doctor flammable. That would make Sherly _sweat."_

His eyes became obsidian, smile wide and cruel. "I think that sounds like a perfect idea, sir."

"Good. Make it happen. And throw that damned packet in the can on your way out. It's too boring playing by the book," he snorted, returning his focus to the computer for the moment before glancing back. "I haven't forgotten about earlier, Tiger. You better have left her pretty."

He tossed the packet away. "She's fine, sir," he said coolly. "A few marks, but those will fade by the end of the day."

He flicked his sleeves back and began typing an email to Magnussen's people with something along the lines of 'this is what's happening, now fucking keep up' as a message, not looking up towards Moran again. "Good. I'm not interested in paying for a plastic surgeon to keep her useful. Grifters are a bit like horses that way. They get too damaged, you just have to shoot them."

If that was supposed to make him flinch or react, his employer was vastly underestimating him. "As always, sir, let me know if that needs to happen, but I assure you I won't be the cause of the problem."

"As long as we're clear. You know how I feel about my things," he muttered, sending off the email and leaning back with a satisfied air. "Magnussen should know soon."

He nodded. "Good to know. And I do know, sir." He hesitated, then turned around to face his employer. "When was the last time I caused you or this organization harm, sir? Through action or inaction?"

"You haven't," Jim replied coolly, "But that doesn't mean you won't. We are both, unfortunately, human. Even I've been known to _trip."_

"And should I fail you, I look forward to your vengeful wrath. But your life would be made easier, sir, if you were able to trust me just a tad bit more than you do now. Simply a suggestion for efficiency's sake, sir." His tone was nothing but respectful, gaze level.

"The day I trust anyone will be the day Lucifer comes to collect his due, Tiger. I'm Irish-Catholic. They may have failed to teach me guilt, but they taught me reservation," he smirked, lacing his fingers behind his head.

He nodded, and saluted casually. "Of course, sir. My mistake." He turned to go.

"See you later, Sebastian," he chuckled, settling into his chair. That had been just the sort of pick-up he'd needed.

He closed the door behind him, a mix of emotions. Part of him was pleased he'd managed to find a way to cheer the boss up, the other was frustrated by his employer's total lack of faith in him. A commander who didn't trust his soldiers got shot. By the enemy, if they were lucky. He headed downstairs.

* * *

Harrison found Sebastian a few hours later, her phone in hand and a frown on her face. "Uh.. Johnson has a delivery for you. It sounds an awful lot like that John Watson bloke, though."

"Good, he's early," Sebastian said with a smile. "The boss'll be thrilled. C'mon, Harrison. Where are they, garage?"

"Uh, yeah," she nodded, still confused as to why they had Watson trussed up downstairs. "I think they're taking him to one of the basement rooms, though. Why do we have him, again?"

"Moriarty got bored, we're forcing Magnussen's hand," he said crisply, punching the 'down' button to call the elevator and pulling out his phone to call the boss. "We've got him, sir."

"Excellent," she heard Jim declare through Moran's phone, "You'll need to prep him in a couple hours. Too light to take him out yet. Do what you will with him until then, just don't leave too many _marks."_ She raised her eyebrows at the laughter that came over the phone next.

He grit his teeth, but his expression didn't change. "I was hoping you'd join us, sir. We could blindfold him, as long as you don't speak you wouldn't be revealing your hand. Or do, if you like."

There was silence for a moment. "I have to finish something up, but I'll pop down in a little while. Feel free to start without me. I'd love to see what you're going to cook up."

"Of course, sir. Just let me know when you'd like to come in, and we'll make the appropriate arrangements." He hung up, stepping into the elevator as it opened. He glanced over at her and sighed at the bite mark peeking out under her collar. "He's going to get a kick out of that."

She tugged up at her collar with a grimace, leaning against the wall of the lift. Attracting Jim's humor sounded extremely uncomfortable, and she wasn't looking forward to it. "I _tried_ wearing a scarf earlier, but it was hot, and it kept getting in my way..."

"He would have been amused anyway. You heard the marks comment. He feels I have a fetish." His face was expressionless. He stepped out as soon as the elevator stopped moving.

"Ugh, that still doesn't mean I want him to laugh at _me._ He scares the shit out of me," she huffed, following him out and tucking her phone into her pocket.

"As well he should," he said, nodding and walking down the nondescript hallways of the basement.

She nodded, kicking a discarded can out of the way. The janitors must have been slacking off. "What are we doing with Watson, anyway?"

"Passing the time," he said with a smooth smile, "Which is personally one of my favorite things to do with these people. We're disorienting him, scaring the hell out of him, maybe getting a little information, but generally just breaking him as much as possible, to make him as much of a vegetable as we can, temporarily. Vegetables are neutral parties in hostage situations."

"Sounds like a lot of fun," she grinned, "You just do what you need to and I'll follow along. This isn't my kind of gig."

"In that you don't know how, or you can't stomach it?" he asked as they approached the appropriate door. He stopped to look at her, waiting for her to answer before they went in.

She put an indignant hand on her hip. "I told you what I did to that man in his own basement. I know how, and I can stomach it. This just isn't my work these days. I don't know exactly what you want me to do. And unless you're going to list it all out for me here I have to follow your example, don't I?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Tone, Harrison. I can't remember every little detail about your personal life." He allowed a hint of a smirk to take the bite off the words, and then headed in. Johnson and two of his nameless goons stood waiting in the well lit room. Each of the walls had seamless storage worked in, containing a plethora of instruments easily at hand, though many more were available in adjoining storage. In the center of the room was a sturdy metal chair that could be moved into a variety of creative positions, and strapped to the chair, blindfolded and gagged, was Dr. John Hamish Watson.

Lorna closed the door behind her and then stood to the side of it, mirroring the blokes with Johnson. She was one of them until Moran said anything to the contrary. Johnson put away his phone after a long second of ignoring the two of them, then looked up. "You want me to take my boys with me or do you want the muscle? I got somethin' waiting for me down the hall."

"Take them," Moran said coolly. "The boss wants to handle this one personally." He hadn't missed the blatant attempt at commanding the room, and wouldn't forget it, either.

Johnson gave a disinterested nod down at his phone and then waved a finger at his goons to lead the way out of the room before following, the door opening and shutting with a faint click. Lorna stifled a snort of amusement. That wouldn't end well for Johnson.

Moran raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Lorna with a bit of a smirk. Then he turned his focus to the man in the middle of the room and walked over, pulling off the blindfold. He waited until the man's eyes focused, slowed by the drugs in his system. "Welcome to consciousness, Captain. Do you know who I am?"

John blinked, trying to clear his vision and adjust to the brightness of the room, and it took him a second to sluggishly muddle through the words spoken by the man in front of him. When he did get there, he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "No.. no. Where.. am I?"

"You're in the custody of the Taliban," he said firmly, softening his accent and altering it with some Middle Eastern tones, but not dropping it completely. "Can you tell me your name and rank?"

"I... no, I don't want to," John shook his head, his words almost incoherent. "Lemme go."

"Name and _rank_ ," Moran repeated, and it was absolutely an order from a superior officer. His eyes drilled into John's face, expression calm but icy.

His head drooped, shoulders slumping forward, but he responded, "Captain John Watson. Field Doctor." Lorna watched from the side with curiosity and made a mental note about the impressiveness of Sebastian pulling rank.

"What's the last thing that you remember, Captain?" he asked, not acknowledging the cooperation with anything but a hint of approval in his voice.

"I was.. I was outside the flat. Looking for.. my friend," he muttered, frowning to himself as he tried to bring the memory into clearer detail. "Some bloke just... bumped into me."

"Wrong. You've been deployed in Afghanistan for the past seven months," he said without a shadow of doubt in his voice. "Try to remember. You reacted badly to a drug cocktail and it's confusing you."

"I don't... think that's right..." he shook his head slowly, beginning to look around the room blearily before his eyes got stuck on Harrison. "This is the Taliban?"

He nodded, expression not faltering. "That's correct." He turned, pretending to follow Watson's gaze, and his attention immediately switched to Harrison, trusting to play along. "What the fuck are you doing without that fucking thing?" He almost shouted as he immediately invaded her space angrily. "Do you _want_ them to shoot you? Fucking hell, I don't care if it's fucking uncomfortable-"

She backed into the wall in half-faked alarm, catching onto his meaning a moment later and yanking her scarf from earlier out of her jacket pocket. "It kept falling _off,_ they know to knock, I'll be _fine,"_ she insisted shakily, pushing the scarf into his hands with the air of someone trying to get rid of something that had clung to them all day. Watson watched with wide eyes from the side, looking a bit more convinced of their charade.

He shoved it back at her, expression livid, voice shaking slightly with forced control. "Put. It. On. And if you take it off again, I'll fucking shoot you myself." He turned away, made a show of getting control of himself again, and when he returned his attention to Watson, his gaze was cool and clear. "Now. It's my job to ensure that you've returned to health after your episode. You were in a coma for almost two weeks. "

Watson shook his head vaguely at Moran while Lorna stifled a swear and struggled to put on the scarf with any degree of accuracy. "I'm... why? Why am I here?"

"You're being interrogated," he said matter-of-factly. "As you have been since you were injured and captured."

John pulled belatedly at his confinements to the chair, now looking troubled but still quite out of it. "No... no, let me go."

He walked towards the wall, sliding a drawer out on silent rollers and removing a syringe, examining a few bottles. "You were found by the Taliban, badly injured, bullet in the shoulder. You almost died. You've been nursed back to health. So far interrogation has been mild, but you've been under the influence of drugs to keep you alive." He walked back over, syringe in hand, tourniquet in the other. He tied the latter around John's lower arm, waiting for veins. "Now, Captain. What's the last thing you remember?" he repeated.

The doctor made a noise of protest at the tourniquet and then shook his head again, squeezing his eyes shut. "I... no, no, that's not... Mary."

"Who's Mary?" he asked, his voice never raising above a certain pitch, almost hypnotic. He tapped the syringe a few times to clear any air bubbles.

"My... my wife?" John frowned, a veil of confusion settling over his face. "She... this isn't right."

"You don't have a wife, Captain. You've been experiencing hallucinations. This is reality. Pain is reality." He pushed the syringe into Watson's arm, introducing capsaicin to his system. "You should begin to experience an intense burning sensation. Hopefully that will help wake you up, help you remember." He reached out to grab John's neck and jaw firmly but gently, as if to guide him to meet his gaze, fingers carefully placing a mild hallucinogenic patch on the back of the man's neck, enough to keep him a bit foggy. "Now. Tell me Captain, because I'm concerned for you. What is the last thing you remember? Do you remember being shot?" His free hand moved to find the scarred shoulder, thumb moving to press against the center of the old wound just slightly.

John stumbled over his words a couple of times before he managed to get out anything that made sense, squinting as the burning spreading up his arm. "Yes. Yes, I remember," he mumbled, trying to roll his shoulder out of Moran's grip. "But it's... it's healed, isn't it?"

"It's getting there," he said, nodding, frowning slightly at the stumbled words and hoping that he hadn't overdone the hallucinogens. "Do you remember when the Taliban found you?" He watched as John struggled to answer, and straightened. "I'll leave you to think." He turned for the door, motioning for Lorna to exit with him.

Lorna slipped out after Moran, leaving Watson to stew in his drugs. She closed the door behind her as she left, then raised her eyebrows at the sniper expectantly.

"Right. I need anyone who speaks Pashto, down here now. I know Granger does, get at least one more, preferably two. They don't have to know a lot, but they have to be able to speak it convincingly," he said immediately. "Get them to wardrobe, I want close attire matches to videos of the Taliban from the time that Watson was in Afghanistan."

She nodded, already running through people in her head as he finished speaking. "Okay. I'll have them to you in fifteen, thirty minutes top. Do you want them convincingly armed, too?"

"Yes, of course. Everything. Give them ranks, names, I want to sell this. And have someone fix the scarf," he added as an afterthought, observing her hasty attempts to cover her head. Then he hit the speed dial on his phone for the boss. "Hello, sir... I think I've engineered a way for you to enter the playing field and have a little fun."

"If I really need to stand around uselessly, fine," she muttered under her breath, whipping the scarf off her hair and slinging it over her shoulder as she turned to walk away.

On the other line, Jim was grinning. "Nice work, Moran. I'll be down shortly."

"One thing, sir," he said, ignoring Lorna for the time being. "Is Pashto on the list of languages you speak, by any chance?"

"Of course," Jim chuckled, "Do you think I make deals with the Taliban in English? Oohh, is that the little charade you've been putting on for Johnny-boy?"

"Yessir," he said, smiling. "We're working to convince him that he's in Taliban captivity. We've got almost thirty-six hours... I figure if we convince him that Holmes is a fiction, he might be willing to tell us more about him. I'm not sure. Either way, I'm enjoying what this is going to do to him."

"I've always found psychological to be my favorite. Much longer-lasting consequences than anything you can do to a person physically," Jim hummed, "See if you can wrangle a little information about Miss Morstan while you're at it."

"Of course, sir. I'm having some Pashto speakers put into costume to sell things, and we'll go from there. Any questions before I go back in?"

"Hm. Go ahead and ask about what sort of state Sherly was when they last met. I wonder if there's a weakness to be exploited there."

"I'll do what I can, sir," he said, nodding. "Is that all for now?"

"For now. I have yet to think of anything else that I don't already know," he sighed, and abruptly hung up.

He didn't blink, just tucked the phone away and straightened his suit. A moment later, he opened the door to the holding cell, reentering the game.


	13. Venom

John was sitting rigid in his chair, gripping the metal arms with white knuckles. The man hadn't been lying; the burning seething just under his skin sure was keeping him awake, although the walls kept dripping away in front of him. He was fairly sure that wasn't normal. Moran considered John's grip on the chair, and hid a smile, walking over. "How are you feeling, Captain?" he asked, the question sterile, unconcerned, but not hostile. "Are you beginning to remember?"

"I- I remember being shot. That's not... not an issue. I just remember.. afterwards?" John frowned, gritting his teeth slightly as the burn started crawling up his neck.

"Do you? I'd be surprised, you were often heavily sedated," he said calmly. "Do you remember the Taliban finding you? Do you remember being here?" He walked forward, eyes on the soldier. "You dreamed a lot while you were under. We believe you constructed an artificial reality."

"No, it... it had to have been real," John resisted, struggling to get a clear hold on his memories, but each time he managed to get close to one it wriggled away again, leaving only faded hints as to what it had been. "I... what's the date?"

"October 4th, 2010," he returned without hesitation, recalling the year Watson had returned from Afghanistan easily. That had been the year things had gotten interesting with Holmes. "I can understand your confusion. Dreams while under sedation can seem incredibly realistic, especially since your mind incorporates elements from your actual surroundings into the dream."

John shook his head again stubbornly. He wanted it to be real. It had to be. But for Christ's sake, he couldn't make it come to him. But this simply couldn't be right. He blinked as the woman from earlier entered again, this time accompanied with two men garbed head to toe in the clothes he'd seen on enough enemies to recognize in his bloody sleep.

Moran turned to see those who entered, and spoke in quick Pashto, glad he'd picked the basics of the language up, at the very least. "Sirs. I'm still working with him. I can't guarantee his clarity, he's still unsure of his reality. But you're welcome to interrogate him. I can interpret."

Harrison made herself comfortable in the corner while Moran continued playing his game. She'd pulled Granger out of cleaning one of the other basement rooms, and O'Rourke from her own department. John looked on with renewed confusion, having just gotten to a point where he thought this might all be a scam, and struggled to keep up with the broken Pashto he knew.

O'Rourke was light on his feet, and responded easily in rapid-fire Pashto, almost losing Sebastian. He caught the jist of it, and translated carefully, unsure of how much of the language Watson knew. He turned to the doctor. "You will provide us with the name of your commanding officer, and you will provide us with location information for subversive bases within your area of operation. If you do not do this, you will be tortured."

If anything was going to make Watson freeze up, it was that. Giving up his superior officer, giving up secrets. He set his jaw, staring defiantly up at the man through the stinging in the back of his eyes. Harrison fiddled with a drawer in the corner, pawing through and picking out tools at random, intentionally in the doctor's line of sight. Granger folded his arms and looked imposing. This role did not require a lot of acting from him.

O'Rourke considered him, then turned to Sebastian, still speaking in Pashto. "I do not want him marked. He must be presentable if we need to take video. Be creative. The commander will be inspecting the situation shortly."

Sebastian nodded, and then turned to Lorna. "Anything else, sir?"

O'Rourke shook his head. "Inform me when he's ready to answer our questions." He turned and left, Granger on his heels. Moran turned to Harrison, translating for her sake, careful to keep his subtle accent.

"No marks," he said, shaking his head at the equipment she was accessing. "I'll get a drip line set up."

Lorna nodded, sliding shut the drawer and turning back to watch Watson, a little put off by the way this was going. Drugs made her leery at best, and it made her almost ill to see someone else under that sort of fog. But hell if she was going to let Moran see it. "Saline is in the upper leftmost cabinet, if you feel like diluting it."

He nodded, walking to a taller cabinet to grab an IV stand and carrying it over, setting it beside Watson, taking his time. He caught the man's gaze. "I don't want to have to do this to you, Captain," he lied easily. "But I won't regret it, either. You just let me know when you're ready to comply. I understand that your memory is a little hazy, so I've tried to clear that up for you a little, to help you, but you're going to have to work at it. They won't be pleased if your answers are muddled."

"You can tell them to fuck off," John managed through gritted teeth, a sallow pallor coloring his face. Lorna coughed across the room to stop herself from laughing and walked across the room to hold a hand out for the IV. She had more practice getting veins.

He smiled, round, white teeth hauntingly reminiscent of a military graveyard, rows of white stones meaning death. "I'll be sure to pass that along," he murmurs pleasantly, passing Harrison the needle and straightening, moving to open a drawer, within which were rows and rows of small bottles.

"Where in the UK are you from, Captain?" he asked calmly.

As Lorna re-tied the tourniquet around Watson's arm and deftly inserted the IV into place, John was internally debating with revealing information about himself. That was fine, wasn't it? At least a little. "England," he muttered, looking down at the needle in his arm with a clinical, if muddled eye.

"Ah, the motherland. Wherein? I miss home sometimes." He extracted a bottle from the carefully packed drawer and headed back over, shaking it back and forth to mix the liquid.

"London. What about you?" John tried, wetting his lips as he spotted the bottle the man was shaking. The woman untied his tourniquet, her face blank except for mild expectation as she looked up towards her colleague.

"You want me to give him the whole thing?"

"About half should be plenty," Moran returned, handing the bottle to Lorna and ignoring Watson's question. "Where did you think you were, when you came to? I'm curious. You'd been muttering for a while, nonsense mostly."

John shook his head, refraining from shrugging his shoulders as the woman added the drug to his IV stream. "Dunno. It's clean. Rich. Not... what I expected."

"We aren't the barbarians Western media makes us out to be, Captain," Sebastian said calmly. "We are intelligent, well-funded, well-informed." He walked to pull a chair out of the corner, setting it in front of John and sitting in it, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Now... That's going to feel cold going in, but don't worry. That part is over quickly."

"What is this?" Lorna asked in smooth Italian, betting that Watson was unlikely to know the language, and fairly certain that Sebastian knew enough to carry conversation.

He grinned, glancing over at her and returning with a stiff but passable tongue "Something which will make him very sensitive to touch, or pain. Needles feel like nails. Also causes an intense desire to move. I don't know the name in Italian, and I don't want to tip him off."

"I don't think medical terms change with language. But I see your point," she smiled, returning to her corner and making herself comfortable against the wall. John was waiting for the drugs to kick in, heart ticking a bit faster with trepidation.

"Do you remember the Commander, Captain? You two have met before, but only while you were rather... out of touch. I wouldn't be surprised if you had trouble remembering. Or, perhaps he showed up in your dreams. I am still curious about those."

"I haven't the faintest who you're talking about," John shook his head, shifting slightly in his seat until the movement sent a spike of pain up his arm from the needle, a hiss escaping him.

"Easy there," Moran soothed with the type of calming tones one might expect from a child molester. He reached out a hand, scratched a fingernail across the man's bare knee with an eyebrow lifted in curiosity.

Watson jerked away as well as he could strapped down, teeth clenched and bared. It didn't hurt, not really, but it felt a thousand times more intense than it had any right to. Lorna chuckled quietly across the room, but kept whatever thought had wandered through her head to herself.

"Good," he said softly, before his eyes flickered up to Watson's. His nail turned, met with his other finger, pinched down, hard and suddenly, nails biting until the skin turned white, before he twisted slowly. "Now, Captain," he said quietly. "Your commanding officer."

"Sholto!" He yelped, "James Sholto! W-What _was_ that?" He snarled, the sallow tinge disappearing from his cheeks and red replacing it. Lorna snickered, making her way over rest her hand on the back of Watson's chair with the intention of making him feel oppressed.

He released his grip with a soft smile. He hadn't even pinched hard enough to leave a mark. "Something the dear old United Kingdom has outlawed, which is rather unfortunate for them. 3-Quinuclidinyl benzilate. Causes an intense desire to move, as well as heightened nerve response. Exceptionally useful."

"Try the inside of his forearm next time he's feeling quiet. More sensitive than a knee," Harrison suggested cheerily, grinning as Watson started fidgeting again - this time keeping his arm still so as not to rattle the needle.

Moran smiled, but his eyes didn't leave Watson's face. "Now... Captain, I don't suppose you could be persuaded to give us some information about those bases?" His voice was still friendly.

John cleared his throat, stalling for time. "I don't see what information you could possibly need. You're looking well-funded enough. Can't afford a satellite?"

"As I'm sure you know, Captain, there are submerged bases in several areas that are being very carefully concealed. Those are the ones I'm referring to. I honestly don't care in the slightest, but my superiors do. I care that you get out of this alive and well, after all my hard work. So in that sense, I do care that you cooperate."

"Sorry," he muttered, glaring down at his own knees. "Not going to happen."

Sebastian sighed quietly, glancing up at Harrison and nodding to Watson's arm. "That's a shame."

"It is, isn't - _Jesus,"_ Watson gasped as Lorna dug her nails into his arm - hers were longer than Moran's, and far more likely to leave bloody marks, so she simply dug in. Dragging or twisting would get messy very quickly. She hated having blood under her nails.

"Let's talk about something else, shall we?" he asked casually, making no indication for Lorna to let up. "Who or what is 'Morstan'?"

" _She's_ my _wife,"_ John growled, half at the confusion mucking up his head and half because the pain lancing from the woman's nails was quickly becoming excruciating. "What's it matter to _you?"_

"It matters, Captain, because you are not married." His voice was calm. "It stands to reason that your dream world would have been constructed with subjects of importance placed in key roles. Think harder, please. Who, or what, is Morstan?"

"She's a _woman,_ you bloody nut, I haven't been making up people!" He snarled, trying to move his arm away from Lorna now, enough so that she leaned down harder. "Let _go!"_

He allowed the calm to snap, exploding to his feet and slapping John across the face, chair toppling behind him, before he stormed away with a cry of frustration. " _This_ is what they give me to work with! A broken toy with a monkey brain wired for imaginary bananas. _Fix it, fix it!_ Fucking bastards!" He took a slow breath, running his hands through his hair and over his face, hiding a smirk. He allowed his body to relax, and he let out a quiet breath. "Okay, alright, fine. If all we have is bananas, we work with bananas." He turned back to Watson, calm once more. Harrison was still pinching him, and he motioned for her to let up. "Tell me about Morstan. She's your 'wife', how is it that she manifests in your dreams?"

Lorna had to congratulate his performance. He really did sell it. She wondered if he could lie as convincingly straight into somebody's face. The fact that she didn't know the answer didn't make her trust him any more. Watson was still recovering even after she'd let go of his arm, reeling from the slap. She'd been hit by Moran - it must have been incredibly painful with the added drugs. "She's... she's just a woman. Works as a secretary where I work. She's clever. That's why I was drawn to her at first," John choked out, red blossoming across his face. "She's _real."_

"Yes, yes," Moran muttered, waving away his protests. "She's real. Fine. We'll all say she's real. How long have you known her?"

"Two years," he breathed, finally settling back into his chair again. The woman behind him smoothed a hand over his head and he yanked his head away, defensive. She stifled a small laugh.

"Interesting..." he said, smiling slightly. "Tell me more about her. What are her interests? Her history?"

"She's an orphan. She.. she likes to read old war novels, mysteries, and the like," he murmured, frowning to himself and trailing off. He didn't think he should be telling these people about his wife.

"Strategy, maybe," Moran muttered quietly. "Or espionage... Tell me, John... Picture her face... does she remind you of anyone? Anyone from the army?"

"What? No, why would my wife be in the army?" John scoffed, punch-drunk from the hallucinogenic patch still stuck under his jaw. "She doesn't even _like_ guns."

"Not your _wife_ , Captain," though he had to hide a smirk at the 'doesn't even like guns'. "Does she _remind_ you of anyone?" He reached out a hand to pin John's tapping fingers, the need to move setting in.

John shrugged, the movement welcome, even though it hurt. He was antsy as fucking hell. "A friend. A friend I once had, really."

"Who would that be?" he asked, though he really didn't care. But this line of investigation had to be pursued carefully, needed an excuse.

"Sherlock. A, uh, detective," John sighed, tapping both his hands against the armrests. Behind him, Lorna raised her eyebrows slightly. Like they needed another Holmes.

"Unusual name," Moran said, not blinking. "Tell me about them."

"He's brilliant. Bloody bastard, but..." John huffed, drumming his feet against the floor. It felt like the vibrations were going to shatter his spine. "Faked his death. Not friends anymore."

"And how is he taking that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It took several punches to the face to get him to figure it out," he snorted, shifting back and forth in his chair. There was a slight breeze in the room that blew on the back of his neck, and it was beginning to feel like a rash.

"Sounds self-abusive," Moran commented lazily, straightening. "This is getting us nowhere." He slipped a hand into his pocket, removing a knife. "You know, if we can hide it with a boot, it doesn't count as a mark." He bent to examine John's bound, bare foot.

Lorna cleared her throat, looking at him pointedly. If he had an unexplained mark later, things could go south later. There was always a possibility. Bad cop, pretty cop was probably out too, considering the doctor was married and wasn't going to be relieved of that fact any time soon. The drug drawer would be better. All of that didn't distract John from curling in his toes to stay away from the knife.

He glared at her, reminding her of her position on the totem pole. He looked back to Watson. "Out here, rough terrain as it is, no one would really question a missing toenail anyway, would they, Captain?" he inquired softly, eyes locked on John's.

Lorna submitted, bottling up a sigh and retreating back into a corner to avoid the potential disaster zone. John was staring down at Moran, mind racing, trying to sort out reality. "No... no.. don't."

"Can you imagine what it will feel like?" Sebastian breathed, a glint in his eye. "Can you feel that needle aching in your arm? Multiply that ten, a hundred, a thousand times..." He rested the cool of the metal against the man's foot. "Remember getting shot? Remember the white-hot agony of it... Oh you _screamed_ when we had to clean it..."

John could feel his breathing pick up despite himself, his wavering memories easily spitting that one back out at him. The most pain he'd ever felt in his whole bloody life. And the limp that followed it... "Fuck you," he hissed, shuddering. He'd accept what punishment came. Nothing could equal being shot.

"You were so lost in it..." he breathed. "Walking around the halls dragging that damn weight so you wouldn't run. Not that you could anyway. You want to go back to faerie-land? Go see Morstan and- what the hell was it- Sherwood? I can send you there. Back down the fucking rabbit hole."

"It's _real,"_ John seethed, jerking at his hands like he was trying to bring them up to his face, "I- I don't _know what_ this place is. It doesn't _fit! You don't fit."_

"It's Afghanistan, Captain. It doesn't fit anywhere. It's a hellhole in the middle of a happy little universe, and you can never get the sand off of you." He shifted his hand, as if considering, but then straightened. "No. I'm not going to undo my handiwork. You'll just have to wait." He turned for the door, tucking the knife away.

John remained shuddering in his chair, staring off into blank space. Lorna didn't look at him as she followed Moran out, shutting the door behind her and immediately yanking off her scarf. "Do you need me here or would someone else do just as well in my place?" She asked, looking up at him expressionlessly, although she made sure to keep her tone polite.

He considered her. "The boss will be here soon. Go," he said, waving her off. "Though we're going to address this discomfort later, Harrison."

"I'm sure it'll be fun, sir," she replied flatly, already turning to escape, to get the hell away from that room and the chills tip-toeing up her spine.

He watched her go, and almost jumped at the Irish lilt behind him. "Where's Harrison scampering off to?"

He turned around to see Moriarty gazing over his shoulder at Lorna's retreating back.  
"I don't need her any longer, sir."

"Pity. I was looking forward to harassing you both in Pashto. What have you gotten from the good doctor so far?"

"He and Holmes are not on good terms," Moran said, straightening his suit slightly. "Watson said he'd punched Holmes in the face on multiple occasions in order to get the message across that he was no longer welcome. I've been telling him anything related to his current life is something he dreamed up in a coma. He's denying it, but his faith's failing."

"Good," Jim grinned, "Keep confusing him. I don't need any more information out of him than that - I've checked with Magnussen's people. We have all that we need. Right now it's just playtime."

He gave a broad grin. "I've introduced you as the 'Commander'... Do you want him to be able to see your face or not?"

"With this charade, it hardly matters. But I think being blinded would be fitting, don't you think?" Jim hummed, tipping his head to the side.

"Of course sir, one moment," he said with nod. He walked into the room, closing the door behind him briskly and walking over to open another cabinet, pulling out a fitted blindfold and approaching John.

John only made a token resistance against the man, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to truly pay attention. Too busy trying to figure out what was real.

He tied the blindfold firmly, amused at how the rough cloth would feel against the man's overly sensitive skin, and walked back to the door, opening it and nodding to his employer.

Jim entered the room grinning. This was much different from a few years ago, when he'd been similarly trussed and bound and had fed information to Mycroft Holmes for a taste of Sherlock's early life. He was _completely_ in control here, and he knew all he cared to. This was only because he could. "Dr. Watson. How nice to see you _awake._ Well. If can call this awake. My man tells me you've been rambling about another life."

It was odd to hear his employer speaking, not with his standard Irish accent, but with a mild Pashto one. Watson turned his attention towards the voice, looking like he was trying to place it, but couldn't in his haze.

"So he says."

He smirked. It had been tempting to keep his own accent, just to see if it would trigger a fear response in the doctor, but alas, they'd put too much effort into keeping Watson in the dark that he couldn't bring himself to. "So he _says?_ Why, are you implying my man is _lying?_ I guarantee you're a better liar than him," Jim chuckled. Throwing Watson off their tracks would be easy.

Watson shook his head. "It's not right. Nothing's... right..." He closed his eyes tightly, despite the blindfold. Speaking of which, the cloth was starting to sting and itch terribly, which combined with the fact that his muscles were burning to move... he couldn't think clearly at all.

"You're in the custody of the Taliban, Doctor. That's bound to throw a wrench into your perception of things," he hummed, drumming his fingers on the man's shoulder for a moment. "But that's alright. I don't mind a little rambling right now. I do know some of the people in there, after all. _Of_ them."

He jerked at the sudden touch, gritting his teeth as that yanked the needle in his arm. His whole body was covered in a sheen of sweat, and he could feel beads of it rolling down his back oh-so-clearly... He wore nothing but his pants, but the room was hot. Far, far too hot... He tapped his toes and fingers, trying desperately to gain movement. "Who do you know...?"

"Your good friend Sherlock. His last name was Holmes, wasn't it? Not that it matters - he's just a stain in the desert dirt now," Jim sighed wistfully, pressing down on John's hands to trap them, deny him movement. "I hear you dreamed he only _faked_ his death."

He tilted his head back in the chair, trying to arch his spine slightly, anything, but the straps that held him in place denied him that, as well. He needed to move so badly he felt sick. "What... what are you talking about?"

Jim made a mockingly sympathetic noise, pressing down harder on the back of his hands. "You've been through _quite_ the trauma. It only makes sense that this is the only way you could cope. You made up an entire _life_ because a fellow soldier died and you couldn't do anything to stop it. I don't know if you're pathetic or _cute._ But I'm afraid that your friend is _quite_ dead."

"Sherlock's _alive_ ," he panted, curling his toes again and tensing and relaxing his limbs. He grit his teeth at the pressure on his hands before taking a deep breath, trying to stay calm. The fabric of the blindfold itched, sweat dripped down his left bicep in a slow line towards the inside of his elbow, the chair stuck to his skin... "He lied to me. He's _fine_."

"Your _mind_ lied to you, Dr. Watson. I do apologize, it must be quite the shock to have to remember this way. He died the day before you were shot. Stepped on a landmine, I believe?" Jim asked, pausing as if looking to Moran for confirmation.

"According to what we could find, sir," Moran responded with a nod. John swallowed, shook his head, curled his fingers as best he could under the man's grip. "No, no no no! That's wrong, that's- he jumped off of a building, St. Bart's, he jumped, he jumped..." He closed his eyes tightly again under the oppressive, itching heat of the blindfold, straining against the straps that held him for a moment. He was breathing too fast, his heart racing, and he tried to calm down. "He's fine..."

"He's not," he hummed, pressing down hard enough to hurt for a moment before drawing back up to full height and tucking his hands into his pockets. "One moment he was there, the next - _poof._ He made the evening news."

 _Poof_. _Poof_ was a terrible way to describe it. The concussive force of the blast as it seemed to shove your guts back against your spine, the way your eardrums rang and shrieked in protest to the noise, then a second later the uneven rain of what was left of your comrade-at-arms, accompanied by a mist of blood and God-knew-what-else... But it wasn't Sherlock. Sherlock hadn't been in the army... hadn't... had he?

 _He aimed a gun through the window of a London flat, hands steady as he prepared to kill the old man..._ But now it shifted, and it wasn't a flat but a bunker, and he was providing cover for Sherlock as he ran in... _No!_ He shook his head and the vision shifted once more, flickering back and forth, and his lungs were being pressed again by the concussion of the mine, and Sherlock's face was so... so pale, and bloody...  
Moran watched in amusement as Watson curled forward as much as the chair would allow, hyperventilating.

Jim took a few steps back, a self-satisfied smile present on his face. Sherlock had been the easier mark, here. He knew only the bare basics about Morstan, but John already had the memory of his detective dying in front of him. "Don't forget to breathe, Doctor. Hate to see you end up like your friend over something so _trivial."_

" _Fuck. You."_ he managed, hands balled up into fists as he struggled against the restraints, damn the pain. He needed _out_ of this thing so badly... "What do you want, anyway? You can't keep me here forever... they'll find me.."

"I don't want a thing from you," he laughed, shrugging his shoulders, "My superiors do, but that's for them to know and you to deal with." He took a step forward and pulled the restraints tighter, tight enough that it would feel like a boa constrictor was wrapped around his chest. "I'm afraid you're powerless to stop it."

He almost let out a scream of frustration. Instead he bit into his lip until it bled. He was a soldier. He wouldn't give into interrogation.

"Who else made it into your delusions? Anybody stand out that you want to talk about? I'm sure I could look them up," Jim offered, his amusement obvious.

"In case you missed it the first time," John growled through grit teeth, extending both middle fingers. "Fuck off."

Moran laughed.

"Must you be so utterly _boring?"_ Jim sighed, raising his hand with the intention of slapping the doctor across the face before his phone buzzed in his pocket. He let out a long breath and then reached for it, unlocking it with clear irritation and scanning the message before looking up at Moran. "I'm afraid I'll need to call for a break. This simply cannot _wait,"_ he seethed, tucking the phone back into his pocket. Magnussen, showing up at this very building. He'd thought the man was _smart._

"Yessir," he said immediately, moving to open the door for his employer. There was nothing wrong with letting Watson stew for a bit.

Jim immediately started back down the hall, fixing on a cold veneer as he headed for the elevator. "I have to deal with Magnussen. Your presence won't be necessary - his men aren't allowed in my building, filthy things that they are," he spat, expecting Moran to keep up. "I will give you a ten-minute warning when I'm coming back down. Do what you will until then."

He hesitated slightly. "Sir, I'd still recommend having me or someone else present. Magnussen may not like to get his hands dirty, but if he feels cornered he's been known to act aggressively."

"Exactly the reason why I'll be leaving my office door unlocked and my hand on the gun taped to my desk," Jim growled, reaching the elevator and jabbing at the open button. "He came without invitation. He is hardly the one being cornered." He glanced over at Moran once, then sighed, biting the inside of his cheek. "You may post someone outside my office, if you must. Someone unimportant. Magnussen doesn't need to know your face."

He nodded curtly, already reaching for his com. "Thank you, sir." He headed back down the hall, ordering someone who was monitoring the current staffing situation to send someone competent up to the Boss's office.

Jim disappeared into the elevator, leaving Sebastian to his own devices. He would deal with this as quickly as he could fucking manage.

Moran waited until he had confirmation that someone had been placed, before turning the com off and heading back inside. He paused as he opened the door, calling down the hallway in Pashto for the hell of it at some imagined subordinate, and then headed in, closing the door behind him.

John was slowly getting control over himself. Slowly gathering himself. That didn't stop himself from twitching slightly at the sound of the door opening, the draft on the back of his neck chilling him. "The Taliban get a lot of scheduling conflicts?"

"We had an unexpected visitor, it's being taken care of," Moran said smoothly, walking over and trailing a finger over Watson's ear.

He flinched away, setting his teeth. "Stop fucking touching me," he gritted out. Everything felt like too much. The light, even through the blindfold, was too bright. The air too cold. The seat too rigid. Touch was one more sense than he could handle.

"I'm sorry," he said, pushing his hand through the doctor's hair. "Am I making you uncomfortable, Captain?"

John sucked in a tense breath through his nose, hunching his shoulders as if it would help fend the other man off. "Go fuck yourself."

"My my my..." he sighed, shaking his head. "So tempting, but I think I'll pass... You know, I'm trying to help you, Captain. I'm trying to help you become yourself again. You and I, we have the same goals. We want to heal people. I just do it a little differently."

"I don't want your help, thanks. Fuck off," he growled, pulling at his restraints until his skin screamed and forced him to stop. "I fucking doubt you could help a child's scraped knee."

He laughed. "Perhaps not. Oh well." He reached to undo John's blindfold for the time being, wanting to look him in the eye. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel great," he lied, resisting the urge to spit in the other man's face, now that he had the vision to aim with. He was not in a position to do that right now, not with this IV in his damned arm. "What about you?"

He stretched idly, just showing off that he could, before walking over to examine the IV bag. "Oh, I feel excellent, thank you... We have a little more of this before it runs out... I think maybe it's time to reconsider those feet of yours, don't you?"

"Literally go fuck yourself," John said, a tone of antagonism riding along his words. "You and your commander and that woman and your superiors. All of you can go fuck yourselves." If the army had taught him anything, it was that excessive swearing at the enemy was just fine.

He laughed, pulling the knife out of his pocket again and crouching down to where the man's foot was strapped. "Did they teach you how to be tortured, Captain?" he asked quietly, pressing the knife against the man's pinky toe, hard, but not quite hard enough to break skin.

"Basic training," he gritted out, pain lancing up from his toe. This would be excruciating. "Not going to ask any questions this time?"

He shrugged. "You know the question," he retorted. "I want those base locations." He gave the man another moment of anticipation.

"You know my answer," he snapped. "Leave me alone, you sod."

"See? Did I really need to ask?" he asked softly, and clamped a hand down firmly on Watson's foot to keep him from moving it as he pushed the blade under the doctor's nail, smiling as blood welled up around the point.

He couldn't help but scream, something that would have really hurt under normal circumstances becoming unbearable under the drug. "Stop! STOP!"

"The bases, Captain," Moran returned evenly, just loud enough for Watson to hear over his own screams, slowly twisting the blade back and forth.

"I don't know!" He cried, gripping onto the arms of the chair with desperation. "For Christ's sake, I don't KNOW! I've never been to one! Please!"

"I'm afraid that isn't good enough, Captain," he said conversationally. "If you want me to help you, you have to help me first."

"Please! I only know that they'll be shut down within the year! They haven't even got any bloody missiles!" He groaned, tears pricking at his eyes as his body struggled to release any of the pain shooting through them.

He stopped moving the knife, but didn't remove it. "What are they for, then?"

"They were bases of operations, but they've been decommissioned! They've been shut down!" John gasped, trembling with the effort of staying still.

He considered, then removed the knife for the time being. "If they're so unimportant, why didn't you simply mention them immediately?" he asked coolly.

"There are still men there. I can't- I can't be reckless with their lives. I'm a bloody doctor," he breathed, panting for breath.

He laughed, considering the blood dripping onto the ground. "Literally."

"You're not funny," he snapped, letting his head roll back a bit. "Go the fuck away."

Sebastian tutted softly. "Do you always have such a dirty mouth? You should apologize..."

"You fucking _bet_ I do," John muttered, gritting his teeth so hard they squeaked in his mouth. " _Go. The fuck. Away."_

"Now now, Captain, you should know better than to talk that way to your superiors," Sebastian sighed, standing and walking toward another cabinet, pulling out a cloth and a jug. "You know, I did that once or twice when I was in the army. Do they still make you stand in ice water? That was horrible... Toes going numb, skin aching... I won't be quite so cruel, I'll only get a little bit of you wet, alright?" he asked with the soothing tones of a bedside assistant asking if you were alright with a shot. It didn't matter if you were or weren't, you were still getting your flu vaccination, but it made you feel better. The mockery was threatening. He poured stale water from the jug over the cloth, saturating it, water hitting the floor. He turned his attention back to John, walking over.

John stared at the cloth in the man's hand, pretty sure he knew what was coming. And he did not want to add that to his already excruciating day if he could help it. "Stay away from me," he snapped, jaw clenching. He was prepared to bite the man's hand off if he bloody had to. "I mean it. I _mean it."_

He stayed about a foot back, considering the look in the other man's eyes, before he set the jug and cloth down. "Silly me, I forgot," he said, smiling slightly and walking around behind the chair. He slid a board on the back of the chair up behind Watson's head, locking it into place, and pulling the extra strap out and around John's forehead. "Cooperate, or I'll give you a paralytic, and this will be so much worse..."

His breath picked up, heart beating faster, sweat dripping down his back and making him want to arch away, claw his way out of this _hell_ he'd woken up into. "What do you want from me?" he asked, voice giving out halfway through his sentence. "What do you want? Why are you doing this? Nothing about this place makes any _sense.."_

"It's my job to help you, Captain," he said easily, voice smooth. "To heal you. I'm trying different methods. But it's also my job to punish you for your sins against God, so that you will be ready to repent."

"Shut the fuck up, you nut - It's not your bloody job, Satan," he huffed, pressing his head back into the board. "Just leave me alone. Please."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he said, tightening down the strap over Watson's forehead and locking it in place. "Tell me, do you remember now how your friend died?" He glanced towards the IV. Empty, or almost. What was in his bloodstream would last a few more minutes, but it would be better to get something else going as well. He stepped on a pedal, leaning the seat back and raising the feet slightly until the doctor was lying flat on his back. Then he headed for the medication drawer.

His lungs didn't feel like they were cooperating. They kept stuttering, one shaky breath cut short and puffed out again before he'd gotten his share of oxygen. The sweat cooling on his chest was making him feel like he was lying on an Arctic ice cap. And to top it all off, he couldn't quite see where the man had gone again."Yes. Of course I remember," he breathed. Both versions. Both equally as painful.

"And how was that? Tell me, Captain. Is reality returning to you?" He slid a bottle out of its slot, considering it, before returning it and picking up the one next to it, walking back over.

He knew what he had to do now. Resistance without cause was only going to put him in worse condition, and he had the tools to feed this man what he wanted to hear. It didn't matter that John himself didn't know which was real. "He stepped on a bomb," he choked out, swallowing hard.

"Yes, good," he said softly, pouring an ample dosage of the new, reddish liquid into the IV bag. "And tell me, where is he now?"

"He's dead," John whispered, unable to make himself say it louder. He only hoped it was a lie.

"I'm so glad that you're beginning to remember," he said soothingly. He stepped back into the doctor's line of sight. "I've just administered amphetamine," he said quietly, bending to pick up the dripping cloth. "That should begin to raise your heart and breathing rates... I'm sure you're well aware of the effects. They can be addictive, but for the time being I think they may be unpleasant. However..." He reached out with the damp cloth- but instead of covering John's face, he simply wiped it down with a mockingly tender touch. "You seem to be remembering, so I'll let you have a bit of a break instead of proceeding right now. How's that sound?" he asked with a smile.

John didn't think he could respond without saying something unspeakably explicit so he just stayed quiet, shuddering slightly despite himself, dreading the new drugs entering his system. A break wasn't enough. He wouldn't even begin to feel safe until the man was gone and had been gone for at least half an hour. This was nerve-wracking.

He started walking in slow circles around the chair, in and out of vision, keeping his steps as silent as possible and varying his pace so as to appear at different intervals.

Whatever the man was doing to freak him out was working. That, or the amphetamines were kicking in quicker than he'd expecting; his heart was beginning to race.

He continued walking in quiet circles, pausing just behind the man and walking up, reaching out to stroke his fingers through the doctor's hair again. "What's the date, Captain? Can you remember?"

John desperately wished he could move away from the man, but all he could do was clench his hands into fists. "No.. No, I've forgotten what you told me."

"All of what I told you?" he tsked. "What's the year?"

"2010," he supplied, beginning to try to even out his breathing. It failed.

"Good," he said softly, pulling his hand back and continuing his circling. "When was the last time you were in London?"

John stammered, completely unsure. They hadn't mentioned that, had they? "I- I don 't know."

He nodded slightly, giving no indication if he was pleased with the answer or not. "What was the last thing you were doing before you were captured?"

John let out a puff of air. "I don't remember," he sighed, trying and failing to shrug.

He nodded a little more. "We're going to make negotiations with you, Captain," he said, smiling quietly. "We're going to get weapons, and concessions, and it's going to be all thanks to you."

He grit his teeth, sucking in a harsh breath. "I'd prefer you didn't tell me what you'll get out of this, to be perfectly honest."

"I'm sure you would have also preferred I not shove a knife under your toenail," he returned with a hint of amusement. "But you're welcome to request a change of activities."

"I wouldn't say no to a nap," he ventured, knowing very well he was going to be shot down immediately. The blood dripping from his toe would have begun to tickle if it had been able to get over the pain.

He laughed. "I doubt you'd be able to if you tried, what with a stimulant drip feeding into you." He paused in front of Watson, considering him, and smirked, tilting his head in consideration. "I will leave you be, however," he said, walking over to a cabinet and grabbing a metal stand out of it. He walked over, sliding the legs of the stand to their full extension. It consisted of four metal legs supporting a bar between them, and jutting down from the bar, an adjustable arm, at the end of which was a razor sharp blade. "I'll just leave you something to keep you entertained." He set the stand straddling over the laid-back chair, a set of feet on either side, and moved the blade to sit over Watson's abdomen, starting to lower it with a small crank towards his skin.

John froze, going rigid as the blade was lowered over him, terrified suddenly of even taking in a deep breath. This was not his idea of entertainment, and he let the man know that with a fearful swear muttered under his breath.

He lowered the blade, pleased to see that the man's immediate reaction was to suck his gut in. He continued lowering it until the blade brushed against the doctor's clenched muscles, and then locked it into place. "There we are. Enjoy." He headed for the door.

"Yeah, I will," John said after him, his voice more strained than he wanted it to be. God, he hoped he wasn't left here long.

He smirked, stepping outside and closing the door behind him, taking a breath. Alright. He pulled out his com. "Someone get me O'Rourke and Granger, and three or four others in Taliban costuming. Three or four others do not need to speak Pashto." He started heading for a conference room down the hall used for business associates who wanted to see this particular side of things.

Harrison had been hanging around in one of the darker corners of the basement with her comm in her ear, specifically for the purpose of waiting for orders. The best way to dig herself out of this shit-hole she'd put herself in was to be _extremely_ useful. So the second Moran was done she was up and hunting down the people he needed.

"And someone figure out a passable Taliban backdrop for a hostage video." He entered the conference room and walked to the closet, opening and pulling out a video camera and tripod which were sometimes used if the party didn't want to go to the room directly, or didn't want the prisoner they were checking up on to see them. Then he headed back for another one of the cells, and began setting up.

She spent a good five minutes rounding up decent candidates for whatever Moran needed and getting them properly outfitted in Costumes, even going so far as to save one of the men from being strangled by his robe. The backdrop she passed off to the Special Effects people, who spent more than enough time hand-crafting shit as it was and would probably resent her as a department for a week. When she'd completed that, she opened up the comm channel. "Where do you want all this sent?"

"Down to me, holding cell four," he said, adjusting the angle of the camera and the lighting on the lone chair in the center of the room.

"They will be down in two minutes," she replied, pushing one of her suited coworkers through the door. "If they don't trip and kill themselves first."

"Good," Sebastian said curtly. "Make sure they have weapons. And my backdrop?"

"I have someone on that. I don't know how long they'll take. I'll hover over them if you like. But your Taliban guards are armed."

"Good, get them down here. And yes, hover. I need it as immediately as possible. I don't care if it's stenciled and spray painted, I just need it to pass the bleary inspection of one drugged-up army doctor, for chrissakes."

"Understood, sir. I'll harass them until they get it done. I don't think they'll delay too much. Anything else you need me to send down?"

"That should be it, but be ready if I change my mind." He turned off the com, and looked around the room, inspecting for anything that might give the game away.

* * *

Lorna had the set sent down to Moran in thirty minutes, with a lot of grumbles and curses from the team. She wasn't going to be making a lot of friends in this department.

He was talking quickly with his 'Taliban' guards, giving them clear instructions and warning anyone who didn't speak Pashto not to speak, or he'd kill them himself. He looked up as the set was brought in, and immediately had them setting it up against the far wall, a backdrop for his camera recording. Perfect. Bright lights shining on the chair, the backdrop, the camera... all perfect. He took a breath, then motioned for O'Rourke and Granger to follow, heading for John's cell and entering.

John had lost his fight with the knife. He'd only been able to stay still, perfectly still, for so long - one inhale too big and he'd sliced himself. Now he had the added distraction of blood rolling down his abdomen, the added pain of trying to keep clenched. When the door open he startled and cut himself again, a ragged breath escaping him. His heart felt like it was going to jump right out of his chest, and it only sped up with fear.

Moran walked over casually, raising the knife and then walking to a cabinet, pulling out first aid supplies and then walking back over, beginning to bandage the wound on Watson's abdomen. He turned to Granger, and in Pashto said: "Bring me clothes for him." Granger nodded and exited.

John allowed himself a deep, painful breath as the man moved the knife away, trying to remove the air-starved feeling from his lungs. As hard and terrible being left with that thing hovering over him had been, the fact that they were back was worrisome. And it did not stop his heart from battering against the insides of his ribs.

He finished bandaging the wound just as Granger returned with a pair of the same issue pants all of the 'Taliban' soldiers were wearing, and a plain tee. Moran made a note to commend his thinking on the clothes issue later. O'Rourke raised his gun, leveling it at Watson and muttering something in Pashto as Sebastian started unlocking him. "He says don't try anything, or he'll shoot you," Moran translated.

"Thought that was implied," John rasped, feeling like the words were scraping at his throat. He just lay there while the man finished unlocking his restraints. Impatience would get him nowhere.

Granger came over and tossed the clothes onto John's lap. "Get dressed," Moran instructed calmly.

John just nodded, pushing himself up with shaking hands and sliding off the reclined chair to stand. He wasn't completely sure he was going to stay up for long: his knees felt unusually weak, and there was a rushing in his ears he couldn't shake out. After the second he allotted to get ahold of himself he turned and dragged on the clothes.

Sebastian took the opportunity to glance at the patch on the back of the man's neck. The indicator was a little over half red. Probably another couple of hours on it. He pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and locked John's wrists behind his back, before starting him towards the door, Granger behind and O'Rourke ahead, both guns trained on the doctor.

"You didn't dress me for a bathroom break, did you?" John sighed, lacking the will for sarcasm. He was already limping more than usual. Did he need to be hit, too?

Sebastian gave a long-suffering sigh. "No, Captain." Though he added that to his agenda after the video. They paused at the door, and Moran returned the blindfold, tying it firmly over Watson's eyes. Then the door opened and he guided the unsteady man down the hall towards the camera room.

If there was anything John was a tad sick of, it was being blindfolded. He tripped a few times on the way down the hall. He resented having to lean against the man.

Moran forced him through the door to the camera room, and into the chair. He locked the cuffs into a bracket in the back of the chair, and removed the blindfold, walking over to start preparing the camera. O'Rourke started speaking quickly to the rest of the soldiers in Pashto, and they nodded along, listening.

John blinked the light from his eyes, looking around blearily. His vision was still doing that thing where it dripped away like mercury in front of him, but from what he could make out, this looked very much like the videos he'd seen on the television. Were they making a hostage out of him, then?

"Camera's ready," Moran said in Pashto. O'Rourke nodded. "Start recording."

He did, and a moment later O'Rourke started into a half-prepared, half-improvised speech in Pashto about their possession of Captain John Watson, and their demands for his release, as well as what would be expected of him by way of repentance for his sins.

He did his best to pay attention to whatever the robed whack-job was going on about, but the most he got out of it was his own name and something about heresy. Whatever they'd given him was starting to combine in sluggishly surprising ways. The fogginess in his head felt weird paired with his hammering pulse.

O'Rourke came to his energetic conclusion, gripping his weapon tightly and nudging it against Watson's head. Moran paused the recording to translate. "You're to confess your sins," he said coolly.

John squinted, tilting his head away from the gun muzzle pressing into the side of his head and looking up at the blond man with a fogged weariness. "D'you want to tell me what those are, again?"

He gave him a long look. "Blasphemy, murder of God's people, accepting and promoting women in ungodly positions and places of power, as well as ungodly attire for women," he said, his voice calm.

John still managed to roll his eyes through all the shit in his system. "For fuck's sake, mate, really?" He groaned, letting his head roll back. "Fucking hell, fine. Whatever."

O'Rourke brought the butt of his gun down on John's good shoulder with a firm crack, before returning his aim to John's head, yelling angrily. Moran didn't flinch. "He'd like to remind you to be sincere."

John winced, gritting his teeth as new pain radiated heat through his body. That would bruise. "If he insists," he coughed, shooting a resentful, blurry look up at the one who'd hit him.

"He can insist again if it wasn't clear the first time," Moran suggested calmly, before starting the camera again. O'Rourke nudged John's temple with the barrel of his gun.

He grimaced, glancing up at the red recording light from the camera briefly before clearing his throat. "Uh. I'm, uh, guilty of blasphemy. And accepting and promoting, um, women in ungodly places of power, and their ungodly attire." He just managed not tacking on a question mark. "And the murder of God's people."

O'Rourke said something in Pashto, nudging his head. "You will repent," Moran translated.

"I'm, uh, really sorry," John coughed, glancing up at the gun unfortunately close to his person. "Really, really am."

"Heartfelt," Moran deadpanned, stopping the recording as O'Rourke started going off angrily at Moran about insincerity. He nodded, returning in Pashto that he'd work to improve the responses for next time, he was sorry. He came forward, blindfolding Watson again and unclipping his cuffs from the chair, forcing him to his feet. "Come on."

John stumbled into standing position, feeling like he was on a particularly violently rocking ship. It sounded like he was going to be visiting whatever this place was again.

Moran shoved him out of the room and down the hall to a prisoner bathroom, unlocking the cuffs and shoving him inside before he closed and locked the door, watching him through the bars. "Blindfold off, do your business, blindfold back on," he ordered lazily.

"Fantastic," John muttered, shoving at the blindfold and turning his back to the man to unzip his trousers and take a piss, incredibly relieved that he'd never had stage fright about this sort of thing, and then cleaned up and pulled his blindfold back on. "Thanks, I guess."

"Believe me, I could have been much less kind about the situation," he retorted factually. "Hands on the wall." Once Watson had obeyed he opened the door and pulled his hands down behind his back, recuffed him with no regard for his undoubtedly sore shoulder, and started walking him back towards the cell.

The doctor didn't bother paying any attention to his own aches - his captor sure wasn't going to, and if he agonized over every wound it was only going to hurt more.

He returned Watson to the cell, and to the chair, removing the cuffs only after he'd strapped the man's legs into place. He kept a knife in one hand as he redid the remaining straps, holding him in tightly. This time, however, he didn't lower the knife again. Instead, he reached for the chair controls. "Unfortunately, Captain, I can't devote all of my time to you, so for now I'm just going to make a few adjustments and let you rest," he said casually. He hit a button, the feet and head of the chair lowering past flat, until John was arched backwards by the chair, the straps holding him in place, his sliced abdomen pulled tight by the contortion.

John felt he was owed the hissed swear that he spat out, curling his fingers into fists to try and distract himself from some of the pain stabbing into his stomach. Fuck. _Fuck._ This was not going to be a fun amount of time, no matter how long it was.

He leaned down, brushing his fingers through John's hair, watching as his face reddened slightly as blood began to make its way towards his head. "I imagine this isn't entirely comfortable, but I hope you'll consider the comfort benefits that could be afforded with more sincerity in your next confession," he soothed.

"I'll make sure to think on that," John gritted out, trying to ignore the pain shooting through his abdomen and the heavy ache beginning to settle into his head.

"Good, I'm glad," he said, smiling and standing, heading for the door. The boss was taking longer than expected. He wanted to check in.

* * *

Playlist: My Chemical Romance - Thank You for The Venom


	14. CAM

Jim had gotten dragged into having tea. Fucking. Tea. Magnussen wasn't even _British,_ for Chrissake's. For once, he could agree with public opinion. The man was vile. That didn't change business, though. He took a deep breath. _Business. Bussinnessss._

Magnussen watched the man, aware that he was irritated but in no rush as he took a slow sip from his cup. He was angry. Moriarty had interfered. And he didn't care who the man was, he had weaknesses, just like everyone else. He didn't speak, allowing the silence to drag out. Another sip.

Moriarty was perfectly aware that this was a waiting game he was going to lose; he didn't have patience. He didn't _need_ patience. He hadn't needed patience since he was small fish, and he was giant fucking fish. "Did you want to air your grievances aloud or would you prefer to just stare me into my grave?" Jim raised his eyebrows over his tea, his Irish lilt becoming a little more pronounced, just to make the Dane work a little harder at understanding him. He gave a small smile.

"I'm terribly sorry if I've kept you waiting, I was simply enjoying my tea," Magnussen returned calmly. "I imagine Colonel Moran is dealing with Captain Watson?"

"You'd be correct," he affirmed, setting down his teacup with a clink of china. "Why? Not bothered by it, I hope?"

"Certainly not," he returned casually. "I was just curious as to his whereabouts. I like to keep track of my assets." He set down his own cup casually. "I find it amusing that you and Holmes are so similar in that regard."

"In which regard? The mucking up your remarkably slow plans?" Jim snorted, abandoning his reluctant attempts at civility. "I never claimed to have an interest in Holmes because we were so _different."_

"No, no, the adorable fixation with an adrenaline-obsessed ex-soldier," Magnussen retorted, unruffled.

"Obsession? Oh, I simply _have_ to hear what brought you to this decision," Jim smirked, although some part of him felt vaguely defensive.

Magnussen smirked. "His adrenaline obsession? Is that really so hard to piece together?" he asked casually.

Jim blinked. Magnussen had succeeded - he'd been rattled, and he hadn't even realized it until he mixed up his words. What the _fuck._ "Apologies. That's obvious. I meant the fixation part."

"Ah. So you feel your fixation is an obsession?" Magnussen returned. "I wasn't going to take it that far, but coming directly from your own mouth... I'm impressed, Jim. I wasn't aware you would admit to it."

"It was a simple slip of the tongue," Jim waved off, shrugging slightly. "Doesn't matter. I'm still curious as to why _you_ think I have a... fixation."

"Slips of the tongue in a language as controlled as ours are more telling than almost anything else," the man smirked, before inclining his head slightly. "I won't reveal all of my cards, but you aren't the only one who employs eyes, Jim, dear. Dinner for two seemed cozy."

"He is my bodyguard," he said coolly, perfectly aware that he had lost whatever upper hand he had had from this meeting taking place in his office. "And a good one. Better than yours, obviously, since I only require the one. Taking him to a restaurant where people outside my employ knew I would be was an easy precaution. I never trust a late cancellation."

He laughed a little, nodding slightly. "I'm sure, Jim, I'm sure. I'm not trying to threaten, please don't mistake me. I'm well aware it wouldn't work. I'm merely amused, as I said. Now. What say we get down to business before your little pet comes to visit?"

Jim glanced at his clock. Magnussen was right in thinking that his threat would fall flat; Moran was perfectly equipped to handle his own safety. "I imagine he's probably already on his way. I suggest you hurry up and say whatever it is you need to."

"I'm merely curious as to why you felt it necessary to interfere with what I was doing?" He picked up his tea again, taking another sip.

"Oh, I thought that was clear," Jim grinned, settling back in his big, comfortable chair with ease. The chairs across from him were about a third as lavish. "You were being _slow._ I've done my waiting, Charles. If you had made the first move I would have been content to sit back and let you take control."

Magnussen was unruffled. "I'm terribly sorry, Jim. I was aware you had a short attention span, but it seems I gave you a little too much credit. I'll endeavor to try and make things more entertaining for you in the future, shall I? Maybe I'll hire a clown..." He smiled softly.

"Don't patronize me. I have more than enough going on in the wings to allow my attention to be on one thing for too long. _Entertainment_ is hardly the concern. It's the decay of resources I'm troubled with. Aren't you supposed to be a successful businessman yourself? Of _legitimate_ nature? Christ help you if you can't separate entertainment and the job," Jim sneered, leaning back and putting his feet up on his desk. Not something he would do in the presence of men more easily cowed. But Charles Augustus Magnussen played in more than just mind games. His physical posturing would hardly make Jim uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry you can't seem to appreciate the long-term value of the long game, and that you seem to have missed the portions of the operation which are already underway," Charles said in a tone that was absolutely still patronizing. "I'm not one of your lackeys, Jim, dear. We're in a partnership. Yes, I know you love to feel like you're the one in control. By all means, feel free to keep turning the wheel in your little novelty shopping cart, but keep in mind who's actually pushing this operation. We're not stopping in the sweets aisle, no matter how hard you try and turn left." His voice never wavered from pleasant calm.

Jim put on a sparkling grin. "That's just the thing, Charlie. You may not be a lackey, but you are certainly not _essential._ I will cut you loose and take all the candy for myself, _darling_ , don't you think I won't. You're a convenient source of fuel; nothing more. You'll do well to look up the histories of some of my past partners. I don't ruin lives. I rip them from their hosts." He turned his attention to his hand, picking at his nails. Magnussen had so much more power over the legitimate. Jim knew he was untouchable, by the other man's methods. But there were precious few people who were immune to _his,_ and Magnussen was not one of them. "My changeability is my one true weakness, my friend. But don't you think that it can't be yours, too. If I have to take another fucking step by myself you ought to start bringing more bodyguards with you. You may take _that_ as you like."

Magnussen nodded, and stood. "It seems we're done here, then. But don't forget, Jim. You aren't essential either. And don't think you don't have a file or two in my possession that would bring you low. Believe you're immortal all you like, but _you_ may want to look up a little history. It's the proud kings that make history for the craters they leave when they fall." He set his cup down, smiling. "Thank you for the tea, it was magnificent. Now, I'll leave you to talk to your Tiger, I believe he's waiting just outside."

Jim gave an unconcerned, pleasant smile. It didn't matter what Magnussen had. It didn't matter if he was brought low. He'd gotten up before, and he would do it again. "Send him in when you leave, won't you? I'd like to save the door from his knock."

"Of course," Magunessen said with a smile, nodding and heading for the door. He brushed past Sebastian on his way out. "Your boss is eager to see you, Tiger," he smiled, motioning for him to enter. Moran resisted the urge to casually snap his neck, and walked past him, shutting the door behind him.

Jim dropped the smile the instant the door was closed, resisting the urge to break something. "That man is extremely irritating," he snapped, swinging his legs off the desk. "If he's not dead when this is all finished, I may have you kill him yourself."

"I'd consider it a pleasure, sir," Moran returned dryly. "What did he do that was so irritating now?"

"There was a list of things. At the top would be the comparison he made to me occupying a wheely-car," he said snidely, his jaw set, "Lower on the list would be his insinuation that I have a fixation on you."

"I'm glad I rank lower in annoyance than the wheely-car, sir," he returned. "Did he provide any particular reason for that insinuation?"

"The dinner reservation that I took you along on. Apparently, he has more eyes than I thought. I do not like the idea of being shadowed."

He didn't like it, either, as it represented a failure on his part in his duties to his employer. "I'm sorry, sir," he said evenly. "I"ll work to rectify the situation."

"I appreciate that," he said tersely, letting out a long breath. He let silence settle over them for a moment before he could bring himself to break it. "What's the situation downstairs?"

"I'm pretty sure we have him convinced that he's in Afghanistan, sir," he said calmly. "Whether he believes that the past few years hasn't happened, I'm not sure. He's still trying to mesh the realities. But I don't think he has any doubts about where he is."

"Good work," he nodded, rubbing at his temples. Could he sneak in a nap? "How much time do we have left on the clock to work with?"

"Approximately twenty-two hours, sir. I was going to let him stew for a while." He considered his employer. "Give everyone a rest," he added, referring to those downstairs, at least if questioned.

"That sounds amenable," Jim sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes briefly. "Perhaps I will use that time to catch up on some of the sleep I've been neglecting. If I'm not awake in two hours wait another half of one and then wake me. Now go hunt down Harrison and chew her out for whatever issue you have while it's still fresh. Or don't. I can't find a shit to give right now."

He nodded slightly, not reacting to the comment. "Of course, sir." He turned for the door, reaching for his com as soon as he left. "Deploy someone to tail Magnussen please. I want them tracking him as long as possible. Harrison, my office, now." He headed to the elevator.

Harrison had been hovering around in the security room, keeping on eye on Magnussen's people and the other on Malcolm for avoidance's sake when she heard the order, and winced. She was going to have a hell of a time reasoning this one out. Still, she didn't dare delay, immediately leaving and walking swiftly down the hall to his conveniently close office, knocking once. She may have actually gotten there first.

He came up behind her, reaching past her to open the door and then motioning for her to enter. "Have a seat."

She nodded, slipping inside and perching on the edge of one of the chairs in front of his desk, all the while trying to take up as little space as possible. She was pretty sure he could smell fear.

He walked around his desk to sit across from her, eyes calm, unaccusing. "Alright, Harrison. Explain to me what happened down there."

She cleared her throat, glancing down at her feet and then at a spot just above his head in quick succession. "It's. Well. It's the dumb fucking drugs again, to put it frankly," she sighed, looking pained. "I can't- I can't look at someone being in that state. The fogginess. And I mean, I've never taken recreational nerve agents, but I've done just about everything else. Chances are we'd hit on something particularly close to home, and I.. I can't have access to that. I can't say _no,"_ she shuddered, studiously looking back down at her hands. "I _know_ it's weak. I just... I apologize."

He considered her quietly for a long time. "You did say no, Harrison," he said calmly. "You're refusing to put yourself in a situation where you feel you would be compromised. If you feel I would be angry at you for that, you misunderstand my methods. I expect you to be able to work and handle any situation I need you to. However, I did not _need_ you to handle that situation. And I have no doubt that if I did, you would have found yourself more resilient than you anticipate."

She swallowed hard and then remembered to nod, smoothing her clammy palms over her jeans in an attempt to dry them. "I.. I, um, appreciate your confidence, sir," she managed, flushing slightly and hating herself for it. "I didn't mean to get so worked up over this, it's just... it's my biggest vulnerability, and I'm overly sensitive about it."

He nodded, unaffected by her discomfort. "I'm aware." He stood, walking over to a fridge in the corner and returning with a bottle of whiskey, grabbing shot glasses out of a drawer. He poured them both a drink, passing one over to her. "Relax, alright? This isn't a reprimand." It should have been. He was honestly surprising himself as much as he was sure he was surprising her.

"I was expecting one," she murmured, gratefully taking the shot glass and throwing it back immediately. She could have gone for a cigarette, too, but Boss didn't like smoking in the building. "I.. thanks."

"You're a lot more useful for me if I help you figure out a solution rather than scare the hell out of you," he muttered. "Peons aren't worth my time, but you could actually become something useful some day."

She got out a small laugh, trying once to relax into the chair and then giving up entirely. She didn't visit this room often. Sebastian was hardly ever in it, for one, and the other was that she actively avoided office-like environments. "I'll keep the vote of confidence in mind, sir."

He nodded just slightly, sighing and kicking his feet up. "So apparently Magnussen agrees with you," he said casually after a moment, taking a sip of whiskey.

Her eyebrows shot up. "I don't know what it is he agrees with me about but I'm thinking that I should change my answer immediately."

"Apparently, he told the Boss that he has a fixation on me," he said with a raised eyebrow.

Lorna slowly settled back in her chair, her eyebrows staying right where they were. "Oh my god. Please do not tell Jim about this coincidence of opinions. Please?"

He smirked, downing the rest of his whiskey and pouring another shot. "I did just express a vested interest in your survival, did I not?"

She let out a nervous chuckle, feeling slightly as if she'd just managed to tango through a hail of bullets completely unharmed. "I suppose you did. Been a while since anyone's been actively interested in keeping me alive, I'll admit it."

He shrugged. "No one in our business dies of old age, Harrison. Like it or not, you're the most suited to replace me if I get downed."

Lorna shrugged, trying not to think too hard about what being in his seat would be like. Mostly because she didn't want it. "If anyone's going to break that track record, it'll be you. We'll see, I suppose, won't we?"

"I'm not planning on dying, Harrison, believe me." He offered the bottle her way.

She took it with a slight nod and did the polite thing to pour herself another shot, forgoing drinking straight from the bottle like she was tempted to. "I fucking hope not. You know how fast the Boss would turn me grey? I don't have time to buy hair dye."

He laughed a little. "Out of curiosity, what makes you so against the idea anyway. Really, not the hairdye."

She sighed. "Part of it is the Boss. I'm certain I'd fuck that up. I deal with powerful men with sex and booze - I hardly doubt my handling methods would work on him," she snorted, sipping at her second shot a little more slowly this time. "The other part is that I do not look forward to that sort of target being painted on the back of my head."

He nodded a little, not arguing. "Would you prefer I turn my focus elsewhere?"

She shrugged again, looking faintly helpless. "I'm not stupid enough or humble enough to know that you'd be hard-pressed to find a better alternative from the existing group of people here. If you find someone better than me, go _right_ ahead. But I won't waste everybody's possibly limited time and tell you to fuck off."

He laughed. "I wasn't giving you a choice in the matter, Lorna. I was finding out what you _would_ choose. You're right. You're the best suited for the job at the moment. I'm glad you recognize that."

She laughed, lifting a hand to rub at her eyes. "You caught me at a good time to prevent me from lying to myself."

He smiled, reaching out to take the bottle, refilling her glass and his, and then turning to return it to the fridge. "Everyone's getting a few hours off. Go relax."

She threw back the shot and set the glass down on his desk, standing with a small smile. "Good idea. See you later, then, Moran. " She turned to leave.

He watched her go, tilting the last of his shot back. A few minutes later he stood, headed towards the elevator and his apartment. Despite the fact that he didn't want to admit it, part of him was turning what Magnussen had apparently said over, wondering if there was any weight to it.


	15. John

John had been in that position for about an hour when he passed out, the stress and the blood pooling in his head finally getting to him. When he woke up again, all that he could register for a strange second was a stifling darkness. A pine-scented, stifling darkness. Oh, _bollocks._

The motorbike couldn't move fast enough. He could feel Mary clinging to him with hands that were steady and firm, a strong but unafraid grip, and one that only confirmed his suspicions of her background as they rocketed down the next flight of steps. _Coming, John... We're coming._

Guy Fawkes Day. Fucking Guy Fawkes. Fuck him and his stupid explosives and these people's stupid bonfires. He'd tried calling for help, to no avail - his throat was unbearably hoarse, to the point where he couldn't get a word out. He tried again, the air wheezing from his lungs ineffectually. Fuck _fuck **fuck**. _ He could hear someone talking about gasoline.

He almost went past the bonfire, but then skidded to a halt, almost sending both he and Mary over before scrambling to dismount, starting to run, horror striking him as the fire started to spread and a girl screamed-

"John!"

The rush of relief that flooded through him was somewhat mitigated by the heat he could feel bearing down on him, thick smoke clogging up his lungs until he coughed enough that it hurt, that it felt like being ripped. Sherlock was here. Sherlock was _real._

He started tearing at the flaming wood, ignoring the heat and the spectators as he forced his way in. "John! Can you hear me?! John!" He pushed more logs aside, carefully calculating what he could move without bringing the whole thing crashing down. Finally, he saw a familiar foot, and grabbed onto it desperately, starting to haul his friend out, heart racing.

There wasn't much John could do to help push his way out. His limbs felt leaden, barely lifting at all, and then he was being dragged out of the fire and onto the dew-damp grass and it simply ceased to matter, because there above him was a panting Sherlock and a sweaty Mary, and he was just so _relieved._ They'd been lying after all. Sherlock was okay. Mary wasn't a figment of his imagination.

Sherlock bent to get a better grip on John and pulled him farther away from the flames. He felt Mary lift John's feet and heard someone calling 999. He set John down as soon as they were at a safe distance, immediately beginning to look him over, edging on panic. "John, are you alright? Are you burned, can you breathe clearly-?" He started checking the man's clothes for signs of burning.

"I'll live," John managed in a hoarse whisper, thinking that he sounded a little bit like he'd been hit in the stomach by a charging ram. He felt baked, of course, and not in the good way.

"An ambulance is on its way," he said quietly, sitting back as Mary knelt to pull John tightly into her arms. "Who put you there, John?" he asked, meeting his eyes over Mary's shoulder.

John managed to gather enough will in his limbs to embrace Mary in return, fingers catching clumsily on her coat. "I don't... a man? Blond? He- He tried to tell me you weren't real."

"Just relax, John," Mary said softly, running her hands very gently over his back, checking for injuries. "We'll deal with all of this later."

John was too tired and too relieved to do anything more than bury his face in the crook of her neck and just wait, shivering, for the ambulance to arrive. He could barely speak right now, let alone think straight. It was so much better to wait.

Sherlock took off his coat, wrapping it over what he could of John without disrupting Mary's hold on him.

The ambulance arrived almost ten minutes later, which was ages too long in Sherlock's opinion, and he made sure to inform them of that as they loaded John into the back of the vehicle. He climbed in after them with Mary, both of them watching John carefully.

As soon as whatever fogged-up sense of survival had been keeping him going realized that he was in a safe, moving vehicle, John passed out. Mary had hold of his wrist, leaning back against the rocking wall of the ambulance and looking a bit haggardly at Sherlock. It had been a good while since she'd had to be a participant in a motorcycle/parkour event. "Whoever this was... Sherlock, why did they want us to know?"

"Because their goal wasn't to kill John," he said quietly, eyes never leaving the army doctor. "It was to show us what they can do, and teach us to pay attention to them." He watched what the ambulance attendants were doing carefully, making sure they didn't make any stupid mistakes. "Besides. I expect that whatever they did to John will have long-reaching consequences. You don't spend the time psychologically torturing someone you're going to kill anyway."

She nodded, falling silent again, eyes on John's slack face. She believed it, too. That he'd been psychologically tortured. He wasn't the first case she'd seen. She suspected that whoever had taken John had only wanted to play, in the worst sense of the word. But this was experience she couldn't bring up to Sherlock; she'd risked enough to tell him of the code.

"I'm sorry, Mary," he said quietly. "I should have kept a closer eye on him. There were bound to be complications with my return."

Mary sighed. "You can't blame what they did on yourself, Sherlock. I appreciate the sentiment, really, but I know you're not to blame for this," she murmured, shaking her head.

He glanced over at her, and confirmed his suspicions as she spoke. There were hints of guilt on her face. Well hidden, but crinkling around the eyes and mouth. So she had reasons to fear it was her fault, as well. He nodded just a little.

* * *

The ride to the hospital was longer than Mary would have liked, but she could hold the adrenaline lingering in her system accountable. She briefly caught the sleeve of the nearest paramedic, who turned to look at her. "Is he hurt?"

"Nothing too bad," the man shook his head, "He's got a couple cuts, nothing serious. Looks like they had something sharp in that pyre."

Someone else spoke up as they pulled into the hospital lot. "The police will want to take statements from you both, so we need to ask you to stay at the hospital until they say you can go." The vehicle stopped and they rolled the gurney out of the back quickly, Sherlock and Mary just behind. "That won't be a problem," Sherlock assured them with a touch of sarcasm.

She walked beside the detective, feeling just as derisive. Police statements were nearly worthless. And her best bet to discovering who had done this was walking right beside her. The police could be involved _after_ the hard work had been done.

He followed as far as they were allowed, stopping outside the door that had been closed in their face, before starting to pace the waiting room quietly, running through the past hour in his mind over and over, trying to see what he'd missed.

"Who would target John? Why not you?" she asked, after a long minute of watching him pace in the dim room. She didn't particularly mean to be blunt, but she knew she didn't need to pad her words. He understood.

"He's my weakness," he said calmly, looking over at her. He'd come to accept that over the years. It was better to admit it than to live in delusion. "It's difficult to affect me personally. however, you also have to consider that he's your weakness as well. He's doubly useful. Someone a lot of people care about."

"That's my husband for you," she sighed out, leaning her head back against the wall. Her clothes still smelled of pine smoke. "I don't know who'd want to use him to get to me, though. Not many people have personal grudges against secretaries."

"No, I suppose not," he said, not hinting at his cards at the time being. "But you never know. Some people do this sort of thing for fun." He turned at the end of the room, reversing his trail again. And again. "I'll find them."

She couldn't find the energy to pretend to be frustrated with his pacing. She'd very much like to be moving too, but that wasn't who she was now. "Someone should call Greg."

"Texted him in the ambulance," he said, waving her off slightly. "This is ridiculous. Were he conscious, John would have evaluated himself four times over by now. What is taking so long?"

Mary shook her head. She didn't have an answer for him. "He might need an IV. Dehydration?"

He let out a snort of frustration, finally crashing into a chair next to her. "You've got medical experience, sort of. Can't you get in there?"

She shook her head. "I can stop bleeding and change an IV, and I don't think they'll let me in just on that, do you?"

"Not if you sell it like that they won't," he snorted, staring up at the ceiling as though he could burn a hole through the age-stained plaster with his gaze.

She lifted her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. "I watched in the ambulance. I don't think any of John's physical ailments will be pressing. Maybe it's better he has time to rest without any of our questions."

He grit his teeth a little, before standing. "I'm going back," he said decisively, pulling on his coat. "The trail's getting cold."

Mary nodded. "I'll send you a text when he's up, yeah? Good luck."

He nodded, already down the hall, coat billowing behind him as he pushed out into the night. Guy Fawkes day was still in full swing around him, bonfires and shouts of laughter and the sounds of teens calling 'penny for the guy?' He started walking towards where they'd found John.

She sighed as she watched him go, eyes still on the door even after they'd long been shut. She was fairly certain she knew who would do this to her, now that she had a moment to think. C.A.M.

* * *

It was almost an hour later that an orderly came out into the waiting room and found Mary. "Your husband's awake and asking for you," she said gently. "You can come with me."

She felt some tension she hadn't been aware she'd been holding drop from her shoulders as she smiled and stood, thanking the nurse and following into John's room. She sat in the closest chair to his bed. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

He looked over at her and studied her carefully, before giving a weak smile. "Alright," he said, voice hoarse. His eyes were slightly guarded, and he was doing his best not to move and rip the IV out of his arm. "Can you get them to... to get this out of my arm, please?"

Mary's brow furrowed slightly. "John, you should really keep it in..." she started, and trailed off when she saw the look on his face. "Alright. I'll ask them." She didn't ask why.

He nodded a little, trying to calm slightly. The needle ached a little in his arm, and it set him on edge. He reached out for her hand with his free arm, needing to feel her solid against him. Real.

She took his hand gladly, squeezing once. She was relieved to see him, and even more relieved to see him almost entirely intact. But now that she looked there were track marks in his arm, and the telltale lined bulge that signaled bandages across his stomach. "I was quite worried, as you can imagine. Sherlock's already gone trotting off to do his thing. Bit impatient, isn't he?" She asked, smiling.

"That's an understatement," he says, nodding a little. He watches their hands, rubbing their knuckles. "What... Mary, when was the last time I was in Afghanistan?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You haven't been in Afghanistan for three years, John. Maybe more, now. What happened to you?"

He shook his head, looking away. "Nothing. Just checking."

She frowned slightly, but didn't comment on it. "Alright. If you need to.. check something else, I'll help you. I want to see you better."

His left hand curled and uncurled a few times under the sheet, where she couldn't see. He wasn't sure what to think. Obviously Sherlock and Mary were alive, real, but... He'd been certain he was in Afghanistan yesterday. That wasn't right, obviously... Unless he'd lost more time than he thought... Or maybe he'd been dreaming, then. Or was dreaming n-

He stopped that thought before it finished. Here was reality. _Here_ was reality.

Mary watched him, thinly veiled concern on his face. She'd seen plenty of people come out of psychological trauma looking worse, but it was different when she was so... invested. "Do you want me to get you anything from the caff? I don't think the staff will object to you getting a little tea into your system, yeah?"

"Hmmm?" It took him a moment to concentrate on figuring out what she'd said. Then he nodded, a touch of relief breaking over his face. "That would be unbelievable."

"Alright." She leaned over the bed to kiss him on the forehead. "I'll be back up in a few," she smiled, trying for reassuring and coming across as more worried than anything, then quietly slipped out the door.

He watched her go with a quiet sigh, then turned his eyes up to the ceiling.

He froze. There, flickering in bluish light, were the words _Wake up, Captain Watson._  
He sat up immediately, ignoring the pain and everything else, trying to get himself out of the bed. The window... it had to be coming from the window...  
He looked up again and the words were gone. The heart monitor was a loud and fast-paced, beeping urgently in the background, but his eyes were on the blank ceiling, searching for the words that had been there just moments before.

While Mary was stuck impatiently in line down in the off-white, tired looking cafeteria, Lorna was slipping into John's room, dressed the same as every orderly that walked by. Just to rattle him. Holmes was on the other side of London, anyway. She gave a strained smile when she saw Watson half out of bed, gliding forward to nudge him back down. Oh, she was glad he hadn't seen her enough to commit her to memory. Moran couldn't do this. "Sir, if you'll just lie back down..."

He jumped at her touch, eyes whipping to look at her, eyes hard, a touch of fear beneath them. "I need... I need to see out the window..." She looked familiar... He couldn't place it.

"Sir, I can promise you nothing exciting is happening outside. Come now, you'll strain yourself," she scolded, the hand guiding his shoulder becoming a little more firm. "You don't want to pass out and crack your head, do you?"

He lay back quietly, distractedly, still looking at the window. "Look out... can you please... just look out there," he urges quietly. "Someone's out there."

She made a tsking sound, but went over to the window as he asked, putting her hands on her hips. "I'm afraid there's no one out there. Not even a pedestrian. Now, if you'll excuse me...?" She turned around looked at him expectantly, an impatient cant to her stance.

His expression wilted just slightly, but he nodded. "Right... of course. My apologies."

"Later, Doctor," she nodded, turning on her heel and briskly walking out just as Mary reached the door on the other side. In a quick flurry of apologies and an appraisal of the other and then the encounter was over. Although something about the other had both of their teeth on edge.

John stared up at the ceiling, trying to think. It was possible they were gone. Very easily possible. Turn off the light and disappear. Or... It was possible- much less possible, a possibility he didn't like to consider- that he was, actually, dreaming. He suddenly felt less inclined to tea.

Mary was distracted as she set the tea down on the tiny little tray that protruded over his cot, trying to keep an image of the nurse in her head. She'd looked like a nurse on the surface, but she didn't smell like one. Expensive alcohol, expensive perfume, and of, strangely, mint, but not a nurse. "John? You don't look as well as I left you. Are you alright?"

He shrugged a bit. "Just... feeling off all of a sudden," he said quietly, not looking at her. "Might try to sleep a bit."

"Alright. I might need to pop into the office while you're asleep, let everyone know why we're not showing up to work," she murmured, reaching to squeeze his hand. "So if you wake up and I'm gone, that's why."

He almost laughed at the simplicity of that statement, and how close it was to his fears. _What if I wake up and you never were?_ But he kept that to himself, just murmuring a quiet "Okay..." as he closed his eyes.

Figuring that was the last she was going to get out of him for a while, she stood to go. Maybe she'd have time to check in with Sherlock's progress.

He listened to her go, but didn't fall asleep, eventually opening his eyes again to watch the ceiling. If it was someone, he wouldn't miss them again.

* * *

Sherlock stooped over the damp, charred ground, torch in hand, working over the site a piece at a time, looking for any indication of what had happened before they arrived. The crowd and the fire had done nothing to make his life easier, and even he was having difficulty picking out tracks in that mess, so instead he was at the outskirts, slowly circling, looking for signs of someone being dragged.

Mary had decided to just call their coworkers in the cab she took to the site they'd rushed to so quickly the night before. Even now, it was early morning. _Very_ early morning. She spotted Sherlock the moment she shut the cab door behind her, and begun picking her way over the trash from the festivities. "Anything promising?"

He glanced up at her, but seemed unsurprised to see her. "It's difficult to say given the debris. I'm trying to find where they brought him in from. There's a partial footprint under the wood, a man's heel, but other than that it's all been destroyed by the fire or the firetruck or the panicking crowd. How's John?"

"He's..." she trailed off for a moment, unsure of what to say. "He seems shaken. He asked me how long it's been since Afghanistan." She almost mentioned the odd nurse for a moment before remembering that that was stretching the limits of what Sherlock could easily accept. A lead to follow on her own, then.

He nodded slightly. "Someone did their homework," was his only comment as he ducked his head again, continuing to walk along the exterior of the park.

Mary followed a few steps behind, giving his field of view the widest spread possible. She wasn't very good with mud. "Who would go through him to get to you?"

"Oh, a lot of people," he said quietly. "I didn't make friends while I was gone, Mary. I was dealing with Moriarty's organization... I've made myself a threat, proven myself capable of more than just detective work. Caught a bit of the wrong sort of interest, it would seem."

"It seems like that sort of thing usually does, unfortunately," she sighed, slipping her chilled fingers into her pockets. "Maybe cross out a few that don't have the resources for this sort of thing? One of the nurses told me he'd had some weird drugs in his system. And you know that's not John."

He stooped a moment later, running his fingers over a rut in the soft ground. A heel scrape. Likely John's, judging by the size and shape of the impression. "They're obviously someone who knows what they're doing. Or at least, they've hired someone who is. I have a few thoughts but nothing confirmed. I'm working on that."

"It's my understanding that you don't just pick up people like that on the street," she commented, running through a few people in her own database. "And I imagine they go for a lot of money." That nurse again. She sighed.

"There's a lot of rich, powerful people with connections to the underground, Mary," he said, leveling an interested gaze at her. "Do you have any thoughts as to who this could be?"

She raised her eyebrows, letting out a short bark of a laugh. "No. Your guess is better than mine, Sherlock, believe me."

He stood, straightening his coat. "I need to go speak with the homeless network. Someone may have seen something."

"Alright. I'll go back to the hospital. John said he was going to sleep, but I don't believe a word of it," she shrugged, looking back toward the street. It was turning into a disgustingly gray day outside. "See you."

He nodded slightly. "Anything odd, let me know immediately." Then he was gone.

She didn't bother making a confirmation to empty space, so she just turned and trudged back to the road, weighing the pros and cons of telling him about the strange hospital encounter.

* * *

John was awake when she returned, lost in his vigil of the ceiling, one hand tracing absently over the bandages on his torso. The IV needle still throbbed in his arm, and his left hand was clenched in a tight fist by his side.

She sank quietly into the seat by John's bed, keeping herself from reaching out to him for the time being. "John... it's alright. You can relax."

He jumped when she spoke, eyes flashing to her face for the briefest moment before he forced himself to calm slightly. Mary was here. Right here. Mary was real. He knew that. "Everything set at the clinic?"

"Yeah. I told them all you got a particularly bad case of food poisoning. I figured that they wouldn't ask you questions, this way," she smiled slightly. "No one's ever curious about that."

"Thank you," he said softly, nodding. He swallowed, debating, before deciding that his pride would need to be on hold. "Look... I know it's stupid, but... the IV... if there's any way..." He didn't meet her gaze.

"Alright," she acquiesced, standing and walking around his cot. "I'll get it. I'm sure the nurses will only fuss over it anyway."

"Thank you," he said again, quietly with absolute sincerity. He shifted his arm out from under the blanket, fist still clenched tightly.

She bent over his arm and carefully removed the needle before rolling the IV stand a few feet away and setting the dangling tube on the side table. "There you are. Better?"

He sighed in relief, tucking his arm against his chest almost protectively despite the fact that it was still oozing a bit of blood. It was an unbelievable relief, and some part of him relaxed for the first time. "So much..."

"As long as it helps," she murmured, returning to her seat with a slight frown on her face. Eventually, she was going to have to push John for answers. She didn't look forward to that.

"More than you know," he murmurs, checking the ceiling carefully before turning to look at her. "Did you talk to Sherlock?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "He said he didn't have much to go off of." She didn't mention that they were trying to get to Sherlock. John would either blame himself or blame Sherlock, and neither would be particularly helpful.

He nodded just a little. "Maybe that's for the best," he said absently.

She raised an eyebrow, surprised. "What? Why do you say that?"

He shrugged. "You know how he is... He'll pursue this if he finds these people. And... We just got him back, Mary. Maybe it's better he just... stay low for a while."

"Good luck convincing him of that," she snorted, reaching to clasp his hand in hers. "I'm sure it will be fine."

He gripped her hand back absently, watching their fingers. "These people.. They're different."

She sighed, running her thumb over the back of his hand. "I know. I know."

* * *

The next few days were slow and painful as John recovered. The doctors tried several times to get him to accept the IV again, but he wouldn't budge on the issue. The light never returned to the ceiling, and after a while he began to wonder if he'd really seen anything at all. It wasn't reassuring.

Mary came in on the third day, carrying a tote bag with John's clothes inside. "Hey!" She smiled, "They gave me the all-clear at the front desk, we can go home. Luckily I'd already packed some clothes for you."

"Brilliant," he murmured, sitting up gingerly. He was still sore and wrapped in bandages, but there was nothing more they could do for him here. "Thank you."

"Yep," she smiled cheerfully, setting down the bag at the foot of the bed. "I thought you'd just want to get out of the hospital gown, to be honest."

"You're a saint," he said with a quiet sigh, digging in for his pants and trousers.

"I know," she chuckled, putting her hands on her hips. "Your old landlady.. Mrs. Hudson, yeah? She tried to send fruitcake, but I managed to deflect her."

"I should go see her," he murmured as he pulled on his clothes. "Should have done, the whole time, but I should more now."

"I'm sure she'll be happy to see you. Although she might be too busy fussing over Sherlock to notice you at first," she shook her head, remembering the woman flitting around the last time she'd been over there.

"Oh, she fusses over me, too. Used to anyway. Don't you worry." He put a hand on the bed rail, getting slowly to his feet. He'd barely put weight on his left leg, however, when it gave out from under him and he stumbled sideways with a curse, weight on the rail.

She hurried over to help support him, carefully keeping from messing with his bandages. "You alright?" She should have thought to bring his cane. She cursed internally.

"Fine," he said a bit shortly, frustrated with the development. "I'm fine." He didn't want to discuss it.

"Okay," she agreed carefully, slowly stepping away to give him back a sense of control. She knew better than to prod. "Want me to go check you out and meet you in the lobby?" Did he want her to leave while he made any potential fumbles getting dressed?

He hesitated, glancing around the room, before he looked at his shoes a bit stiffly. "Maybe have someone find me a cane," he said quietly.

"Alright," she popped up onto her toes to kiss his forehead, "I'll back in a couple minutes then, yeah?" She turned to briskly exit the room.

He was grateful now more than ever for her practical viewpoint when it came to this sort of thing, and started gingerly working his way into the rest of his clothes.

It didn't take her long to find an unused cane that looked about John's size even without the help of a nurse, whisking it back to John's room in record time and slipping it inside the door before heading back down to the front desk. She hadn't forgotten about the strange woman from a few days before, and the sooner she got John out of a public place, the better.

He finished dressing and made his way carefully over to the cane, leaning on it heavily as he started down the hall towards the lobby. His clothes felt bigger on him than usual, though that was mostly psychological, he knew. He met Mary in the lobby with a nod.

She finished up with the tired-looking man at the computer and then went to John's side, sliding her hand into his. "I just brought the van this time. I didn't think we needed to fuss with a cab. Parking was _hell,_ though."

He nodded a little in thanks. "Let's go home, then, yeah?"

"That sounds like a good idea to me," she snorted, beginning to walk towards the door, letting him set the pace.

The pace was slower than he would like, but eventually they reached the car and get on the road. He relaxed in the seat, relishing the smell of something that wasn't hospital. He looked around at the buildings as they pass, familiar streets, reassuring himself again and again of where he was.

She didn't initiate conversation as she drove them home, deciding after a glance to his face that he was more absorbed in their surroundings. She bit back yet another question about what happened. He'd tell her of his own accord.

Their house was an incredibly welcome sight. After everything that had happened over the past week, he wanted nothing more to relax in a familiar environment. He could see the questions behind Mary's eyes, but he didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to try and make sense of it, get told he was crazy, that it wasn't possible that he'd been where he was. Didn't want to break the only comfortable explanation he had, which was a lack of one.

She didn't try to help him out of the car more than handing him his cane as he got out. "You hungry? I think I can probably make something better than whatever that hospital can whip up."

"That would be great," he said, nodding a little and giving her a small smile. "So... what have you been up to?"

She'd been going through a list of the few remaining contacts she'd had looking for a match on the nurse in the hospital, because she was certain that the woman was connected to the people who had taken John. One of them had thought she'd rung a bell and promised to look into it. But she just smiled. "Got a bit of lead on the last batch of library books I checked out. Vacuumed. Got bored and watched the news for an hour. Terrible idea."

He raised an eyebrow, smile growing a little. "A week of freedom and you vacuumed? Sounds thrilling."

"Oi, what else was I supposed to do?" She laughed, unlocking the house and stepping inside. "Did you want me to take up skydiving?"

"I don't know, at least go to a movie or something," he said with a soft smile, walking inside and taking a deep breath of the familiar smell of _home_ before making his way over to the couch to sit down, tired already.

"What, alone? Nah," she chuckled, heading into the kitchen to make something hot. He looked like he could use a rest. Now she just had to hope Sherlock didn't suddenly find something and steal away John's rest.

He felt a familiar tightness in his gut when she walked into the other room. It had become a pattern, whenever he couldn't see her or Sherlock, no matter how much he disliked it, or thought it irrational. Was it irrational? He just shook his head a little, rubbing his thumb over a rubber seam on the unfamiliar cane.

"You want leftovers something fresh? I made meatloaf last night," she asked loudly from the kitchen, going through the fridge with one hand and her phone on the other. No missed messages. Damn.

"Meatloaf sounds great," he called back, finally getting sick of the tension and standing, making his way into the kitchen.

She slid her phone back into her pocket to get cracking on the meatloaf, whisking it out of the fridge and doling a generous serving onto a plate before popping it into the microwave. "You get any visitors while I was gone? I heard Greg was in to see you."

"He was, yeah," he said, nodding a little. "And Mike stopped by, that's about it. Nice of them."

She leaned against the counter in front of the fridge, smiling. "That was nice of him. We don't see Mike as often as we should."

He nodded a little. "We should have him over for dinner sometime," he agreed quietly, moving to sit at the table. He looked over at her. "I missed you."

She blinked, slightly (and pleasantly) surprised. "I missed you, too," she said softly, interrupted from following him to the table by the beeping of the microwave.

He leaned over to the counter to open the drawer and get himself a fork as she brought the plate over, taking it from her gratefully, The hot food smelled heavenly, and he started eating immediately, if slowly.

She sat down across from him empty-handed. She'd already eaten lunch, before she'd known she could take John home. "Did you watch a lot of crap telly in there? Should I hide the cable box for a week?"

He laughed softly at that. "You know me too well."

"Mm, maybe I know _hospitals_ too well," she teased, resting her elbows on the table. "What else are they going to do to keep you entertained?"

"Prod us, poke us, take our pants, all sorts of fun things," he said with a small smile. He took another bite of meatloaf, closing his eyes in appreciation.

She smirked. "You're only making fun of your own kind, you know. What will all the other doctors think of you?"

"The same thing I'd think of them if they were a patient. We're all terrible on that end of things," he sighs quietly, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, I doubt it's just doctors," she smiled, settling back in her chair. Their kitchen furniture was old and banged up, but it was comfortable.

He shrugged a little. After a moment's hesitation, he reached out to put his free hand over hers. Friendly human contact had been sorely missed.

She turned hers over to lace her fingers through his. She really had missed him. The house felt too big when he was away for too long.

"How long was I missing?" he asked, nearing the end of his food.

She glanced over at him, gauging his expression. "A little over two days. You don't know?"

"I lost track of time," he said, returning his gaze to his meatloaf. "That's all."

"Okay," she murmured, careful not to push. "Okay."

He sent her a grateful glance as he finished his food, before standing and limping over to the sink to rinse his plate off.

"I tried washing the... debris, for lack of a better word, out of your clothes, but they came out still smelling like gasoline, so I had to toss them."

"Okay. Thanks for trying, anyway," he said, heading back over to the table and sitting with a sigh. After a moment he asked "How did you two find me, anyway?"

"I got.. well, a really strange text message," she shrugged. "You'd already been missing for a couple of hours, though I didn't know it. Then I thought, 'Maybe this is a code'. Went to Sherlock. I didn't know he knew how to drive a motorcycle."

"I didn't either, but it doesn't surprise me, to be honest," he said with a small shrug. "I'm just glad you found me."

"Me too." She cleared her throat to keep her voice from breaking. "It was... it was a near thing."

He reached out to take her hand again, gripping it firmly. It was. Nearer than she knew, many times.

She squeezed his hand, grateful for the contact. She didn't like to think about how close he came to being burned.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles.

"Yeah. Yeah. I think was alright when you woke up after we got you to the hospital. I wasn't the one who got pulled out a pyre."

He nodded, squeezing her hand gently. He didn't know what to do with himself. It had been like this when he'd just come back from Afghanistan. A sense of separation from the rest of the world. And it was here again. He hated it.

"Do you want to see Sherlock? I'm sure he'll have something brusque to say about you being in a fire. And Mrs. Hudson would give you as many cups of tea as you asked for."

He hesitated a little, but then shrugged. "May as well stop by, at least... see what information he has."

She nodded, glad she'd gotten him to agree to something that didn't allow him to retreat inside himself, and squeezed his hand again before standing up. "Right. Let me just get my coat, then, yeah?"

He hesitated a bit. "Now...?" He didn't know why he didn't want to go. He wasn't angry at Sherlock anymore, at least not at the moment, but he wasn't anything, really. He was processing. Tired.

She paused. "Well, I suppose it doesn't have to be _now._ I just thought it'd be a good idea to catch him before he disappears to god knows where. Doesn't he have a tendency to do that?"

He sighed, before nodding a little. "You're right..." he murmured, shoving to his feet and limping towards the door again.

Pleased that he'd agreed to go after all, she went to get her coat before he could change his mind. She wanted to know if Sherlock had found anything. Anything.

He met her at the door, pulling it open and beginning his trek down the stairs to the car. "I'll text him and let him know we're coming over, shall I?"

"Sure," she smiled, stepping outside with him and starting down towards their car. Halfway there, her phone dinged. She opened the message and frowned, swearing lightly. "Shit. They need me at work. Think you can manage going alone?"

He nodded slightly. "Yeah... sure. Do you want me to drop you off, or the other way 'round?"

"You can drop me off. I'll have to stay longer than you, after all," she shrugged, reaching over and squeezing his hand briefly before they reached the car and she let go to walk around to the passenger door.

He nodded, climbing in the driver's side. He'd always been grateful it was his left leg that had been... injured... And not his right. Even when it was acting up he could still drive. He started the car, heading for the clinic.

Mary was the tiniest bit relieved that duty had called; she couldn't help but feel that she had been just a little under Sherlock's scrutiny. Better to let time make that go away.

He dropped Mary off and then headed towards Baker Street, parking in the lot a few streets over and starting to walk the rest of the familiar way to the flat, the cane thumping with every step. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, pausing to look at the door he'd walked through so many times. He frowned slightly as he started to climb. There was a piece of paper against the stair railing, held there by the day's steady wind. He reached out to pick it up, intending to throw it away inside, but faltered as he saw his name on the top. He read slowly, face going white, and leaned against the rail, suddenly feeling sick.


	16. Explosion, Part One

Moran watched through his scope, and nodded slightly to himself as he watched Watson's reaction. He was done here. He stood, packing his scope as he touched his earpiece. "Harrison, it's done. I'm coming back in. Tell the boss he went to Baker street as predicted."

Harrison couldn't help letting out a whoosh of breath, relieved that they'd played it right. It had been a narrow thing at the hospital, and she imagined that getting in and out to place the paper in position had been a logistical nightmare. And if she needed to talk to the Boss about _anything,_ she'd rather it be good news. "Understood. There's a pot of coffee waiting for you when you get back," she replied, already walking down the hall for Moriarty's office.

"Appreciated." He headed for the street.

James Moriarty stood by the large, tinted window of his office, looking out over the city below him, in quiet thought. He didn't flinch at the knock. "Come in, Harrison."

She slipped in as unobtrusively as possible, shutting the thick door behind her with a soft click. He looked like he was deep in thought, but she didn't doubt that a portion of his attention was on her. "Watson went to Baker Street, sir, as you predicted. Moran is on his way back."

"And the papers?" he asked, finally turning around to look at her, expression unreadable.

"He found them," she nodded, clasping her hands together behind her back. She did it to keep from fidgeting under his gaze.

"Excellent. Moran's done well," he said, nodding slightly. He glanced at a few papers on his desk, as if checking a list. "Do you enjoy fucking him, Harrison?"

She managed to keep herself from blushing out of pure shock, which was a miracle she didn't remember earning. She steeled herself. "He's rather good at it, sir, yes."

He nodded a little, glancing up at her again. "Do you anticipate it ever affecting your performance?"

She raised her eyebrows slightly. "No. If I did, I don't _think_ I'm dumb enough to sit around and wait for it to happen."

He nodded slightly, studying her face. "You're confident in that. Good. Do you think you can replace Moran should that become necessary?"

At _that,_ she just couldn't _help_ fidgeting. "At this moment? No, sir," she shook her head, shifting her weight uncomfortably. "I'm a little too specialized at the moment. It's my understanding that he plans to change that... May I ask why, Boss?"

"No, you may not," he said with a nod. "That will be all, Harrison," he said, waving her off and returning his attention to the window.

She was not foolish enough to linger. She left swiftly and quietly, shutting the door behind her and heading to meet Moran. Anything to put some distance between herself and that conversation.

Moran looked up from where he was nursing a cup of coffee in the lounge. "He happy?"

She sank into a well-worn armchair near him, her face conflicted. "I'm... Not sure. He started asking me a lot of questions about you."

"Like what?" he asked, taking another long sip and sighing quietly.

"Well, first he asked if I enjoyed fucking you, but that wasn't the concerning part," she shook her head, sinking back into her chair a bit. "Then it was more along the lines of 'would that interfere with your job' and 'could you replace him'. If you want my advice, and you probably don't, I'd be stepping very carefully," she murmured, looking over at him neutrally. She didn't want him to think she was telling him what to do.

"You're right, I probably don't," he returned, seemingly unruffled as he took another sip, But his mind was racing, turning over every move he'd made in the past weeks, analyzing it carefully. He'd done well with the Watson job. He knew he had. So the question became did he challenge Jim and ask him what the fuck he was on about, or did he let it be?

Lorna let the conversation drop, figuring she'd done her moral duty of telling him what was going on, and that involving herself further would not make him happy with her. Which was the reason she did a lot of things these days, to her chagrin. At least the thing with Malcolm had blown over pretty smoothly, although she wasn't sure she'd heard the last of it. She shook the thought from her head. It was too superficial to waste energy on, when things were moving around her so fast. Who knew when the Boss would send her out on some little errand?

After a moment, he looked over at her. She was his only link to the situation. "Did you get a read off of him? Did he seem pissed?"

"I wouldn't say pissed is the right word," she hedged, folding her hands together in her lap. "What I mostly got off him was vague dangerous intent, but isn't that what usually comes off him?"

He nods slightly, sighing, and stands. "I'm going to talk to him."

"Are you trying to get me killed, or?" She raised her eyebrows at him. "Where do you think he's going to think that came from."

"He wanted me to know," he said quietly. "I'm your superior. He wouldn't have asked you otherwise."

She sighed, settling down again. "Alright. As long as you're not setting up my funeral..."

"Would I do that, Harrison?" he asked dryly, heading for the elevator.

"I don't know, would you?" She called back, smirking.

"That's for you to worry about, not me," he shot back as the elevator doors closed.

She sighed and settled back, bringing out her phone and trying her best to just forget about it.

The ride up the elevator seemed longer than usual, but he knew it was just nerves. He took a slow breath, then a few more, slowing his heart rate and getting his body back to a calm state. It wasn't difficult. He had practice. He stepped out and headed down the hall, knocking crisply on his employer's door.

Jim was having a rare glass of liquor, his hand warming the cool glass as he stood by the window and looked out onto the street. He'd been expecting the knock. Had gotten out the scotch for precisely that reason. One more rung up the ladder to separate himself. "Come in."

He opened the door, stepping inside and closing it quietly. He noted the bottle with a raised eyebrow. "Breaking the dry spell, sir?" he asked casually, careful to keep any hint of actual interest out of his voice.

"Thought it was about time. December is in a few weeks, and the holiday season after that. I can't stand eggnog without rum, but I'll certainly not start back up that way." He turned, taking a sip from the scotch and moving to sink into the leather chair behind his desk. "Sit."

He raised an eyebrow. A long conversation then. Phenomenal. "I take it I made the correct judgment call coming to speak with you, then."

"There wasn't a wrong answer, but if thinking that helps you sleep at night.." Jim shrugged, setting his glass down on the cherry-wood desk. "We're going to have a talk about your _behavior,_ Tiger. You have been _pushing."_

"No, I don't suppose there is a right way to respond to a carrier pigeon. And have I?" he asked, gritting his teeth slightly at the patronizing tone but not letting it into his expression.

"Don't play innocent, Moran, it's unbecoming of you," Jim snapped, having been pushed past the line of tolerance for days now. "I'm telling you that it stops. _Now."_

"I'm sorry, sir, did I miss a memo of some sort? Last I checked, it was part of my job description to challenge you and keep you safe and sharp. Unless that's changed somewhere, I've been doing my duties, _sir_." His eyes were cold, unafraid.

" _WHAT did I JUST SAY?"_ Jim snarled, standing, bringing his hand down hard on the glass as he tried to smack the desk and shattering it, wet shards scattering everywhere. He didn't break his eyes away from Moran, fury throbbing in his head, the need to control making him see red. "What. Did I. Say."

"You said, sir," he said, enunciating each word carefully, not flinching at the crash "That I've been performing my duties exactly as I always have, and is outlined in my contract." He stood. "Now seems like a bad time. Maybe I should come back later."

The insolence was just too much. Before the sniper could take a step towards the door Jim had rounded the table, face set in stone, a shard of glass in his hand, and as he brought his free hand up to curl into Moran's collar, the other came across his face. He just wanted the insolent son of a bitch to _bleed._

That, if anything, surprised him. There was sharp, blinding pain across his face, and he let out a bellow, hand coming up to grip Jim's arm. Had he had any less restraint he would have broken it. "What the _fuck_?!" he yelled, struggling to break the other man's grip on his collar without injuring him.

"What else will you _UNDERSTAND,_ if not _PAIN?"_ He screamed, struggling viciously to cut him again. "I _will not tolerate this."_

" _What the_ _fuck did I do, Jim?!"_ he shouted back, growling as the glass cut into him again. They were both splattered in blood and he wasn't sure if it was from his face or Jim's shirt. "What, this about what Magnussen said? You trying to draw the line?" He grit his teeth, finally managing to rip his collar enough to get Jim's claws free on that side, pinning that arm to the desk.

"This is about your lack of respect, your insolence, your delusion that you're allowed to be _familiar_ with me," he spat, baring his teeth in a grimace as Sebastian started to get the upper hand. "That you feel you have the right to ask me such questions is only proof of how much I have let you get away with."

"So your solution, you, the epitome of elegance and planning, is to attack me with a bit of glass," he retorts. He knew he was sailing deadly waters, but it was hopefully calmer in the eye of the storm.

"Get out," he growled, "Get out before I feckin' kill you, Sebastian." His accent became so much more pronounced when he was in a rage. He tried to rip out of the grip that the sniper now had on him, furious beyond belief, at the sniper, at himself. "I better not see hide nor tail of you until I feckin' call."

"Yessir," he says, his voice instantly cold and collected again. He carefully released the other man, the grip on the armed hand the last to go, only truly releasing once he could quickly get out of swinging range. Then he backed to the door, and stepped out.

Jim remained where he was minutes after the other man was gone, the glass still in his hand, the scotch dripping off his desk and soaking into the carpet, the rage slowly draining out of him. Finally, he set the bloodied shard down, turning to press the intercom. "Send cleanup."

Sebastian didn't respond, letting the next on the food chain handle it as he stepped into the elevator. He looked in the mirrored walls and grit his teeth. His face was a mess. Three lacerations streaked across his face. One was shorter, on the left side of his face where Jim had tried to start up, but one gash ran from just under his left eye, across the bridge of his nose, skipped a bit, and then picked up and continued across his right cheek. It was deep enough that he could see muscle. The last one followed the path of the first, a bit shorter but centered. A centimeter higher and he would have been blind in his left eye.

He should have gone to the med bay, and he knew it, but he had spent more than enough time there recently in his opinion, and had no interest in going there again. So instead he stopped on his floor, and after a moment's hesitation, knocked on Harrison's door.

She was at the door in seconds, having an increasingly sinking feeling in her stomach. The Boss's com, followed by Moran outside her door? When she opened it, though, she was still shocked. "Shit," she breathed, looking up at him with a slightly incredulous shake of her head. Then she remembered herself and stepped back, letting him in. "Let me get my first aid kit. You should probably sit."

He just nodded, walking in and moving to sit on a wooden chair that he wouldn't stain with blood. He ripped off a piece of his already ruined shirt, pressing it to his face to try and stop the bleeding.

She returned in a moment with the kit and a warm, wet hand towel, setting the first down at his feet and gently guiding his hand away from his face. She bent to make sure there was nothing that could harm him worse in his cuts and then set about carefully cleaning them. "What did he do this with? It's not a uniform cut, not a knife."

He hissed in pain, but grit his teeth and weathered through it. "Glass," he grunted. "He lost his temper." He closed his eyes, playing the conversation over again, trying to find the point when it had all gone to hell.

"Christ," she muttered, setting down the towel and crouching to open the medkit. "I think you might need a few stitches on the worst one. I can do it, and it will be awful, or you can go and get them from the infirmary, and it will be mildly less awful."

"If you give me a drink I don't give a flying fuck," he said, voice expressionless, breaths slow.

"Alright." A moment later and she was pressing a bottle of liquor into his hand, then crouching again to quickly sterilize her needle in antiseptic and fumbling with the stitches for a moment. Most of the practice she had was not on live people.

He took a long pull at whatever she'd passed him, noting somewhere that it was rum but for once not particularly caring. He watched her work, nervousness rolling off of her. "You know, for a grifter, you've got lousy bedside manner," he commented.

"Grifters are usually the ones causing the damage, if you remember correctly. It's been at least a year since I've had to sew someone back up," she sighed, standing up and looking down at him. "Lean your head back against the chair. I don't need you moving, too, I'm enough."

He glared a bit, but it was lost in the fact that his eye was swelling up anyway, so he just obeyed the instruction with a sigh. "I meant aren't you s'posed to be good at acting at least?" he took another long pull of the rum.

"I wasn't aware that you needed me to lie to you to get through this," she said coolly, leaning over him and bracing her elbow on his shoulder. She said a silent thanks to whoever might have been listening that the needle in this kit was curved, or she wasn't certain how close she could have gotten to his eye. "Alright, this is going to suck. Too bad I'm not still a heroin addict, right? That'd numb you," she muttered, half to herself, and then carefully started stitching.

He had a sarcastic response all pent up, but it was locked behind his teeth with everything else. The problem was that making expressions or flinching only made things worse, so he forced himself to keep his face blank as his eyes burned a hole in the ceiling, body tense.

She didn't say anything else as she worked, hoping that the little bit of anger she'd given him would at least distract him from the painful process. The deep cut took eight stitches to close. When she snipped him free of the needle and stepped back, she let out a long breath, shaking her hands. Fuck, it was hard to keep her hands that still for so long. "I'll get you an ice pack and some ibuprofen. Be right back."

He nodded, grunting in response and taking another swig of rum, grabbing the bloody cloth to press against the oozing cuts again.

She disappeared and swiftly returned, the promised ice pack cradled in the crook of her arm, her hands occupied with a glass of water and a couple of the dull red pills. He'd have his hands full without messing around with the bottle. She handed him the water first. "You can sit on the couch, you know. I didn't pay for it, I don't care if you get blood on it."

"Habit," he mutters, working to move his face as little as possible, not arguing, standing and walking over to flop onto the couch. "Been cleaned up in a lot of places. Blood on the couch is either evidence or expenses." He set the bottle aside but close within reach, reaching out for the pills.

She handed them over, sinking to sit on the arm of the sofa. "Why did you come here? Instead of being cleaned up in the infirmary, I mean," she asked quietly, a troubled frown on her face. He looked like a right mess, but no one would think it was a weakness to be attacked by the Boss. But he had come here.

"Been there too much lately," he said calmly as he downed the pills. "I need to maintain of being untouchable, especially now."

She nodded, deciding to accept that without comment, just watching him for a minute. A small, isolated corner of her brain was more concerned than was warranted. She beat that back with a mental switch. He never took well to too much kindness. "Do you want food or something?"

He shook his head a little, barely perceptible as movements go. "No." He took the ice pack and pressed it to his face with a bit of a hiss. "I didn't expect him to blow up like that. Stupid mistake."

"To be fair, I don't think you could have predicted him physically attacking you with, what, a shard of glass, was it? He's not exactly in your weight class. I'm having trouble picturing it at all," she snorted, honestly trying to picture anyone Jim's size going after anyone Sebastian's size. They'd have to be crazy. Well. She supposed he was.

"Seems you might need to start learning the tricks of my trade, Harrison, if today's events escalate at all. First rule: Never underestimate James Moriarty. Second rule: Always assume you _are_ underestimating him." He smirked.

She groaned, pulling a face at him. "God, please don't get yourself killed. I can _not_ afford to have the scars you're going to have in a month."

He shook his head. "He's more logical that that, usually. He wouldn't take out your best asset." He let out a laugh. "I'm not sure you've ever come face to face with the truly demonic side of Jim. It's a sight to behold." The alcohol was definitely starting to set in now.

"That's because I have never been more afraid of a single person in my life," she scoffed, sliding herself off the arm of the sofa and onto the cushions. "If he asked me to spit on a cat and do the tango, I would without question."

He nodded a little at that, smirking. "And I wouldn't, which is why I think I'm all striped up now."

She chuckled. "Yeah, you think? Jesus. What a mess. Try not to rip out your stitches while you're asleep or something. I don't know if I can do that twice."

"Got any tape? I'll cover them up," he said, reaching for the rum again.

"I'll assume you mean the kind sitting in the kit over there," she snickered, standing up to cross the room and retrieve it for him. "You want me to do it or are you pretty confident you know where they are on your face?"

"Not a damn clue. Go ahead," he muttered, waving for her to continue. He worked on holding still as she worked uncomfortably close to his eye. "Going to be an interesting few days."

She didn't actually trust herself to speak until she was further away from jabbing him in the eye, only then replying, "Tell me about it. Want to start making bets on who's going to say the smartass comment that will get their asses kicked? I'll put twenty on Malcolm. He's been waiting for an excuse. Or Johnson, just because he's a stupid upstart."

"Can't bet on Malcolm 'cause I agree with you there," he murmured, sighing slightly and trying not to twitch his face too much. "I dunno... I like to hope that no one'll bring it up, but that probably's wishful thinking, hmmm?"

She laughed, taking the rum from where it leaned against his thigh and screwing the cap back on. He was starting to get a bit drunk, and it was hardly noon. A habit for her, maybe, but not him. "Yeah, I think that's wishing for a miracle. Everyone loves hearing injury stories."

He glared, reaching for the bottle, but she pulled it out of his reach. "That's keeping me civil," he muttered.

"Believe it or not, your inebriation will not disappear the second you stop drinking," she grinned, setting the bottle on the floor by her feet, on the side furthest from him. "Anyway, I hardly see what there is to be uncivil about."

"I just got attacked in the face. That's cause for uncivil...ity," he muttered grumpily, making to rub at his face but stopping just in time, sighing and crossing his arms.

"And I just stitched you up and lost-" she leaned over to check, "- almost a quarter of my best rum to the cause. Plus, I'm pretty much the nicest thing to look at in this entire building. There's no need for grouchiness. I got ice cream in the freezer. D'you want some?"

He considered her for a moment, then nodded slightly. "I'll get you more rum," he said as an afterthought. Then- "No, fuckit, Jim'll get you more rum. I'll buy you the best damn rum I can find and expense it. Fuck 'im."

"Don't actually fuck him," she snorted, standing and heading for the small, open kitchen. "If he did that to you in a business meeting what would he do in the sack? Do you actually know if anyone's _survived?"_ She snickered, getting out the frozen treat and elbowing the freezer door closed. "How much you want?"

"Why not fuck 'im? Maybe it'd do 'im good. I can hold my own s'long as he's not jumping me. He's probably phenomenal, all that power. Bound t' be." He looked over at her, stretching slightly. "Some. I dunno. Whatever. Just gimme some."

She choked down a laugh at his stumbled words, turning away to hide her face and scooping them a bowl each. _Don't comment on his drunkenness, don't comment on his drunkenness, don't comment on his drunkenness..._

He took a breath, sitting up a little, wishing he could rub his face. It ached and stung and itched. "He used t' like that I questioned him. Why doesn't he wan' me doin' it anymore? Bastard."

Suddenly his inebriation was less funny. Was he... opening up? She kept a straight face as she brought him his ice cream, handing him a spoon and then sitting beside him. "I don't know. People are strange and unpredictable. Jim more than most," she sighed, "But I'd suggest that you don't ask him."

He snorted, taking a bite of ice cream and smiling just a little, nodding at her. "I know better than that," he muttered.

"Well, as long as we're clear," she hummed, starting up on her ice cream before pausing and considering the rum at her feet. She picked it up, opened it, and splashed a healthy amount into her bowl before taking a swig right from the bottle. "This is probably going to be awful, but I hate being sober when someone else isn't."

He just shook his head, holding his bowl out as well. "There's rum cake, right? Same thing, ish."

She sighed, but did the same for his bowl, then set the bottle between them again, resigning herself to the fact that she was going to get plastered in the middle of the afternoon with a man who'd just had his face stitched up by her. "And everything was going so well this morning."

"Yeah, well, sometimes you've got to say 'fuck' as much as possible and get drunk on alcoholic ice cream," he muttered.

"Not a sentence I thought you would ever be saying before me, but I'll agree," she shook her head, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting the bowl on them so she could scoop the slightly-melted mess straight into her mouth. "Guess you're not plannin' on doing anything else today, huh?"

He shook his head a little, swallowing his own scoop. "I need t' keep a low profile for a few days, so I'm using a bit of vacation time. Effective now."

"Mm, that's probably a good idea," she nodded, drinking straight from the bottle again. "I'm hoping I won't be called in for anything and I can just take a drunken nap or a bath or something. Peons can handle shit, right? Why else would have them?"

"You're a peon, too, shrimp, by your own protestation, don't forget that," he muttered. "Though admittedly a peon with booze and stitching skills, which ranks you slightly higher on the peon totem-pole..."

She groaned, pushing at his arm in protest. " _Moran,_ the nickname, c'mon," she huffed, scraping up the last bit of ice cream in her bowl and setting it on the side table. "I'm like, so high on the totem pole. Like, who's above me besides you and Crazy?"

He was eating his own ice cream lazily, watching it drip off of his spoon. "I'll use the nickname when it suits me. You were being uppity," he retorted smoothly. "An' all the time you're arguing you don't want any position, and now you're arguing you do?"

"I didn't say I didn't want _any_ position, I just said I don't want _yours._ Yours fuckin' sucks," she laughed, becoming a little more horizontal on the couch and pulling the rum a little closer. "I _llovvee_ staring down at all the little people in my department, wondering how long it's going to take them to get up to my level. And yeah, I'm _totally_ bragging, but I fuckin' earned it."

He smirked, reaching over for the handle of rum. "We can't both be completely smashed, Harrison."

She stubbornly moved to hold the rum further away from him, sliding onto her back and planting her foot on his side. "Sure we can. We've done it before, haven't we?" she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Yes, and it ended badly... didn't it? If it didn't we were lucky. C'mon, I'm in charge and an invalid, hand it over," he muttered, trying to reach for it.

"Please," she scoffed, keeping him back with her foot, "You have eight stitches on your face, you're hardly mortally wounded. And I think we played poker and I lost a lot. What d'you think we're goin' to do, mess up my apartment?"

"One of us'll get called up to do something and we'll both be passed out on the couch, that's what I think," he muttered. "And I'm still in charge."

"You just said you were on vacation, you can't be on the job and in charge on _vacation,"_ she retorted, now just grasping at straws. "Anyway, I'm a seasoned alcoholic, I hardly _ever_ pass out."

"Fine," he huffed, too drunk to care anymore, tilting the bowl back to down the rest of his melty ice cream.

She couldn't keep the pleased surprise off her face. She'd have to keep sheer stubbornness in mind for the future. "Y'ever gonna use up those dares from the Italy trip? It's been.. months, right? Haven't found something worth it yet?" she chuckled, carefully taking another sip of rum, as she was now flat on her back, scrunched up in the space between Sebastian and the arm of the couch.

"What should I use 'em on? I mean, let's be honest here... We've already done most o' the stuff I'd use it on," he pointed out.

She snickered, resting the bottle on her chest. "You got me there. If you want t' waive them, I'll certainly accept," she chuckled, struggling to keep hope out of her voice and failing.

"M'not that drunk, Harrison," he said, raising an eyebrow slowly, grinning.

"Fuck. Had t' try," she shrugged, getting annoyed with holding the bottle up and putting it back down on the floor with a little fumbling. "Guess'll just have to hope you can't think up anything too bad, mm?"

"Oh, I'll think of something halfway decent," he muttered. "Could dare y' t' take over f'r me once I'm dead, but that seems like a waste of a good order."

"'Course its a waste, I'd have t' do it anyway," she pointed out, nudging him with her foot. "Eugh. _Please_ don't die. I don't want your job and I like the sex a lot. Plus, you'd never get to dump Mycroft Holmes in a vat of flesh-eatin' beetles."

"All valid points," he agreed with a sigh. "Think the new scars'll be sexy or scary? Got to figure out which angle I'll be playing. Could be both I suppose."

"Everything about you is both, Seb'stian," she mumbled, curling onto her side and burying her face in the couch. "I've changed my mind, m'gonna pass out."

"Boring," he muttered, poking her with his foot a little as he worked his way to his feet somewhat unsteadily.

"Y'gonna keep me up with somethin' interesting, then?" she asked, her voice muffled in the couch cushions.

"Dunno yet. I'm considering." He leaned against the wall.

She rolled over with a huff. His considering always came up with something interesting, Best not to let herself pass out before he spat something out. Beyond that, all she could think about was that she hoped he didn't scuff her wall.

"Pissing Jim off further strikes me as a probably bad idea," he muttered almost absently.

"No, no, there's no probably there. There's _noooo_ probably."

"Right, okay," he sighed, standing and starting to pace again, before shaking his head a little. "I'm too pissed- in both senses of the word- to make any good decisions. I'm going to sleep."

"Who's boring now?" she mumbled without any real sting, rolling back over. If she was any drunker she would have asked him to stay. "Don't rip out yer stitches."

"Yeah, I'll work on that." He headed for her door and out, across the hall to scan into his place, heading over to his bedroom. He changed carefully out of his bloodstained clothes, wiped most of the mess off of his skin with a damp cloth, and turned the intercom up to full blast before flopping onto his bed and falling asleep almost instantly.

She wasn't even awake to hear the door close behind him. Maybe she had been drinking less lately. Hardly ever was she so affected.

* * *

A/N

Sorry for the formatting weirdness - editing twice when I put it on AO3 and then transfer it here is a huge pain in the ass. If you want to read the best version with the attached songs and all, try reading it there! Hope you enjoy it, either way!

/works/11295936/chapters/25272693


	17. Crime & Punishment

He woke the next god-knew-when hungover, his face burning and aching like crazy. He swore quietly, then winced as that moved things all over his face, and sighed, sitting up and getting a handle on himself. He'd had far worse. He dug around for a bottle of aspirin and downed a couple along with a glass of water from the bathroom, before starting to get dressed. He'd changed his mind about the vacation days. Keeping a low profile was a far cry from rolling over and exposing his belly. He'd be smart, not submissive.

Lorna woke up with the mother-of-all-crooks in her neck, paired with a throbbing hangover. She forced herself off the couch with a hiss and staggered into the bathroom to shower the smell of anti-septic and rum off her, downed five ibuprofen, then got dressed, a little more comfortably than usual. An aging sweater dress and leggings. Fuck the casual uniform, what was there to do today anyway that had anything to do with her?

He straightened himself out in the mirror one more time. The wounds on his face were puffy and red, but for the most part looked like he'd gotten on the bad end of a bar fight. He slid his gun into his shoulder holster, and headed into the hall.

She refused to leave her flat once she'd gotten ready for someone to call her down. Even when she heard him leave his own room, she reached for a week-old newspaper.

He considered seeing if she was up, but he didn't anticipate anything yet that he couldn't handle personally, so he climbed into the elevator and headed down.

Jim had been awake in his office for hours, setting up Moran's punishment. Lord Moran had been _so_ easy to blackmail.

* * *

It was on his status update, fifth point down, after new hires. Minuscule. Insignificant.

Enraging.

Which was how he'd ended up here, watching some poor idiot scream and scream and continue to scream as he tested how many burrowing beetles a human could withstand while conscious without bleeding out. He was up to seventeen, taking his time.

When she'd been up for three hours, an underling sent word about the beetles, since they pertained to her. Moran's activities were thrown in as a side note. He was revisiting this, on his day off? Bad sign. She took the lift to the basement.

 _Heart failure six minutes into number 23_ , he noted, tossing the book aside and starting to work to remove the insect from the still undulating corpse, before deciding it would be easier to dump the whole body in one of the tanks and just let them finish it off. He made short work of it, before considering his next move. Repeat of this experiment? Or something new?

She entered the room with a sharp word of warning from one of the janitors, her movements cautious. She took in the scene before her; the book, the tanks, the slightly squirming corpse. "Something wrong?" She asked lightly, stepping into the room only as much as she had to to close the door behind her. She didn't think he was one for unbidden, intense, a-man-possessed research.

"What gives you that impression?" he asked, walking over to a door on the far side of the room and throwing it open. The instant the door was opened someone could be heard crying, pleading, and he disappeared into the shadows. A moment later he returned with a woman by the back of her back, slamming her forehead into his work table to stun her before tossing her flat on it, starting to strap her down.

She watched the scene neutrally, waiting to speak until the woman was mostly secured. "This is... Unpredictable. Even for you. Has Jim done something else?"

"I don't see how my predictability falls into your area of concern, Harrison," he growled. The woman whimpered slightly and he whirled on her, eyes blazing. "Shut up," he warned, before walking over to the tanks.

She was convinced something was wrong now, but she knew pressing the issue when he was like this would only end in blood and tears for her. He'd have to let it out on his own. "Do you want help with your science project?"

"Pleas-" the woman had barely started speaking when he whirled on her, a thin, wicked knife in hand. A moment later she was screaming louder than ever, her tongue in his hand, but he seemed more content, tossing it into the tank and pausing to grab an electric brand to cauterize the wound.

"You hate the beetles," he said conversationally as he jammed the thing in the woman's mouth. She passed out.

"Yes," she agreed, leaning back against the door, running her thumb along the soft edge of her sweater dress. It would probably be ruined soon. She disliked seeing him like this, though. "But that doesn't matter."

"Please tell me you aren't being sentimental. That would be fucking adorable," he deadpanned, swearing slightly at the unconscious woman and tossing the brand aside, starting to dig through a drawer of chemicals.

"I would need to know what had crawled up your arse and died to feel sentimental, Moran. There's no need to be rude," she sighed, hating herself for how right he was. Not that she'd give him the fucking satisfaction of seeing that. "Is that a no, then?"

"I'm doing my job, Harrison. What are you doing? Don't you have something more useful to do than sitting around bothering me?" He hauled over an IV. "Go deal with my morning status update. I didn't have time to deal with it." He had, but if she was observant she'd get the picture from that and know to fuck off. If she didn't, that was her problem.

She sighed, taking a step off the door so she could open it. Even she knew better to disobey direct orders. "Yes, sir. You know where I'll be." She nodded curtly and then slipped out of the room, feeling vaguely frustrated.

He watched her go, then set to work setting his IV up, concentrating on his work and trying not to murder his victim before he got any useful information.

Lorna started looking for one of the several people who would have the update. For fifteen minutes, she was certain that they'd all taken a trip to Siberia, only then coming across Demmings in the lounge. He handed it to her without comment.

He left his victim to wake up, walking out of the room to go wash his hands of the last round of blood. Jim. Screw him. Fuck Jim and his precious little need to be absolutely right in everything.

She admitted to herself that she had not expected _that_ to be the reason Moran was in a snit. Maybe snit was the wrong word. She'd certainly be upset if her lordly father was being coerced into planting a bomb below parliament.

Stimulants had the effect he'd expected, causing the subject to bleed out more quickly, but also had the added bonus of agitating the subject beyond normal levels.

He was feeling more composed by the time he left the room and went upstairs to shower off the smell of blood and other fluids.

* * *

Lorna had finished up with the small tasks on the update - he'd already gotten to a few of them, she'd found - and had made herself comfortable watching a movie in her own flat. She had, however, left a bottle of bourbon outside his door. She'd stuck a smiley-face sticker on the cap. It was the most she could do.

He picked the bottle up, staring at it for a moment before pushing into his room and closing the door quietly behind him. He set it on his table and jumped into the shower, before changing into fresh clothes. As he headed back down to the lower levels, he paused, and then with a smirk flicked out his knife and carved a small smiley into Harrison's door. Then he headed into the elevator.

She paused the movie as she heard the tell-tale sounds of her door being disturbed, but by the time she'd gotten up and opened it to see what the damage was, he was gone. That bastard.

Jim, of course, was having great fun watching this wreak havoc, watching the security cameras throughout the building on his personal computer. The added benefit was that there was more getting done in the office than there had been in a week.

While he worked, however, he was planning, quietly. Thinking over what he knew, and what he could assume. By the end of the day his black expression hadn't wavered, but inside he was smirking.

For the first time in almost six months, he went home to his own apartment that night rather than staying on base. The place was new, boxes not even unpacked, but he'd grabbed a bag and the bottle of bourbon and it'd do.

Harrison didn't fail to notice that her neighbor had failed to return to his apartment across the hall. And she suspected that she hadn't missed it when she'd fallen asleep. The only question was how long he'd be gone.

* * *

He did take the next day off. Research. It took him a while to find a secure way to contact him. It'd been years. But he had connections that even Jim didn't know about, or at least didn't think were important. It took him most of the night and morning, and half the bottle of bourbon, but he had a connection. Now... for the next part of his plan.

She got the text from an underling later that morning. Not working today. Some part of her was concerned, but the majority of her was too busy being irritated that she had to take over for him. _God,_ she hoped he came back.

He picked up a trash phone at a convenience store and texted her later that day.

 _Come over for drinks later? SM_

She had literally no idea how to respond for a good fifteen minutes. Then she got up to deal with a fire in Costumes, and, when she finally checked her phone again, fuming and smelling a little bit of smoke, she replied: _When? LH_

 _Whenever you're done. I'll be up. SM_

He added his address and tossed the phone aside, picking up another to text the first of his string of contacts that lead to his father.

 _Traffic looks bad tomorrow night. Best avoid cabs. S_

* * *

Lorna officially clocked out at 10 at night, waving away some guy in an ugly Christmas sweater with a few last concerns. It wasn't even December. What was he doing? When she shook him off she flagged down a cab outside of HQ and gave the driver Moran's address, which had been completely unfamiliar to her until that afternoon. It was a little further away than she'd expected he would ever put himself, but she paid the cabbie and trotted up the stairs to his stoop to knock on his door all the same. She did, however, have a nagging suspicion that he was up to something.

He opened the door a few moments later, ushering her inside. Before either of them spoke, he ran a small device over her. It lit up near her sleeve cuff and without comment he slit into it with his knife, flipping the material and revealing a small circular device he was very familiar with. It took him barely a moment to slice the wire to the mic portion of the bug. It would continue transmitting, it just would translate dead air. Hopefully no one would notice a problem. "Come in," he said with a nod, tucking the knife away and heading further into the apartment.

She made a mildly disgruntled noise at the discovery of the bug on her, following him with a betrayed glance down at her sleeve. "You know, I thought the place you have in HQ was sparse. This is like an empty museum," she commented, sliding her hands into her pockets. "I didn't even know you kept another place."

"It's new. And I don't normally use it," he said, nodding to the lone couch. "Drink?"

"Do you even have to ask, at this point?" she raised her eyebrows, taking a seat. "I spent today sober. And thank god, because if I'd had to put out that fire drunk I might have burst into flames."

"I'm gone for a day and they fucking have a fire. Of course they do." He returned with two generous glasses and the bottle, passing her one and setting the bottle on the table before sitting on the couch and grabbing his laptop.

"They left the hot glue gun unattended. I nearly wrote 'twit' on their foreheads with the stuff once it was out, believe me," she muttered into her drink, taking a long sip.

"Should have. Might still do when I get back," he muttered, looking up as one of the four phones on the table buzzed. He picked it up and flipped it open.

 _I hate traffic. I'll take the underground._

She settled back on the couch and watched him for a moment, sipping her bourbon coolly. "Flying under the radar, Moran?"

"Boss told me to," he muttered with a sigh, tossing the phone aside. "Doesn't want me working in my nice, comfortable apartment, has me doing dirty work." He made a face. "Figured I'd let you come have fun anyway. I'm going to need a grifter."

Her entire face lit up. "Are you fucking serious? Christ, I haven't had _decent_ work in _months,"_ she said emphatically, drumming the fingers of her free hand against her knee in excitement.

He swallowed a grin. This was going to be easier than he thought. "Good. I'll leave it up to you, you can either report directly to me, or to the Boss. Either way, what we discuss doesn't leave this room."

She tapped a finger against the rim of her glass. "Going to be hard to report to either of you if you're not in this room."

"Don't be a smartass," he retorted, glaring at her coldly. "It's not the time. Your choice. Do you want to report to me, or Moriarty?"

"You," she sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. She didn't need him in a snit again.

"You know, for someone who was thrilled to have work two seconds ago, you're being oddly difficult to work with," he said, a touch of warning in his tone. "I could talk to someone else if you don't feel up for it."

She sighed, although not disrespectfully. "I'm merely surprised that you even had to ask. You know how I feel about occupying the same room as him. Especially after the... glass.. incident."

"I just wanted to give you the chance," he said, putting his laptop on the table. "You saw the bulletin about Lord Moran's new involvement, I hope?"

She decided immediately not to bring up the time she'd asked about his background. "Yes. I don't know about the chances of success, though."

"That's where we come in," he said with a nod. "We're going to make sure that things go according to the boss's plans."

"Alright," she agreed, shrugging, and downed another sip of bourbon. "Just tell me what you need and I'll get it for you."

He nodded slightly, reaching over to bring up a picture on his computer. It was an ID photo of a slightly overweight man with a shiny scalp, wearing a safety orange vest. "Ernest Maccabee. Tram driver for the London underground. Lives in his mother's old house. Goes to work, goes home. Loves porn sites, children's shows, and too much beer. I need him eating out of the palm of your hand by tomorrow night. Think you can do it?"

She scoffed, crossing her legs and looking at him just a little bit imperiously. "I've done _so_ much better. Yes, I can do it. When does his shift start tomorrow?"

"Seven p.m., but you'll need to contact him before then. He's closed in a driver's car once it starts, you won't be able to access him."

She nodded, like that was what she expected. She took another sip, considering. "I would go out and try to get him tonight, if I was certain that his shift ended in time, and that'd he be easily malleable. But then, people are also much more likely to be reckless when they've just met someone." She shrugged, settled herself down a bit more. "And I'm not dressed for it."

He shrugged, draining his glass. "I don't care how you do it. Just get it done."

She followed suit, and sat the glass on the table. "I will. I appreciate the work. Which is the reason I'm not going to bring up what happened with my door."

He smirked slightly. "You just did," he pointed out, returning his attention to the cell as it buzzed again.

"Damn straight I did," she muttered, looking around the room as he fiddled with his phone. The place was clean, despite how un-lived-in it looked. "I'm perfectly happy to surrender my clothes to your destructive tendencies, but the door is going a bit far, isn't it?"

"I was low on stickers," he muttered, raising an eyebrow and closing his laptop. "Besides, as I recall, you don't even like that apartment. You're always complaining when you have to stay there."

"Th- That's not the _point._ It's still _mine,_ is the point," she sputtered, then heaved a sigh and rested her head on the back of the couch to look at the ceiling. "Nevermind. I'm like half dead right now. Unless you need me for something, I should go home."

"It's not yours, it's rented to you as part of the job. It's Jim's, technically, and I couldn't give a shit about his property at the moment." He straightened, stretched slightly. "Yeah, you can go. Unless you want to stay here. There is a functioning bedroom. Up to you."

She deliberated for a moment, wondering what he got out of letting her stay. She couldn't find the catch, but she was sure it would crop up sooner or later. Unfortunately for the saner part of her head, she was tired enough to risk it. "Yeah, okay," she agreed, lifting her head from the couch and running a hand through her hair.

He nodded, tilting his head towards the stairs. "Up that way. Bathroom's attached." He reached over for another phone and started typing.

"Thanks," she murmured, standing and picking over a few boxes to get to the stairs. Christ, but it was hard not to look the gift horse in the mouth. She washed her face in the bathroom (it was nice; everything looked very, very new) and then shuffled back into the bedroom to shed everything but her shirt and her pants, and crawled into bed.

He worked for a few more hours, and nodded slightly, before walking over to where Harrison had hung her coat, and with a small smile, reconnecting the hairline wire in the bug that ran to the microphone. Nothing solidified trust like exposing yourself.

He straightened and headed upstairs. Time to get a little sleep.


	18. Sebastian Moran Has And Is A Giant Dick

She hadn't been able to fall asleep in the time that he'd been downstairs, and had only managed a light doze. She wasn't real great at falling asleep in strange places while largely conflicted about staying there. Hopefully he wasn't going to knife her, or something else unpleasantly painful.

He undressed and climbed into bed next to her. Her breathing wasn't that of a sleeping person, and he rolled his eyes. "Don't trust me?"

She cracked an eyelid. "You trust me?" she challenged quietly, opening both eyes and looking at him steadily. She knew he didn't.

"Would you?" he asked with a laugh. He was pleasantly buzzed.

She snorted. "If I could read minds, maybe. But without perspective, no. You're only proving my point, though," she mumbled, pulling the sheets up a bit higher. He'd disturbed them when he got in.

He flopped back against his pillow. "You'd think after so long of fucking each other you'd at least be able to sleep in my flat."

She laughed despite herself. "Yeah, well, it's not the same as the other one. I'm used to the other one. This one isn't familiar."

"Your loss," he smirked, reaching out under the covers to slide a hand over her thigh.

"I wouldn't call this a _loss,_ exactly," she murmured, a little bit more awake. This might be the catch she was looking for.

"No?" he asked, hand sliding up the inside of her thigh as he shifted on his side to face her.

"I'd let you know if it was," she shrugged, flicking the covers down a little. The cool air was a relief.

He smirked, leaning in to bite the side of her neck, careful of his cuts. He let go of her thigh and shifted his hand up to slip under her shirt.

She gasped, full-on kicking off the sheets now, with her limited movement. "You really like the biting when you're drunk."

"So do you, to be fair," he muttered. "Me biting, I mean." He cupped one of her breasts through the fabric of her bra, massaging firmly and shifting his body up over hers a little.

She made a soft sound of confirmation, arching a little under his touch and lightly scratching her nails across his shoulder. She knew what he liked, too, by this point.

He grinned against her skin, turning his head to catch the edge of her jaw with his lips, his free hand sliding beneath her back to undo the clasp of her bra.

She moved to make it easier for him, taking the opportunity to turn and kiss him, sliding her fingers into his hair and scraping lightly over his scalp.

He kissed her back, tongue pushing into her mouth roughly as he pulled her bra forward enough to slide his hands underneath. He had energy to burn at the moment, and wasn't going to waste it.

She pulled back from him enough to sit up and drag her shirt over her head, casting her bra off in the same movement, then gave him a little push onto his back and resuming kissing him, this time straddling his waist. She would get away with what she could.

He snorted at that, biting her lip sharply in retaliation and tasting a bit of blood, but letting her take the top for the moment, hands busy exploring the now-familiar weight of her breasts, hips grinding up against hers.

She dug her nails into his side at the sharp pain in her lip and slid her hands up into his hair to get a grip and pull his head back, sucking a dark mark under his jaw while she happily rolled her hips down into his. The only reason she didn't try to control that as well - something she never got to do with him, anyway - was that she desperately did not want him to stop now that he'd started.

He growled at that, one hand moving to slap her arse at the insolence, before gripping it, pulling her down against him more firmly.

A laugh at his sound of displeasure was cut off by his slap and her answering moan. "We haven't got anything in the queue, have we?" she breathed into the crook of his throat before biting hard enough to leave a mark.

"Mmm... don't think so, been dry for a while on that. Thoughts?" His voice stuttered slightly as she bit him, and he answered with a hand tangling and tugging at her hair.

She grinned, tilting her head to bite his earlobe and tug, not enough to hurt. "Oh, I have a few. None of them are possible right now, though," she hummed, her hand sliding between them to snap at the waist of his pants. "Just wondering how long until I could spring it on you."

"I'm intrigued," he muttered, sliding a hand under the waist of her knickers to palm her arse, the other tightening in her hair a little. "Details?"

"Mm.. In the office," she snickered, kissing a line down his jaw and leaving another mark on his shoulder with her teeth. "Anyone who walked in couldn't say a _word."_

He smirked just slightly. "Interesting idea..." He murmured, his middle finger slipping down between her thighs to trace teasingly over her core. "Jim would kill us both..."

It took her a second to respond with this new distraction, arching back into his hand with a slight whine. "Even Jim can't- can't determine _location,_ can he?" she groaned, then laughed, a little bit breathlessly. "Hell, he might find a CCTV and _watch."_

"My point exactly," he muttered, grinning at his return to power, the finger circling her entrance teasingly a few times as he leaned forward to close his lips over her jugular, sucking hard and scraping his teeth.

She gave up any pretense she had left of being in control, swearing under her breath and returning to his pants again, this time with a more concerted effort to get them _off._ "W-well, if the office is out, I'm sure there's other places."

"Oh, plenty," he agreed, voice calm though his body was warm under her hands. "You want to risk exposure, we can find places."

She laughed, finally managing to get his pants past his hips and her hand stroking down his length. "I've done it before, I know all the tricks," she smirked, leaning to kiss him again.

"Oh, I doubt that," he laughed. "But maybe. It is your business." He slid the tip of his finger into her, still teasing.

The squeeze she gave him was only half accidental. She let her forehead drop to his shoulder, failing to stifle a rather ragged breath. "Sebastian-"

He grit his teeth as she squeezed, but resisted letting out any noise, instead regaining his composure and scraping his nails along her scalp slowly, finger in her circling. "Yes, Lorna?"

"Please don't tease," she breathed, near-shuddering with the effort of not rocking back onto his hand. She knew that would get her nowhere with him.

"Why not?" he asked softly, hand releasing her hair and sliding over her neck, tracing a pattern over her spine.

"I-" She couldn't come up with a reason. The best one she could come up with was that she just _wanted_ him, and the tingles running down her back were driving her mad. " _Please."_

"Why shouldn't I just torture you, huh?" he laughs, turning them over suddenly, pinning her to the mattress with his free hand on her neck, not too tightly, but a good grip.

She grasped his wrist out of principle more than anything, her other hand fisting in the sheets next to her so she didn't draw blood down his side. Still, she struggled with what to say. "'Cause you're already rock hard and I'm starting to fucking _ache,_ Sebastian, please," she managed, gripping his wrist harder.

He tilted his head slightly. "Not your best argument, but you seem distracted," he conceded, drumming his fingers against the side of her neck and pulling his finger out of her, reaching down to pump himself a few times instead.

"Thank god," she muttered, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from verbally hurrying him along, or at least getting back to touching her, which she was missing with increasing urgency. Christ, she was still wearing her fucking panties. "You're lucky you're so pretty."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, mouth quirking a bit up at the corner as he flexed his grip around her throat. The other hand started working on removing her panties. "Impatient are we?"

She lifted her hips to help the process move along. "Don't ask stupid questions," she huffed, her flushed cheeks visible even in the dim light coming in from the street-facing window. And then, because she was worried that would only be a step backward, said, "Yes, _yes."_

He chuckled at her scrambling as he removed "Nice save." Then, without any warning, he shifted between her legs and pushed into her, swearing and grinning as he sunk into her.

She arched up off the bed and said a few loud, choice swears as she both rolled with the burning ache of having to accommodate him so fucking _quick_ and as she basked in the goddamn relief of it, breath leaving her in gasps. She realized suddenly that she had curled both her hands around his arms, as if looking for something to hold onto, and made herself relax, shaking slightly. "Move. _Move."_

"Hold on, I'm giving you time to adjust..." He purposefully spoke slowly, calmly, despite the burning need in him to move. He was overwhelmed by the thrill of power, but not for long. A few more moments, just long enough to make a point that he wasn't obeying her orders, and he started moving, all at once, grinding and sliding against her with force.

She groaned as he finally start moving, running her hands down his ripped back and briefly grabbing a handful of ass before running back up so she could brace one hand above her on the headboard and wrap her free arm around his neck. He didn't ever hold back, she knew that much about him, and she wanted him to go hard - she loved it - but sliding up the bed with each thrust wasn't ideal.

He snarled as she grabbed his ass as it sent a burning wave of pleasure up his spine, and returned with a thrust of his hips against hers, before rolling slowly, his breaths short. "Fuck, Lorna, you feel good. Should just lock you up somewhere, keep you hostage for myself."

"At t-the moment, I don't think I'd c-complain," she gasped, his changing pace fanning the furnace in her core and making her squirm, arching up into him again, desperate to feel all of him.

He grunted in agreement, biting his lip, face screwing up a bit as he saw her brace herself and smiled at the immediate increase in response.

She did her best to move in rhythm with him while pinned down with his hand, already incapable of simply leaning up to kiss him open-mouthed and demanding. She gripped harder at the bed and at him, looking up at him with blown-dark eyes. "God, that's perfect," she moaned, "Please don't stop."

He didn't, watching her struggle slightly under his hand and loving every moment of it. He tightened his grip a little, watching her face redden a little as he shortened her air supply, then return to mostly normal as he relaxed again, toying with the power. It was rolling over him, physically and mentally, sweat stinging the lacerations on his face as his muscles undulated with his movements. His eyes were cold fire as they found hers, a grin twisting his expression as she moved beneath him, captivating him.

She, on the other hand, was only too happy surrender control to him, drive every last lingering thought from her mind until she was nothing but a gasping mess of building need. She could only withstand meeting his eyes for a moment before she had to close her own, the sheer intensity bearing down on her. And, after another moment, she had to sacrifice the relative stability she'd given herself by bracing against the headboard so she could clutch desperately at his back, biting her lip hard enough to hurt to keep herself from getting _truly_ loud.

In that moment, he owned her, and it was glorious. His free hand wrapped around her, pulling her up by throat and waist until she was in his lap as he knelt. Then he released her throat, both hands dropping to her hips to keep her moving, snarling in pleasure as he got close.

She clung on tightly to him as he practically picked up her up, sliding her hands into his short hair and scraping the back of his neck. Now that she was straddling his waist it was so much easier to move with him, rolling her hips down onto his as hard as she could manage, breathing hard against his shoulder as she could feel herself building up to the brink.

"It's soundpr-roof, he panted with a smirk as he caught a glimpse of her pained expression. "Paid extra. L-let loose." He jolted his hips against hers and let out a muffled groan as she matched him move for move.

She didn't think she could have kept herself quiet, anyways. She came with a scream that she tried vainly to muffle into her own arm, arching against him as pleasure shot up her spine like electricity. "J- _esus Chr-iist."_

He could see the sensations he was feeling pulsing behind his eyelids in waves of colors, some bright and raw, others subversive, in the background, lending everything a tint. His breath caught in his throat as she came, and his fingers dug into her skin, turning it white under his grip. "N-not my na-ame," he managed to grit out with a smirk, but that was lost as she tilted her hips slightly and tightened around him, and he buried his face against her shoulder.

She was shaking against him, muscles in her thighs twitching slightly. "I think you broke me," she muttered into his collarbone, then stopped talking to try and conserve her breath. Both of them had accumulated a light sheen of sweat during their.. _activities,_ and now the cool air felt somehow both nice and a little _too_ cool. She couldn't deny that she felt fucking great, though.

"If you're looking for an apology you're in the wrong bed," he muttered, shifting her off of his lap and flopping sideways onto the mattress with a soft groan.

Lorna chuckled blearily, collapsing beside him. Then she made a mildly irritated noise and buried her face in one of the pillows. "Help remind me to take the pill tomorrow. I usually remember, but I don't want to forget," she snorted, then rolled onto her side and shifted to grab the sheets.

"I'll remember, don't worry," he muttered, laying on top of the sheets for the time being. "Not a problem I'm interested in dealing with."

She made a noise of agreement. "I plan on never letting it _become_ a problem," she yawned, curling up a bit to make up for the sudden loss of another person's warmth.

"Amen," he muttered, reaching over to set an alarm before closing his eyes with a sigh.

She followed suit, wrapping herself further up in the covers and falling into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

The alarm blared loud and clear through the haze of sleep, and he sat up, scanning the room before shutting it off, rubbing his eyes and then nudging Harrison as he climbed out of bed and headed for the shower.

She got up with a few swears muttered under her breath, and followed him. He'd rather made a mess of her last night, and she didn't fancy getting back into the same clothes she'd worn yesterday while she felt so.. sticky. "Budge over."

He did with a sigh. "There is such a thing as waiting your turn," he muttered, flicking her ear before reaching for the shampoo.

"The rest of your flat is very nice, yes, but one should always worry about the quality of the water heater," she yawned, ducking under the spray to douse herself as he was lathering up.

"Mhm," he muttered, leaning in to rinse his short-cropped hair, letting out a quiet curse as shampoo made it into one of the cuts and reaching out of the shower for a towel to get it off.

She grabbed it for him, now that she was closer, trading him for the shampoo. This was oddly domestic of them. "If I was asleep when you came to bed, would you have woken me anyway?"

"What sort of a question is that?" he asked as he dried his face carefully.

"Mhm. Thought so," she chuckled, setting the shampoo on the shelf and washing her hair. "Not much a question at all, apparently."

"No, that wasn't my answer," he said, tossing the towel out onto the floor and catching her gaze. "That was a serious question. Because that sounded an awful lot like a warning flag."

She frowned at him, a hand falling to her hip. "I was curious, Moran, don't get worked up about it. You know how much of my world revolves around me. I simply like knowing how long someone's been planning on getting in my pants." And she had meant it that way, but looking back on it, she could see why he thought that. Fuck, sometimes _she_ thought that.

He started to wash his body. "You seem more familiar lately. Jumped in here without a second glance, mouthing off last night. Admittedly I had you over for drinks, but you used to have a healthy fear and respect for me regardless of the situation. I want to make sure our physical interactions aren't affecting that. Because I think it has."

She sighed, stepping out of the shower and grabbing another towel. "I'd like to point out that I've been mouthing off to you for the last few years off and on without ever having touched you. Reckless backtalk is one of my bigger flaws, I'll admit it," she shrugged, wrapping the towel around her torso and gathering her wet hair over her shoulder. "But you don't need to worry about the respect part, and most definitely not the fear part. When you get angry I get fear nausea." She was not lying.

He studied her carefully, eyes locked on hers, but he nodded just a little. "As long as we're clear."

"Crystal," she muttered, drying off her hair with the towel before hanging it up and walking back out of the bathroom to pick up her clothes and get dressed. She hated it when he got all stiff.

He nodded, starting to get dressed as well. "Any last minute questions about your assignment?"

"Where's he going to be before his shift? Hard to invent a creative way of bumping into someone if you don't know where they are," she hummed, bending to grab her jacket. She'd have to go home to get changed and to swallow the little assurance that there wasn't going to be a problem, but then she could start.

"He generally has brunch over at a greasy diner near his place, I'll get the name off the file," he called from where he was shaving.

"Can you text it? I'll murder innocent bystanders if I don't get some caffeine or alcohol into me soon," she leaned into the doorway to the bathroom, already poised to leave. Sticking around him for any period of time when he started doing this - especially not even at _work,_ Christ - was unbearable.

"Yup. Bye," he said, tilting his head back to check that he'd gotten near his ears. "Take the blue phone on the counter. Let me know when it's done."

"I will," she nodded, immediately leaving the room and heading down the stairs, trying to escape the oppressive feeling bearing down on her, and slipped the blue phone into her pocket on the way out.

He smiled as he heard the door shut, and dried his face, walking to get dressed. She'd been more malleable than he anticipated. Everything had gone perfectly. He felt, somewhere deep in his rusty soul, a twinge of something, but it didn't bother him.

* * *

Lorna wiped her smudged lipstick off with the back of sleeve as she texted Moran one-handed. She didn't like this jacket much, anyhow.

 _It's done. He'll do whatever you need him to do. If he doesn't, remind him of the pictures I now have in my possession. LH_

He glanced at the phone, and nodded his approval. _Excellent. I assume you've given me some way to contact him?_

She forwarded the man's number, followed by another text. _What is this, amateur hour? Do you need anything else?_

 _No. Ditch phone._ He wiped his prints off of his own and did the same, tossing it down onto the tracks in front of a train as it sped by, before pulling out another ditch phone and texting the number Lorna had sent him.

 _Mr. Maccabbee. Are you ready?_

Lorna did as told, following regulation and _thoroughly_ destroying the phone. And then not following regulation and throwing it in front of a passing bus for fun.

Ernest's palms were sweating when the phone buzzed in his pocket. An unknown number, and presumably an unknown person on the other side. This was why his mother had warned him about women with tight skirts and red lips. _Yes._

 _Good, I'm glad to hear it._ He could almost feel the other man's anguish through the phone, and it was invigorating. He had always understood Jim's highs in the middle of playing the game, but it was less often that he got to share it. _What number train are you driving right now?_ He knew, but best not reveal too many cards at once.

 _Number 16_

He did, in fact, feel exceedingly nervous about operating the tram and texting at the same time.

 _Excellent. You will follow instructions without question or delay._ He watched as the train pulled into the station, and boarded the last car, which (thanks to a bit of money changing hands) had TRANSPORTING FOR MAINTENANCE, DO NOT BOARD written across the door in clean block letters.

 _Okay._ Was all Ernest could think to reply with. What else was he supposed to say?

He sat down, counting the stops as they went by. Then the doors opened and a familiar figure boarded quietly, and sat across from him. The doors closed and there was silence for a long moment. Then "The car's loaded with what we need. You have the equipment?"


	19. Implosion, Part Two

Lord Moran looked across the aisle at his son, his aging face expressionless. A lifetime of politics had granted him that poker face, but never did he think he'd need it more than now. "Yes," he said, voice level. He brought his briefcase into his lap, gave it a single pat. He had questions for the boy, of course, but nothing that could be said aloud. They hadn't spoken in years, after all. And he admitted he shared the blame for that.

He nodded as the train jolted to life again, pulling out his phone to prepare. He'd gotten old, his father. The last few years especially had taken their toll. Sebastian had kept an eye on him on the media, of course, but television was rarely flattering, anyway. Still. Old. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to deal with the man, but he wanted Jim to gloat like the bastard he was even less, so here he was, doing what he disliked to avoid what he hated. There was a twisted sort of pleasure to it, however. The satisfaction that he'd risen above his hatred for his father, risen above him in general and become someone that the man was forced to respect, perhaps fear. He started counting seconds as they moved, waiting for the right time to send the text.

The other man didn't break the silence, remaining still and relaxed in his seat, his eyes somewhere in the space between them. Then, because he could stave off curiosity for only so long, on his son. Fleetingly, he wondered what had caused the lacerations on Sebastian's face. Or the white lines that peeked out from the open collar of his dress shirt. He knew that the life his son had chosen could never even come close to the realm of legal, but he supposed that he hadn't quite realized how hard of a life that would be on one's body. Most of the questions hovering in his head floated off, realizing they'd been demoted in importance. He set his jaw.

He sent the text, the final instructions. There was a pause, but he was confident in Harrison's work, and a moment later the train turned unexpectedly, and he smiled. Another minute, and there was a jolt, and then the car slowed, stopped. He could hear the train fading away, and stood, walking to the door to ensure they were in the right place.

"Everything's going to plan, I hope?" Lord Moran said dryly, eyes the same shade as his son's following the aforementioned man's movements. He refused to move his body until he was required to.

"Unless you've encountered problems on your end," he said smoothly, turning to look at his father. "Everything on our side is moving perfectly, as expected."

He grunted, tilting his head back to rest against the carriage wall. There was quite the cover-up underway on his end. He wasn't yet certain if it would work. He sat up straight. "Then let's start."

He nodded slightly, walking over to a floor panel and removing it, revealing a hook-up point for the briefcase. "My agent says you were contacted about the specs in due time, I hope you've delivered."

"Of course," the older Moran scoffed on principle, as if it were a matter of pride. This wasn't a business transaction, nor a deal. He stood, briefcase in hand, and walked to set it down by the floor panel. "I don't know how it works. Of course."

"No, of course, why would you know that?" The underlying hints of sarcasm were almost questionably existent, but definitely lethal if they were. He took the case without another word, opening it and starting to set up wiring. "You have the twin ready for activation elsewhere?"

"Yes," he confirmed, sliding hands into well-tailored pockets. The other contraption was waiting for him in a hotel room he had reserved just for the occasion. He sighed, eyes drifting down to watch Sebastian work. He noticed that his son's standards of dressing hadn't dropped since they'd last seen one another. A part of him was smug at that.

"Good, well then, you should be able to do everything just fine now that we've gotten the hard work out of the way for you." He made the last connection. This was meant to be quick, they couldn't be here long. "Time to go."

He sighed. Here was the less civilized part. They certainly weren't going to ride this carriage out, were they?

The younger Moran shoved open the car door, and jumped out into the dusty tunnel, starting to walk. "If you don't hurry up, you're going to get lost."

He jumped out a little more stiffly and took a second longer to find his stride. Once he did, he remained several steps behind Sebastian. They had nothing to discuss.

It was a long climb out, but entirely amusing to see his pristine father crawling and climbing through the dust and muck. When they finally hit the street, he straightened, dusted off, and without a word, disappeared in the direction of his vehicle. They were done here.

Lord Moran was almost certain that that was the last he'd see of his son for a long, long time. He sighed, adjusted his blazer, and turned down the street. He'd catch a cab, eventually. He wanted to mull things over on his own two feet for a while.

He headed back to his apartment to finish getting rid of some parts of the evidence and adjusting others. If he was going to pull one over on James Moriarty, things had to be perfect.

* * *

It took Jim six hours to learn what had happened. He pressed on his intercom button hard enough for the pad of his finger to go white. "Moran. My office."

He took a breath, reaching for the intercom. "I'm at my external apartment, sir. On my way immediately, but it'll be about fifteen minutes."

"Understood," Jim replied expressionlessly. He sat in his chair, made himself comfortable, and waited. Was he a fool for thinking the cuts on his face would be enough to whip him into shape?

He arrived- quickly but unhurried- fourteen minutes and thirty seconds later, and knocked on the office door crisply.

"Come in," he called, tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk. Thankfully, it hadn't been scratched.

He entered, shutting the door behind him and standing at ease. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"I didn't think I would have to call you in again this week, yet _here you are,"_ Jim droned, staring up at the sniper. "You interfered in my plans. You _know_ he's not meant to _succeed."_

He straightened, eyes hardening. "Of course I know that, sir. You honestly think I'd deviate from your orders after..." he indicated his face. "I know a warning when I see one, I value my life. What's happened?"

He considered Moran for a very long moment, wetting his lips absently. Perhaps he truly didn't know... "Then you're _unaware?_ I find it hard to believe that _Lord_ Moran managed to commandeer and rig a tram carriage up with explosives enough to obliterate the palace of Westminster."

"He didn't, sir," he said, visibly relaxing. "Harrison personally worked on the creation of a dummy car. There's nothing on it. We merely played Lord Moran to your specifications."

"A _dummy_ car? Then do you care to explain the near 2 kilos of explosives that have gone missing from our stores?" He snapped, pushing a paper across the desk labeling the exact number.

His face slackened slightly in surprise, and he strode forward quickly, grabbing up the paper, reading over it. "I..." He swallowed, straightened. "I'll investigate it personally, sir," he said.

"You better," he spat through his teeth, then flicked his hand toward the door. "I want to know by tonight. I mean that."

"Of course, sir," he said quietly, nodding. "I have records of our communications, I'll go over them." He turned and left, closing the door firmly behind him and not even daring to let the smile touch his face.

Jim fumed for a few minutes about the incompetence of everyone around him, then forced the anger down to use later and returned to some feverish work. He didn't suspect a thing.

* * *

He returned three hours later, having spent some convincing time pouring over audio files and more to look good for the camera. Now he had a tablet full of info as he knocked on Jim's door.

He knew from the knock who it was. "Come in, then. Report."

He entered, closing the door behind him and taking a breath, before turning. He met Jim's eyes. "It's my fault, sir. As usual you were correct in your assessment of Harrison. I was wrong."

A very small part of Jim was surprised to hear it. His jaw tightened. "What did she _do,_ Moran?"

He took a slow breath. Don't rush into it. Reluctance. It wasn't hard, some part of him was reluctant. Normally he would have stifled it, but now... any realism was good realism. "She did arm the car, sir, despite my express orders..." He took a moment, then said "We had sex last night, sir, and we were talking. She tried to analyze me, said she knew my distaste for my father and suspected that I wanted this plan to go through so that you'd kill him."

He shook his head a little, then straightened again. "I denied that that was the case, sir, but I don't think she fully believed me. Even then, I didn't think she'd go so far as to defy my orders in order to try and... please some imagined version of me."

Jim had an extremely tight grip on the edge of the desk, tendons in his knuckles complaining at the stress. To have something so _menial_ throw a wrench into his plans. Something so _common._ Mundane. _Idiotic._ "Send her here when you leave," he hissed, seething. "I _will_ make my displeasure known."

"Sir," he said, straightening slightly. "I'll do that, but as her superior officer I feel that it is m-"

" _Don't,"_ he snarled. "Lest I think I spy the same weakness in _you."_

He stiffened, eyes cool, as they had been for the whole conversation. "This is a matter of rank sir, not any imagined intimacy."

"I'm not asking you to take her punishment, Moran," he said, suddenly shifting moods, a sickly grin spreading across his face. "I'm asking you to go _get her."_

He knew better than to try and clarify himself any further. Besides, it seemed he was above suspicion at this point, anyway. He nodded crisply and headed out the door, touching his com. "Harrison, meet me outside the boss's office immediately."

Lorna had been having coffee over newspaper in the lounge, and she flinched when she heard his voice. That didn't bode well. Still, she swiftly made her way to the office, making it in just under two minutes. "...Sir?"

He met her gaze with a cold one. "You told me we didn't have a problem, Harrison. Evidently I was wrong."

She looked up at him blankly. She had no idea what he was talking about. What had happened? "I don't... what?" She shook her head slightly. A scared sort of confusion was starting to crawl out of her chest.

"Just go," he snarled. "Keeping him waiting is only going to make it worse. We'll talk later."

She winced, ducking her head and moving around him without a word to knock on the door. Whatever was about to happen, it was going to be bad.

"Come in." He had composed himself. He wanted to toy with her, draw this out, make it worth it.

She carefully stepped in, closed the door behind her. It was hard to move away from the door. "Um.. you asked for me, sir?"

"I did," he said with a nod, turning to look at her and offering a smile. "Please, have a seat."

She sat down. Lucky she did, too - it felt like all the blood had gone out of her legs.

"You're familiar with our most recent operation involving Lord Moran, Harrison. I assume you've made the connection between him and our own dear Sebby?" He wandered over to his chair, leaning on the back of it.

"Yes," she said quietly, unsure where to look. There was a very dangerous game being played here. And she was already at a disadvantage.

"How do you think that relates to his behavior of late?" he asked, fingers drumming an uneven rhythm on the chair back.

"I.. hadn't given all that much thought to it, sir," she shook her head, frowning, "I try not to make it a habit of questioning my superiors. I... I mean, I guess it might have had a negative effect?"

"Mmm... I agree with you there. In fact, I hope it did, as it was my little way of slapping his hand. You, however... The underground car, did you arm it, Harrison?"

Very suddenly, it all came crashing down. She knew what Moran had done, knew he'd set her up. And she knew that if she convinced Jim that it had been a setup, he'd be killed. He'd narrowly avoided it in the first place. That knowledge did nothing to help stop the blood draining from her face. She curled her hands into fists in her lap, digging her nails into her palms hard enough to break the skin. "Yes," she whispered.

He nodded slightly, smiling softly. "I see that you've grasped the gravity of the situation," he said quietly. "I hope it was worth it."

"Yeah. Me too," she said quietly, managing to keep her voice from breaking. What would happen to her now? She found that for the first time in several years she had the sudden urge to actually cry. She couldn't keep silent. "What will you do to me?"

"To you?" he asked, smiling. "Nothing. I'm not going to touch a hair on your head." He finally sat down. "You took initiative, Harrison. In the wrong direction, certainly, but you took it."

Oddly enough, that didn't make her feel any better. "Alright," she murmured, forcing herself to uncurl her fists, placing her palms flat on her jeans. She was bleeding.

"How's your mother, Harrison, do you know? Have you talked to her recently?" He leaned back.

She bowed her head, shoulders hunching up. _Oh._ "She's- she's good, sir. I talked to her a few days ago," she choked out. Why was it so hard to _breathe?_

"That's not that recently. I meant more within the last... five minutes or so. That sort of recently." His accent was thicker than usual, excited. "Have you talked to her in the last five minutes or so? I imagine not..."

She raised a hand to cover her mouth, her whole body curling in like she'd been struck from behind, shoulders shaking, her eyes burning with the effort of keeping her tears from falling. Not here. Not _here._

"You know, I love modern technology, let's video chat her, shall we?" he asked, hitting a button and turning to the screen on the wall as it flicked on. He entered a few commands, and a live feed came up. Lorna's mother was there, tied to a chair, mouth duct taped over. Behind her, head and shoulders out of view of the camera, someone was holding a gun to her head. "Say hello to mummy, Lorna!"

 _He's going to make me watch._ The tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks, her hand muffling a broken sob. "Please, sir, _please,_ don't do this," she begged, eyes glued to the screen. "Please."

"Say hello, Lorna. Tell your mother you love her. Life is short, you shouldn't waste these opportunities." He stood, still smiling.

No, no, she couldn't, he was right on that count. "Mom- Mom, I lov-"

She flinched as the gun went off, biting hard into the flesh of her hand to keep herself from screaming.

"Oops, too la- oh, silly me, too, I forgot to turn the microphone on on our end, oh well..." He shut the screen off, and walked over to sit back in his chair, expression perfectly content. "You have good drive, Harrison. I just feel like you could apply it more effectively for the good of this organization. I'm sure your brother and cousins agree, don't you? They want you to be happy, to excel. I hope I can count on you to do that."

She couldn't get out a word past the lump in her throat, merely nodding her head and trying to wipe the tears off her face as fast as they came.

He was suddenly standing, leaning forward, face inches from hers. "In case that wasn't clear the first time," he iterated, expression livid, "You don't just walk the line, you sprint it, and if I see one _toe_ out of place, I won't be nearly so boring as a bullet to the head with the rest of your family."

"Yes, sir," she managed, her voice breaking. She couldn't look at him. Didn't want to. God, she just wanted to go home and drink herself unconscious.

He nodded slightly. "Go," he said softly. "Oh, and one more thing," he said as he stood. "You have an hour to compose yourself before you're on duty, and as of now until I say so, you're dry and clean, or you're dead."

She managed one nod before she pretty much fled the room, trembling so hard and eyes so blurred with tears it was a fucking miracle she didn't break her nose on the door frame.

Moran watched Lorna blur past, only catching enough of her to know she was an absolute mess, and quietly reached out to close the office door from his place in the hallway. A tiny part of him felt regret. The rest of him was high on the victory.

* * *

She trashed her apartment. She broke everything she could get her hands onto - liquor bottles, the coffee table, the window - and when she was done forty-five minutes had passed, her hands were a wreck, and she was still as stone. There was no point in crying any more.

He could hear her wrecking things from his room across the hall, and just sat on the couch, drinking, watching the door, listening to the show. He got to the middle point of the bottle where the regret was harder to ignore. Luckily that middle point was drunk past quickly.

Lorna stepped out of the catastrophe behind her and left the door open. There was nothing she wanted in there. She took three steps across the hall to his door and knocked once, before saying loudly and steadily. "If you pull that _shit_ on me again, if you get someone else in my family killed.. or worse.. I _will_ take a finger from you, and that's a promise." Once she was done she turned and walked for the elevator. She'd do it, too.

"Terrifying," he said absently, raising his glass to the door in a half toast before knocking it back. He stood then, walking to his room, and turned the intercom up to full volume. Then, hand around the knife under his pillow, he fell asleep.

* * *

She worked in a dead sort of way; she got done the tasks people brought to her, but if they asked for anything more they were leveled with an empty stare, and, after a look at the dried blood she hadn't bothered to wash off her hands, they hurriedly left. She was in the same haze six hours later, sitting in her ruined flat with her knees pulled up to her chest, looking out the now-absent window. She didn't know how she was supposed to pick herself up after this. Her best hopes were getting through the next few days on will alone, and after that, the exhaustion would get to her. She rested her forehead on her knees. Perhaps taking a finger from Moran wouldn't come to pass, after all.

He woke up well aware of what he was going to be asked to do, somewhere deep in his gut, and he barely needed to read his morning briefing before he started getting ready. He cleaned up, dressed, opened his door and crossed the hallway. He paused to consider the smiley carved into the wood, before he scanned his print as an override on the lock and walked in. He didn't pause, didn't greet her, just stood in front of where she was crouched on the floor. Then he opened a serrated knife and dropped it on the floor in front of her, before holding out his left hand.

"That what you want, Harrison?"

She lifted her head to consider the knife on the floor, then his hand. "Unless you've managed to get another of my blood relatives killed in the past six hours, I think I'd be stepping on my own threat," she rasped, her dry throat painful now. It felt fitting. "Why the fuck are you offering? You're not the type to do it out of some belated sense of honor." She let out a gritty-sounding laugh. "Or the sentimental kind, like me. I should have thrown you under the fucking bus. I don't know what I was thinking."

"No, I'm not. This is your one chance, Harrison. Go ahead, take it. You want it? That knife is yours. Stab me, cut off my fingers, my hand, whatever you want. But if you're not going to take it then get the fuck up. We have work to do."

The urge to stab him - the urge to stab either one of them, actually - was overwhelming. She pressed her palms into her eyes, sucking in a strangled breath. Then she laughed, half at him, half at herself, because she'd started up the waterworks again. "If you let me pick up that knife neither one of us would leave this room alive," she coughed, her laugh cutting off. "I can't fucking believe you, Sebastian. God, you're such a prick. You were willing to bet my life and that of everyone I know on a dumb fucking pawn move. You're just so fucking dumb." She didn't move, just waited for him to react.

He watched her, analyzing every move, expression never changing. "Are you done?" he asked calmly. He bent to pick up the knife, tucking it away as he stood. "Now, stand up."

"Fuck you." She raised a grimy hand and flipped the bird at him. What could he do? Christ, she just wanted to see something on his face. Anger would do.

He nodded slightly, considering her like she was a child having a temper tantrum. "I wasn't aware I'd hired a petulant teenager. Go ahead, get it out."

She was on her feet fast enough that she surprised even herself, grabbing onto the collar of his immaculate collar and yanking him down. "I trusted you not to walk me off a cliff, Sebastian. I trusted that whatever you were doing, it was sanctioned. You USED me. You made my mother's death MY FAULT, because I fucking took the fall. You owe me your fucking LIFE, you piece of shit," she hissed, looking up at him with blazing fury. "Jim would have believed me. You know he would. The stitches that I put on your face aren't even a week old. You think he's forgotten? You don't get to treat me like this. I fucking own you now." She gave him a rough shove away, for once not feeling the height distance between them at all. "I'm the grifter, here. I play the game. You better learn my fucking rules or kill me now."

He reacted just as quickly as soon as she released him, his hand in her hair, knife at her throat, drawing blood, both frozen in place, waiting. "Now," he said calmly. "Let's talk. As much as you may like to believe you have the upper hand here, I hate to inform you that you do not. You might think that you have Moriarty's ear, that you can twist it with whatever lies you want to tell, but you're incorrect. As for owing you my life, I don't owe you anything. You didn't save me, Lorna." He pressed his lips to her ear and breathed, "You did _exactly_ what I expected you to." He straightened slowly, the knife digging into her throat a bit more. "I warned you when this all began that you shouldn't expect special treatment. Well, guess what. I just gave you some. Everything that's happened has put you in Moriarty's spotlight. He's taken an interest in you, and with bored men like Moriarty that's the best thing I could have ever done for you. I tossed you in the pool, shrimp. Whether you sink or swim, that's up to you." He let the knife fall away from her neck and gave her a shove away. "Take my advice. Try swimming first."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "I wouldn't need to lie, Moran. You did all of the hard work yourself," she sighed, touching a finger to the cut on her neck. "If you refuse to acknowledge how easily I could have spun it back onto you... Well, I suppose being ungrateful isn't the worst thing you've done in the last twenty-four hours." She walked to the broken window and started kicking out the loose bottom with her bare foot. She wouldn't look at him for the next part. She almost hoped he'd push her. "The only advantage you have over me, pathetic as it is, is that I still can't bring myself to want to kill you. Too bad it couldn't be Malcolm." She kicked out a chunk of the glass with a crunch, and watched it fall on the building below. "Guess we're going to have to agree to disagree on who has the upper hand. Hopefully for you we don't have to find out." She looked down the side of the building, wishing, suddenly, that she'd asked Holmes what it was like to be suspended in mid-air like that. Oh well. Too late now.

"You could do it, you know," he said, walking over to stand behind her. "Kill yourself. And we'd replace you with someone who didn't cause nearly so much trouble." He leaned in, touched the center of her back. "One push is all it would take," he whispered. "So ask yourself: Why am I not pushing? You have potential, Harrison. You also had things holding you down. Your mother was one of them, another was me. You've just had the infection cut right out of you. I'll bet it hurts like a bitch. Get stronger, prove you're not a pathetic waste of everyone's time. I look forward to seeing what you can do."

She didn't move, unperturbed by his hovering. "You didn't cut any of it out, Moran. You just poured bleach on it and hoped it would go away on its own. Go away. I already can't drink. I don't need to pair you with withdrawal."

He nodded slightly, smiling a little. "Yeah, I guess I did. Better than you ever did for yourself though." He closed the door behind him, and headed back to his own room. She was his only order for the day. It seemed he was still in time-out.

She had been, unfortunately, extremely right. The withdrawal crept up on her for a few hours and then tackled her all at once. Flats filled to the brim with broken glass are not ideal places to go dry. She spent the next three hours sweating in her bathtub.

He couldn't sleep, didn't want to drink, so he just sat reading, planning, waiting for Jim to call him. He was on edge, still. Harrison had gotten punished, obviously, but he wouldn't know how he'd fared until the next time he spoke to Jim.

He felt no guilt about what had happened to Harrison. He'd had similar things happen to him over the years, and though he'd hated them, it had given him the ability to make hard calls in the future. It was part of learning, part of the training she needed. She'd get over it. For now, he'd just give her space.

* * *

It took her a long time to realize that she needed to get to the infirmary. She'd seen people under alcohol withdrawal, and she knew that in the drenched state she'd been living in for several years was only going to hit her worse the longer she waited. Getting out of the tub was harder than she anticipated: sweat-slicked palms and the severe lurching sensation in her head complicated things significantly. Her heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of her chest, and she had that chilled feeling she normally associated with fevers. DTs. Eventually, she made it out of her flat, leaning almost entirely against the wall, and punched at the lift buttons a few times before she connected. She wasn't going to die of _this._

The first person to spot her was, of course, Malcolm. Had to be Malcolm. He approached her quickly, bad blood forgotten easily in the way it could be by men who thought themselves chivalrous. "Lorna, what happened?" he asked, quickly reaching out to lend her a little support.

"Moran is a rank piece of shit, but you didn't hear it from me," she groaned, grabbing onto his shoulder to stop herself from keeling over as the hall gave a particularly fast spin. "Long story short, I'm cut off or _hcchh-"_ She retched. Luckily for Malcolm's shoes she hadn't ingested anything since coffee that morning, and just made her mouth taste like shit. "If you could.. take me to the infirmary.. I don't think I'm actually certain where it is."

"Of course, dear, right this way," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and heading down the hall. "So this is withdrawal, then? I want to be able to let them know what's going on when we get there."

"Yeah, yeah, this is it," she muttered, staring down at her feet and concentrating on not tripping. It took most of her attention. "I don't think young people die of the DTs all that often but if I do I want you to destroy the door to my flat."

"Why the door?" he asked, holding her close to his body as she swayed, trying to keep her upright. A good portion of his concentration was on Lorna, but the rest was gloating over the fact that she'd finally seen Moran for what he was, and come back to him.

"That bastard... stupid smiley face.." she shook her head, vaguely realizing that she was starting to shake. God, she was cold. "I want the evidence gone."

"Of course," he said softly as they approached the med bay. "I'll be sure of it." He waited for the automatic doors to open and helped her in. "She needs a doctor," he said the the man at reception. "Alcohol withdrawal."

She patted Malcolm absently with the hand she had slung over his shoulder, muttered something that sounded like it was probably gratitude, and shifted her leaning from him to the nurse that had come over to help. "S' you."

"Yeah, okay," he said, not really sure of what she'd said. "I'll check in on you later, okay? Good luck."

She didn't hear anything else, and when the woman pushed her gently onto a cot, she lost awareness for a little while.

* * *

Playlist: Marina and the Diamonds - I'm a Ruin

(I highly reccomend looking up the Marina videos, as that's the face claim for Lorna! The link for the entire playlist is on my profile :) )


	20. No One Knows The Word 'Depression'

Playlist: The Killers - Leave The Bourbon on The Shelf

* * *

Sebastian was bored. There were few times when he was inactive for very long, so despite the fact that he could afford it, he really didn't have much in his apartment by way of entertainment. He was just considering going out to find some tail when the intercom buzzed and he reached out to hit the button.

"Alright, do you think you're ready to leave time-out?" Jim smirked down at his little machine, putting as much condescension into his voice as possible.

He swallowed back the snarky retort, instead replying with "I think that's up to you, sir."

"How very _right_ you are. Come down to my office when you have a moment." Of course, that meant 'come down to my office now', but he liked presenting the illusion of choice.

He didn't bother arguing that it was really 'up' to his office and turned off the intercom, standing up and checking himself in the mirror before heading for the elevator. He was at the office in less than a minute, and knocked.

"Come in," he called, seated at his chair with his feet on the desk. He'd had a surprisingly good day. It wasn't every day that he got to force someone to watch their own mother being shot.

He opened the door and walked in, shutting it behind him. "Sir."

"Go ahead and have a seat," he grinned, folding his hands together. "Still possessing all ten fingers, I see. I thought so."

"You and I both know she wouldn't do it," he said, sitting at the desk. "Giving her the chance was just to give her some semblance of control so that she didn't break. Which had the desired effect."

He smirked. "That it did." He glanced over at his computer monitor. "Checked herself into the infirmary, too. Had a seizure and everything. I've never seen an alcoholic cut dry like this before. I have the nurses taking notes," he smiled, looking for all the world perfectly pleasant. He _loved_ his experiments.

He nodded. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. Though, hopefully she doesn't die. Trouble or not, she'd be a pain to replace." He could tell that his employer was in a good mood, and spoke carefully. He had no interest in changing that.

"Nothing to do to influence it either way, by this point," he shrugged, still chipper. Either way, he'd have a recording of the whole thing. He was sure that whatever she was mumbling through her fever would be exceedingly entertaining. "We need to focus on her actions, in any case. I'm sure Magnussen will have _something_ to say about it. He's _sooo_ disagreeable."

"I'm sure, sir. I just hope he doesn't decide to pay another visit." He tilted his head. "I'm assuming that means you haven't heard anything from him yet?"

Jim tapped a finger against the edge of his desk, lifting one shoulder carelessly. "I don't expect he'll hear about it until _something_ happens, whichever way it will go."

"Which means we have a few hours... Have things been put into play to deal with the car? Do you want me to take a team in?"

"That won't be necessary," he stated, looking positively delighted. " _Sherly_ is on the case, it seems. I'll gamble that he'll work it out. He always does, after all. Oh. News I thought you'd like to hear, considering your personal involvement. Dear old Mycroft is _still_ in therapy to get his hand back in shape. But that's nerve damage for you."

He smiled at that. "I'm glad to know he's remembering us so fondly even after all this time. Thank you, sir. Along those lines, any word on how Watson's recovering?"

Jim snorted. "Poorly, I'm sure you'll be happy to hear you. It's my understanding that he still won't speak about it. That was good work. That's part of the reason you're getting away scott-free on this little train fiasco."

"Which is both unexpected and appreciated, sir," he said with a nod. He was pleased to hear about Watson's stunted recovery. He'd been wanting to know how his mind games had work. "Could I have permission to plant another trigger for him somewhere? By this point it would catch him off guard, could make things more lively. After they've dealt with the car incident, of course."

He waved his hand at the sniper. "Have fun. Make sure he doesn't shatter," he droned, lifting his feet off the desk and sitting properly in his chair. "You're dismissed, daddy has work to do. Go amuse yourself."

He nodded, standing. "Yes, sir," he said, saluting before heading out the door. That was the best interaction with Jim he'd had recently, though admittedly that wasn't saying much, given the last two had involved him getting screamed at, and before that, attacked with glass. Still, that had gone well. He was back in Moriarty's good graces and Harrison would be, too, if she kept her nose clean. It was a good day.

* * *

A few months later, and Jim was waiting. He hated waiting. Magnussen, of course, knew that. There was no doubt he'd planned to be ten minutes late. He waited by the window. And resisted the urge to call upon one of his hitmen.

Moran stood by the door, keeping a careful eye on his employer. He would be there throughout the whole meeting with Magnussen, providing immediate security. The cuts on his face had healed to pale scars, which stood out in stark contrast to the brown skin of the rest of his face. He'd actually grown to like them, and Jim had mentioned once or twice enjoying the marks on 'his tiger', which at least was one more thing to strengthen his position with his employer.

Jim was wearing a track in the carpet. He knew it, but that didn't stop him from continuing to do it, jaw clenched and hands in his pockets. "I have half a mind to kill that man," he snapped, breaking the silence. Silence during interim was a hateful thing. "If he doesn't show up, I actually may."

"He won't stand you up, sir. He's trying to get you worked up to gain the advantage." He didn't point out it was working. It was an obvious statement.

"He'll have quite the advantage carrying a bullet around in his head," he growled, stopping and placing both his palms flat on the desk. "Why does everyone _insist_ that anger is a weakness? How _ordinary_ of him."

"Anger isn't, sir, but distraction and heightened emotion can be for an ordinary individual. He's underesti-" He paused as the elevator _ding_ ed. "That's him."

"Open the door, then. I'll have him aware of my impatience. Perhaps he'll tread lightly, for once."

"Of course, sir," he said, pulling the door open and glancing down the hall, catching a glimpse of Magnussen and two men, before stepping back to the corner, which was the best vantage point in the office.

Jim sat as Magnussen entered the office, raising one finger. "Those men don't enter my office. Just in case you forgot."

"I'm aware," he said with a smile, accent rolling the r around like dice in a cup. "Stay out here," he called back, walking over to the desk but not sitting, leaving the door open behind him.

He found that he actually preferred that Magnussen stood; it reminded him of speaking to underlings. He gave a tight smile. "I assume you have all the papers you need to go ahead with the article?"

"Of course I do. Your constant doubt in me is rather unfounded, given that every failure in this operation had been on your end." He reached out to pick up Jim's letter-opener, turning it over and over.

"Oh, really?" he smiled, irritation rising in him as Magnussen fondled his letter-opener. That was _his._ "I wouldn't have counted _any_ of those as failures."

"No? I feel that every mistake is a failure to attain perfection. That little incident with the tram car, for example..."

Moran watched his every move with the letter opener, ready to pounce in a moment's notice if there was any sign of aggression.

Jim shrugged. "If you fail to see the opportunities that arrive with the unplanned, I'm afraid I can't enlighten you." And he _had_ made gains with the incident. He'd picked up Harrison's career and put it on the fast track, if he was going to speak from a management standpoint.

"The unplanned need not occur if you are capable of planning for everything. But I know that's a difficult concept for you." He tucked the letter opener into his breast pocket. "Now, as for Morstan. She's on edge, especially concerned with her husband, susceptible to pressure. She'll be easy to handle."

"Glad to hear it," he intoned dryly, gracefully extending a hand and smiling up at the vile man. "I don't tolerate even accidental thieves, Charles."

He smiled back, before spitting into his hand and grabbing Jim's extended one before he could move. "Neither do I, Jimmy. I'm glad we're of agreement. I'll be in touch."

Jim's expression was frozen in place as the other man left. He didn't know how to process this. He'd never been shown such an utter lack of respect in his entire life, and he'd been abused as a child. When Magnussen and his goons had entered the elevator and been gone a solid two minutes, he finally moved, looking at Moran. "I want him dead."

He'd been waiting for a response, as shocked as his employer, and had let Magnussen leave but had had security delay him for ambiguous reasons by the downstairs doors. "Now, sir? He's still in the building."

"No, not here. I want him to think he got away with it." His voice was perfectly level. It was hard to keep a tight lid on the indignant rage boiling up inside him. "Have Watson's wife do it. Let her know who's been blackmailing her. And I don't want any digital record. Meet her in person. Take whoever you have to to convince her. _I want him dead."_

He nodded, reaching up to touch the com at his ear to tell his men to let Magnussen go. Then he walked over to a hidden cabinet in the wall and pulled out sterilizing wipes, walking over to hand one to his employer.

Jim grunted his thanks and thoroughly scrubbed his hand (more times than was necessary: excessively) and dropped the wipe into the waste bin with a look of distaste. Then he stood. "No, that's not enough. I'm taking the rest of the day off. I have to shower."

He nodded. "Of course, sir," he said, stepping back. "Let me know if you need anything else. I'll start preparing to make contact with Morstan."

He waved him off, already heading to the corner of his office to access his private elevator. He felt _filthy._

He watched him go, then turned for the door, heading out into the hall and down. He needed to pull a team together, needed someone he could trust to contact Morstan. Which meant- "Harrison, you've had contact with Mary Morstan, is that correct?"

"Briefly," Lorna replied, voice toneless. The past couple months had gone by in a strange way: she hadn't come out of that ordeal and managed to remain the same person. Now everything seemed a lot slower. Boring. It wasn't _fun_ anymore. Malcolm fussed over her, of course, stating things like the need for vitamin D and getting a good night's sleep, but there hardly seemed to be a point. "I suppose you're going to want me to do something, huh?"

"That would be your job, unless I've missed a sudden update in its description," he returned easily, leaning against the elevator wall as it started down. "Jim wants her to kill Magnussen. We need to feed her some information. Can that be you, or do I need to find someone else?"

"Yeah, that can be me," she replied, staring up at the ceiling of the lounge. There was a water stain up there that looked vaguely like a rabbit. "Just point me in the right direction."

"Meet me in my office in an hour. I'll give you the information." He started heading that way now. He was using his office more frequently recently, which seemed to please Jim, give him a greater sense of Seb's 'professionalism'.

"Okay," she agreed, then dropped her finger from her earpiece and got up to grab a cup of coffee. She mostly ran on caffeine these days, and her weight was beginning to suffer for it. She'd have to stop that soon, as much as she wasn't looking forward to forcing herself to eat more than she wanted. She sighed.

* * *

She was outside his office on the hour, knocking once on the door and waiting.

"Come in," he said, scrolling through the most recent specs they had on Morstan on his laptop.

She opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it quietly behind her. She didn't speak, just waited. Wasting the effort simply wasn't worth it.

"She'll be at the Harden Cafe tonight, thinks that she's meeting a friend. You'll be there instead. Are you familiar with her appearance?"

"Yes," she confirmed. Blonde woman, short. A rather distinctive face. It wouldn't be hard. She'd have to fix herself up a little to go out in public, but that was easy. A little concealer on the dark circles under her eyes, layers of clothes to hide her frame... hell, if she didn't know better she'd have assumed she was on drugs. She'd have to clean herself up a bit before the Holmes thing was over, or she was dead walking.

"Good. You're to tell her that Magnussen is the one playing her, and give her information about what he has on her. This is what we know," he said, sliding a file across his desk. "You also have a physical exam scheduled next week regarding your being dry for a few months now. Don't miss it."

She picked up the file and tucked it under her arm. That physical was not going to go well; on the drinking front, yes, that was fine, but the rest of her was a wreck. She doubted they'd approve of her increased smoking, either. "I won't."

"Good. You look like you need it. Not in an insulting way, in a 'don't die' way." He nodded to her. "Read over that, let me know if you have questions. I'll want a report immediately after you break contact with her. And last thing: Don't let her know who you work for."

She thought that most of that had been a given, but she didn't say anything, just untucked the folder from beneath her arm and began scanning through, looking for anything unfamiliar. The only question she had was why Magnussen was so suddenly being killed off, but she kept it to herself. "No questions."

"Excellent. I expect things will go well, then. Dismissed," he said, returning his attention back to his computer.

She left the folder on his desk and silently left. It wasn't that she felt cold towards him; she didn't have the energy to be actively cold towards anyone. She just found she had less she needed to say these days. Hell, she hardly felt anything about Moran at all. The fear and respect had been both wiped out by him two months ago, and the rest was too much to think about. She headed for Malcolm's little flat. She hadn't been able to bring herself to live in the one given to her, and her offsite apartment she had sold soon after her mother's death. She couldn't bear to be in a place her mother had frequented.

He watched her go, then stood. If he were to be honest with himself, he missed their old camaraderie. But being honest with oneself was overrated, and he had work to do. He straightened his jacket and packed up his equipment, heading for his apartment.

Malcolm was gone, so she got in and out with a minimal amount of fussing. A little concealer dabbed here, a little makeup there, the necessary clothes for going outside, and then she was on her way. Mary wouldn't be there for hours, but she didn't feel like waiting here.

* * *

Mary sighed, walking into the small cafe and looking around for Glenda. It was more of a business meeting about finances at the clinic than a social dinner, from what the text had said, but she and Glenda got on well and she was looking forward to it anyway. It was then, however, that she saw someone she wasn't expecting. The nurse from the hospital. Looking straight at her. She didn't hesitate, walking straight over and sitting across from her. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," Lorna smiled. She'd been nursing the cup of coffee in front of her for a good ten minutes - no pun intended. She hadn't bothered to order anything for Morstan, on the suspicions of poison and all that. "I have some information. Thought you'd rather hear it here, than anywhere near your home."

"Who do you work for, and what were you doing at the hospital?" she said quietly, her voice pleasant so as not to draw attention from fellow cafe-goers, but her eyes sharp.

She sighed, taking a sip from her coffee. "I won't tell you either. It's not important. But I know who's been blackmailing you, and that's important." Lorna lifted her eyebrows just slightly. "So do you want to know?"

She grit her teeth, but considered her options, and then nodded. "Of course."

"Charles Augustus Magnussen. Owns a fairly large newspaper firm, I believe. And your friend, fortunately for you, is his personal secretary," she shrugged slightly, like it was unimportant. Indifference was easy to pull off, because it wasn't faked.

She swallowed slightly. She knew the name, of course she did. Everyone in the business did. She nodded a little. "What does he have on me?" she asked quietly, keeping her expression really tone neutral.

"Something about.. Gaza, was it? I hardly know. I thought the way blackmail worked was they had to tell you," she shrugged, again, then put on an 'oh well' expression. "Do what you will with the information, but do it quickly, I would imagine."

"He's given me broad details. I was hoping you had more." She nodded just a little. "I take it Glenda isn't actually showing up tonight."

"No. She remains blissfully unaware of all of this," she shook her head, then downed the rest of her coffee. "That's it," she said, standing. "If we're both lucky, we'll never see each other again. I'm not that lucky, though."

She reached out and grabbed the woman's wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. "You were at the hospital, checking on my husband. I want to know why."

Lorna looked down at her neutrally. Once upon a time she might have tried (or even succeeded at) breaking the other woman's grip, but she was too tired and she couldn't bring herself to get all that offended. "I can't help you. Try asking Magnussen." There. That should be enough fuel on the fire.

She stared at her a moment longer, but the place was too public to force anything out of her. "Don't come near him again, or I will kill you," she said calmly, pleasantly, before releasing Lorna's arm.

She smiled. "I understand the sentiment. Good night, Mrs. Watson," she murmured, and then was gone, slipping out the door before the woman could change her mind about letting her leave. She turned down into the alley behind the cafe, glad she'd brought a car for once. Time to report.

 _Done. Coming back. LH_

 _Well done. Any complications? SM_

 _No. LH_

She was big on brevity these days.

He snorted softly as he read her report, but then texted the boss. 'Day off' did not mean 'day without updates' and he knew Jim would get pissed if he didn't know right away.

 _Morstan contacted by Harrison. No complications. SM_

Jim had been reading in his penthouse. It wasn't a habit he could indulge himself in often, but he felt the distraction would be welcome.

 _Please let me know when the deed is done._

He didn't need a signature. Moran always knew it was him.

He didn't respond. Updates were one thing, chatting was another. He touched his com, calling through to surveillance. "Keep an eye on Morstan."

* * *

Five minutes later, Lorna walked into his office without knocking and sat in one of the horrible folding chairs in front of his desk. "Was sending me really the best idea?"

"That was your call to make, if you recall," he said calmly, looking up at her. "I said 'Can I send you, or do I need to send someone else'. Are you regretting that decision?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Someone without earlier contact..." she trailed off, considering. True, her being recognizable had made their info more believable, but Mary had to have left with the intention of trying to track her down. "It seems I've made a mild mistake."

"Well, keep me updated," he said without much concern. "She's preoccupied at the moment, and should be that way for the next few weeks. Hopefully she'll forget about you by then, or have other occupations."

She gave him a slightly wry look. She didn't think the woman would forget about her so easily, not when it concerned her husband's safety. She didn't expect Moran to understand that, for her own obvious reasons. "Hopefully." She stood to go, making a mental note to have someone send better chairs into his office, for _everyone's_ bloody sake.

"Harrison," he said calmly but firmly. "I didn't dismiss you."

In the interest of being able to walk out she didn't sit down again in the horrendous chair. "No. You didn't invite me in, either."

"So you'd rather ignore protocol on both ends, then?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged, her face still void of expression. If he had a reason for keeping her he'd get around to it eventually. "I've been trying out consistency."

"Are we going to have a problem, Harrison?" he asked finally, standing. "It's been almost three months since Jim shook you around, and your recovery has been less than stellar."

"We already had a problem, sir," she pointed out dryly. "It doesn't _matter_ how well I recover. I do my job. That's enough. Isn't it?"

"No, Harrison, it's not enough," he said calmly. "I need to know I can trust you in any circumstance, not just the simple ones."

" _Trust me?"_ She scoffed, with more life than she'd had in weeks, "Trust _me?_ When have I _ever_ done anything that would make you think that you _couldn't._ And I'm talking on the job, okay? Christ. Doing my fucking job is what led to this- this _mess._ I may not follow your orders without question, but I do fucking follow them. _Trust."_

He smirked slightly, nodded. "There's that spark. I was worried for a bit there. Look, Harrison. I know you have every right to hate me. That's fine, I don't give a shit. But this semi-existent daze state you've been living in? Not good. I need my people healthy, emotionally as well as physically. You've had two months to do whatever it is you're doing, but now I expect you to pull yourself together and have some damn emotion and care for yourself."

She flip-flopped back and forth between outright anger and sheer stubbornness for a moment, and then settled on the latter. "I'm _fine._ God, Moran, I don't need you mothering me. You're the one who got her _dead,_ after all. And I don't fucking hate you, Christ, I don't fucking _care_ anymore. I'm just tired of this shit. I am so tired of it." She abruptly sat back down and put her face in her hands, chair be damned. "I'm so _tired."_

He watched her quietly, and nodded a little. "You're not fine," he said evenly, not accusing, just calm. "I'm not mothering you. It's in my interests to have you in good shape. So my question is how can I help you get there?"

"I don't know, Moran. I don't know what's even fucking wrong with me, and I have even less of a clue of how to help," she sighed into her hands, looking now how she always felt: dead tired.

He nodded slightly. "The boss is impressed with your work," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Has been even more so over the past few weeks. But they lack color. I've been where you are. Fucked over by a superior while they get a clean by. It pushed me to be who I am now. Which is why I'm giving you the next week off. Go do what you need to do. Visit family, visit your mother's grave, go to a museum, sleep the whole time, I don't care. The only stipulations are that you need to remain clean and dry. Recharge. This is your chance, Harrison. You don't get your act together, I'm going to need to start looking for a replacement.

Lorna bit back the urge to comment that she wasn't exactly interested in becoming him, which she thought she'd made clear by now, and just nodded, resting her jaw on her fist. She understood wavering job security. Not a demotion - a death sentence. She was much too pigheaded for that. "I smashed every liquor bottle I owned and put my I.D. through the shredder. Couldn't, even if the temptation struck," she muttered offhandedly, mentally cringing at the list of things she now had to do if she was going to pull the scattered pieces of herself back into a whole. "Still, that whole thing was kinda a dick move. I hate to be that guy, sir, but I wouldn't do that to too many people. What happened to the people who did it to you?" She shrugged, not expecting him to answer. She knew what became of those people. They'd worn down too many people too quick. Mad kings didn't live long, did they? "I... guess I have to go wrap some shit up, now."

He looked at her with an unaffected gaze. "I haven't done it to too many people, Harrison. I did it to you. In a controlled environment, where you had time to deal. You're going to get screwed, by the people you care about. I don't care if you don't want to do my job. You need to be able to do any job in this game; you need to know that, and be able to handle it. A lot quicker than you just did. I just broke your fingers so that they get stronger. I know you won't see this as a favor, because it's mostly not one. But yes. You have shit to wrap up. Dismissed."

She got up without comment, because if she'd let herself open her mouth she would have muttered something about not _taking off_ his fingers when she'd been given a chance, and left. She needed to pack, anyway. Staying with her brother for the next week was something she needed to consciously prepare for. He hadn't exactly grown up into an upstanding citizen either.

* * *

Eric Harrison opened the door to his apartment late the next night, eyeing his sister quietly. "Hello... Come on in," he said, stepping aside.

Lorna adjusted the strap of the bag on her shoulder and stepped inside, giving him a quick scan as she passed him. It had been years since she'd seen him. He'd been a lot younger - barely even a teenager, really. "You got tall."

"You got old," he retorted, shutting the door quietly. "How are you holding up?" He walked past her into the main apartment. It was fairly spacious; he'd been relatively successful in his various careers and they'd paid well.

She smiled slightly, setting down her bag by the door. She didn't think she would have to leave in a hurry, but there was no need to throw caution to the wind. "Oh, like you'd expect. Beginning to crack again. Coming down off of something new," she sighed, slipping her hands into her pockets and following him.

"You weren't at the funeral," he said, walking into the kitchen. "Not that I expected you to be. But you weren't. Something to drink?"

She sat down at the table, managing to keep the color in her face at his suggestion. Like death itself was tempting her. "No, I couldn't spare the time. And, no. I need to be dry. Do me a favor and don't let me, even if I ask."

"You, dry? Holy hell, are you sick? Is that what this is all about?" he sat across from her, raising an eyebrow. "You've got six months to live or something?"

"No, no! Well. If I drink, I won't even have that much time. It's an... added perk of the job. Being yanked off substances and waking up two days later with an IV in your arm and the sense you've been hit with a mack truck." She rested her elbow on the table and rubbed at her temples. " _This -_ this is just so I don't shatter into a billion little pieces."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "What happened?" he asked quietly, knowing there was a story.

She copied him, if with a bit more weariness in the movement. "Someone I thought would have the decency to at least not to walk me into a pit of vipers didn't have that decency, and I let them finish their scheme anyway. Mom got killed on the TV. I got pulled off my vice of choice." She let out a long breath. "I haven't bounced back fast enough. I have to get my act together or I'll lose my job. And you know the implications of that."

"Yes, yes I do..." he sighed. "I told you you should have come to work with me. We don't deal with that shit."

"Oh, you know me," she snorted, "It's not _fun_ unless it's a little risky. It doesn't matter now. I can't take that back. Not even sure I want to."

"I've been hearing all about your boss from mine. Seems they really hit it off," he said sarcastically, kicking his feet up on the chair next to his.

She laughed, managing to keep her face from changing. He, of course, would have no idea how very much they'd hit it off. She was almost certain that was why Magnussen was going to lose, too. He'd never made the proper contact with Morstan. Morstan, who would make a grand effort in killing him. "Oh, I know. My boss's foul mood hangs around the office for days."

"I would imagine," he snorted. "Magnussen is a pain enough to deal with, and he doesn't have nearly the reputation of your commander-in-chief." He sighed. "So... Any preference on what we do while you're here?"

Lorna blew out a puff of air, shrugging. "Honestly? I hadn't planned that far. I think I was convinced you were going to spend most of it chewing me out for getting Mother killed. I'm supposed to be putting myself back together, but I'm not sure quite how to do it." She fell silent for a moment, trying to think of something productive to say. "I... don't really want to _do_ anything. Just.. be normal, for a little while."

He nodded. "That's fine. As for the chewing out... It would have happened eventually and we both know it."

"I suppose one of us would have fucked up enough eventually, yeah," she snorted, lifting a hand to rub at her forehead. She could feel a stress headache building. Faintly, she hoped that whenever Morstan happened to strike, it was after she'd left. There was plenty of evidence to lead any of Magnussen's particularly loyal followers back to Jim, and to her. Her brother, she hoped, was not in that group.

"So, headcase. You should relax. Get back on your feet before you get me killed, or someone else. You want tea or something?" He stood.

"Yeah, that'd be fantastic," she nodded. She was trying to avoid at all costs getting either one of them killed, but it wasn't exactly easy, him working for another Boss. "What do you do for Magnussen, anyway? That's more dirty white collar crime than anything."

He filled a kettle, setting it to boil. "Magnussen has many faces. The ones he chooses to show aren't my business."

She knew evasion when she saw it. If he'd done anything normal for the man - accounting, cleaning - he'd have felt no obligation to keep it a secret. So he was just as entangled as she was. "Mm-hm. I don't suppose you'd be willing to talk about your personal life. I'm your older sister, I have a familial responsibility to be nosy."

He smirks. "True. I don't have much of a personal life, however." He leaned against the counter. "Don't have much time for one. I'm sure you understand."

She snorted, nodding. "Yeah. Suppose it was optimistic of me to ask," she huffed, running a hand through her hair. "But I don't know what the hell else I'm running on, besides optimism. How _have_ you been doing, by the way? I'm a fucking mess, but you look alright. Not sleep-deprived or anything."

He laughed. "Not deprived if you never sleep in the first place, are you? I don't know. I'm alright. We run in a rough business. You've got to have the stomach for it." The kettle whistled and he took it off the stove, filling a teapot and adding leaves to steep.

"Yeah. You do," she agreed quietly, running her fingers over a scratch on the table. She hadn't paid much attention to Eric when they were younger - she'd already been running small jobs as a mule. It never occurred to her that he might have been just as whipped as she was, that he might have seen the same things, until she'd heard that he was working for another Boss in London. No one picked up the stomach he was talking about overnight. "Hey, I'm sorry for just dropping in like this. I should have called first."

"I knew you'd be coming," he said, shrugging. "What with mum... It was bound to happen. That was your problem. You always had a conscience."

She laughed, drawing up a knee onto her chair and resting her chin atop it. "You're not wrong. They never squeezed the last drops of empathy out of me. Kinda wish they had, though. I'm fucked up like this."

He laughed, bringing the pot over. He was halfway through pouring when his phone went off, and he set the pot down, picking up. "Hello," he said crisply. Then his expression tensed. "What?!"

Ah. There was that other shoe. She kept her face blank, wishing quietly that she'd gotten to have some tea before this. Not that her personal involvement could really be traced, but it would be fairly obvious Jim was to blame. "Problem?"

He hardly noticed her, waving her off. "Did you arrest them? I don't care, get control o- She what? What the _hell_ were they doin- It doesn't matter. Fix it. I'm coming down there." He hung up. "I've got to go," he said frigidly, heading for the door to grab shoes and sitting on the stairs to pull them on.

She put her arm over the back of the chair and watched him. "Alright. I hope it goes well, whatever it is." It was the most she could say without giving it away; she couldn't tell him that it had been nice seeing him again.

He gave her a long glance, as if considering, before he nodded and grabbed a jacket. "I don't know when I'll be back. Help yourself to the fridge." Then he was out the door.

She got up as he left and moved to the door to gather her own things. She'd hole up in an old safehouse near the river until it all had blown over. Five minutes after her brother, she was back out on the streets.

* * *

Florence + The Machine - Make Up Your Mind

The Last Shadow Puppets - Aviation


	21. Semi-Delayed Karma

Playlist: MARINA - Karma

* * *

Sebastian Moran walked into his apartment with a tired sigh. He'd been on call for the last twenty-six hours, making sure several of Jim's plans went smoothly, and he was in serious need of at least an hour's sleep. He walked over to the couch, sitting to rid himself of his shoes, when a voice came over his earpiece. He almost flinched at the noise.

"Sir, we've got someone down here in holding... They're asking for you, sir. Orders?"

"Who is it?"

"They won't give a name, sir... Say they know you from the army."

He made a face. _How the hell would anyone find me here?_

He stood. "Cuff them. I'll be down in an hour."

Luke O'Hare had only gotten back to his own home two months ago, and a month of that had been spent trying to track down Sebastian. They'd told him that he was still alive. The last one left. He hadn't been expecting the building sitting on the address he'd finally gotten, and he hadn't been expecting the strange people inside. When they cuffed him, he couldn't even resist- parts of him still hurt, and aggravating those hurts wasn't in his interest. The past few years had conditioned him to remain silent during periods like this, so he spent the next hour sitting still in the chair they'd pushed him down in. It was an improvement over standing, anyway; his knees had been threatening to give.

He took the nap, though it did little for his mood. He showered and changed quickly, and headed downstairs. Time to see who he was dealing with. He headed into the basement, and directly to security headquarters. "What have you found out, anything?" he asked the man at the desk.

The man scratched the back of his head, lifting his shoulders slightly. "I don't know, boss, he's pretty taciturn. We know he's ex-military. Luke something. He's real quiet."

His eyes tightened just slightly at the name, but he brushed it off. "Take me to him."

The man knocked a stapler onto the floor getting up, but ignored it in favor of leading Moran down the hall to the room where the man was being kept, giving an awkward sort of head-bow before scuttling off again. He was not a man who had grace under pressure.

He snorted as he watched him go. Dead within a year, was his prediction, with nerves like that. He pushed the door open, and paused to consider the figure inside, his insides turning slowly to ice. The man at the table was badly scarred on every exposed area of skin, and there was every indication that the concealed bits were no better. Moran's carved up face had nothing on the rippling ridges of flesh that marked the other man's visage, but still, beneath all of that, there was something horrifyingly familiar. He stifled any reaction, however.

"Hello."

O'Hare looked up from his hands as Moran spoke, the corner of his twisted lips twitching up into a small smile. Sebastian looked, overall, no worse for wear. "Moran. They told me you made it home."

His worst fears were confirmed, and to his disgust he felt sick. He walked forward slowly. "O'Hare. They told me you didn't. But it was implied you were slightly more dead."

"Yeah, well." He shrugged with one shoulder. The other had been torn apart and healed over so many times that it was near impossible to lift. "None of the others did. It was the easiest conclusion." He knew that nobody had wanted to consider what was happening to him. The only way _he_ had managed to function as a normal person these last couple months was because he'd become a master at repression.

"So," he said, sitting in the chair across from him. "Why're you here, then? Because something tells me it's not to chat about old times."

"I wanted to see you. I wasn't sure you were real," Luke sighed, the handcuffs rattling as he leaned forward to itch his cheek. "They told me a lot of things weren't real. Not the military. The.. other blokes. I had to see for myself."

He nodded a little. "Well, here I am. Real and in the flesh," he said with a calm his voice didn't carry. _They were dead. They were all dead..._ "Anything else I can do?"

He sighed again. "I... I'd like to know why you didn't come in after us. They told me you didn't. I wanted to hear it from you. That's all."

He swallowed. God, he wanted out of here. His heart was racing and no matter what he did he couldn't get it to slow. He couldn't breathe.

 _"I'm not going in there. They're dead. There's no way they're alive. Pull me out!"_

 _"Retrieval will not be coming for you, Colonel. Get in there and get your men out."_

 _"Respectfully, sir, that's a suicide mission. I decline."_

 _"Get in there and get your men out. That's an_ order _, colonel!"_

He jolted back into reality. He was sweating. "There was no way I could have gotten you out," he said quietly. "I thought you were dead, and I didn't... I couldn't..."

He was stuttering now? Fuck that.

"There was no way I could have gotten you out. I would have died."

O'Hare just nodded. There was nothing he needed to say to that. He might have done the same, in Sebastian's position. How could he have known. He pulled lightly at his cuffs, a silent request to go. "That's all I needed."

He studied the scars over the other man's body again, and didn't hear the words. "How long?" he asked after a moment. "How long were you there?"

Luke blinked. Most people desperately avoided knowing anything about that time. "A little over six years. It felt much longer."

He didn't need to do the calculation. He'd only been out a few months, then. "How'd they get you out?"

"It was just a random strike. They had no idea I was in there until they kicked down the door to the room I was being held in." Luke tried to shrug again, lifted a hand to grip at a small spasm in the muscle there. "They almost shot me too, they were so surprised. Then they were just shocked."

He nodded, still scanning the other man. He could see the marks of torture, was able to identify most of the methods. Ones he'd used. "Nerve damage, detrimental scarring, chronic pain... what else?"

He tapped the side of his head. "Deaf in one ear. I have a panic attack in dark rooms. Every once in a while I get sleep paralysis, and it feels like I'm back there. It's mostly PTSD stuff," he shook his head. "I'm just lucky I got out limbs intact. Lot of the guys in the field lost something, and they weren't in the same situation as I was. God bless my immune system."

He nodded a little. He still felt trapped, cornered, panicked, but he refused to leave. Then he said words he hadn't uttered with sincerity in five years.

"I'm sorry."

Luke didn't say anything for a minute. Then two. Then three. Finally, he closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "I know why you did it, Moran. I understand. I don't know if I can forgive you for it, but I know that even if you'd tried it might have ended the same way." He opened his eyes and met Sebastian's. "Don't lose sleep over it."

He nodded a little, and stood. He was done here. He walked forward to unlock the cuffs. "Someone will take you wherever you need to go."

"Appreciated," he grunted, standing up with a little difficulty. Everything was stiff these days. "Best wishes to you, Moran."

He nodded slightly. "You, too, O'Hare," he said, heading out the door ahead of the limping veteran and moving quickly for the elevator, pausing only long enough to tell someone to take O'Hare wherever.

He pulled out his phone. _I need a vacation day, sir. I've come down with something nasty. SM_

If there was anything Jim gave leave for immediately, it was illness. He couldn't bear disease.

 _Don't come back until you're positive you're not contagious._

He managed to smirk. He knew his employer too well. _Of course, sir. SM_

He headed down to the garage to head back to his off-site apartment. It was time to get as drunk as physically possible.

Jim returned to business, doling out the responsibilities that needed to be filled in Sebastian's wake. Two top operatives, knocked out of the loop for days to come. He sighed. A burden he would have to bear.

* * *

In the early hours of the next day, he was staring at the bottom of a large handle of scotch. He tossed it over to join the growing pile of empties. He'd need to go find more, soon. Fuck, he felt fucking awful. The room was wavering unpleasantly, but any time he shut his eyes he was back outside that damn base... His normally immaculate apartment was in tatters. He saw fist-sized holes in the wall, but didn't remember making them. Just remembered fighting his way through a patrol, fighting to get to his men before realizing there was nothing for it, that they were dead...

 _Dead. They were all dead. All... all dead..._

Luke... his scarred body was in the chair across from Sebastian, had appeared a quarter of the way through the absinthe and stayed there, silent. Tired eyes never leaving Sebastian's face. Sometimes he was bleeding, sometimes not.

He had the phone before he really knew what he was doing, texted one word to the only person he even close to trusted.

 _Help._

Needless to say, when Lorna got the message she immediately assumed Moran was in a life or death situation. What else would he ask for help with? She texted him back one-handed as she trotted down the stairs of her dingy old hideout, other hand patting her pockets to make sure of what weapons she had on her. She broke into the nearest car on the street with a jabbed elbow, hot-wired it, and finally got around to sending her one-word text. _Location?_

She responded, much to his semi-delirious surprise. _Ofgsit apartmebvnt_ he returned, deciding it was mostly legible and concentrating enough to send. He opened a bottle of whiskey with unsteady hands, wishing he could just pass out. His face felt mostly numb.

The urgency drained out of her for a minute, checking her texts at a red light and mentally changing her course for his off-site apartment. Then she realized that she'd never seen him anywhere near drunk enough to the point where he got clumsy. In five minutes she made it to his block, parking the stolen car down the street and jogging up to his door. It was unlocked. He was getting careless, then. She opened it and stepped inside just enough to close it behind her. "Moran?"

He grunted, but didn't move otherwise, staring O'Hare down, watching as he shifted between bloody and scarred for the millionth time. He didn't want to move. His dim hovel in the rubbish was safe. At least safer than anywhere else.

She followed the sound, stepping into his living room and taking in the damage in silence. She didn't think she'd ever seen so much damage done to a room's plaster by one man before. Not to mention the empty bottles strewn everywhere. She swallowed, kicking them aside and trying not to think about, coming to crouch in front of him on the couch. "Moran... What happened?"

He shook his head just slightly, trying to lean enough to see O'Hare past her, but ended up just falling over. He groaned softly as the room spun, but managed not to throw up. He took another sip of the whiskey to calm his stomach. It half worked.

She reached down to pry the bottle of whiskey from his fingers, setting it aside. "I think you've had enough. You smell like a liquor store that's just been shot up," she muttered, idly turning his hand over so she could see the damage punching the plaster had done. "Alright, c'mon, it's cold shower time for you," she sighed, leaning down and wrapping his arm around her neck so she could half haul him to his feet. "Up, up. Get your feet under you. C'mon."

He gripped her tightly, because as soon as she moved him the whole world spun. "Stay 'ere," he slurred at O'Hare, but as soon as they turned the man was head of them, standing, still mute, soaking wet this time, limbs wrapped in electrical cables. He almost fell backwards. "Shit..." he hissed.

She kept an iron grip on him as he swayed. So he was seeing something. "It's not real," she said curtly, pushing and lifting him until they were moving again. There was no reason to coddle him until he was back in a saner state. The stench of liquor rising from him was not improving her mood any, either. "Up the stairs, c'mon, I can't carry you."

He forced himself to straighten, using her as a reference point and pushing past O'Hare as best he could. He felt a shock up his arm as soon as he touched him, but grit his teeth and ignored it, focusing on getting up the stairs.

It took them a few minutes to do it, but they reached the top of the stairs eventually. After that, herding him through his bedroom and into the bathroom was a piece of cake. Once there, she started unbuttoning his shirt. It would be a nightmare trying to get him out of wet clothes if he didn't improve. "Strip down to your pants," she ordered, finishing unbuttoning his shirt and turning away to turn on the shower.

He stared for a long moment, finally starting to work his way out of his clothes. He wondered where his fatigues were for a moment, but then he took stock of his surroundings and got back on track, stumbling out of his trousers.

She pulled back the glass door for him and then gave him a light push into the cold shower, calmly shutting the door behind him and holding it closed. She'd been doused a few times when she went too far down the rabbit hole, and it wasn't a pleasant experience. She just hoped he didn't break the glass.

He was suddenly assaulted by frigid water and let out a violent, if slurred, stream of curses. "Lorna... Fucking shi'..." He shoved on the door. "Holy fuck! Lemme outta here you arse cankor!"

She leaned harder against the handle to keep it closed for a few seconds longer, and then judged it to be enough and let him out, already reaching for a towel. "You feeling any more awake?"

"Feeling fucking frostbitten, is what I'm feeling," he muttered, climbing out and grabbing the towel, starting to rub off. "Was aiming for unconscious. You didn't help."

She put a hand on her hip. "You sent me an unexplained text message simply with the word 'help'," she pointed out, although she couldn't work up enough frustration at him to sound anywhere near stern. "What else was I supposed to do?" She shook her head at him and walked past him into his bedroom, moving to his wardrobe to start rifling through the drawers, looking for something comfortable. "Anyway, your hands are messed up, it seemed like the easiest way to get them washed out quick."

"Did I?" he sighed, reaching to rub at his eyes. "Need t' deal with O'Hare..."

She returned to the bathroom, a sweatshirt and flannel pajama trousers in her hands, and pushed them into his chest until he took them. "You going to tell me who this 'O'Hare' is?"

He started pulling the clothes on absently, ignoring the fact that his pants were soaked. "Th' bloke downstairs."

"There's no one downstairs, Sebastian," she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. He really was fucked up. What the hell could have caused him to... _break_ like this? "Did something happen today?"

"O'Hare's alive," he murmured, sitting on the toilet and putting his head in his hand. "He's always been alive..."

"I don't know who that is," she reminded him, her voice quiet. It was disorienting, seeing him like this. Wasn't she the one who got fucked up?

"He died," he muttered. "Afghanistan... he... the whole squadron... I didn't get them..."

Lorna blinked. Shit. So this was why he didn't want to talk about the reason he was discharged from the army. But seeing Moran torn up over this... it was so unlike him. "I see. I'm going to get you a glass of water so your head doesn't explode tomorrow, so why don't you get in bed while I do that? Somewhere not in the bathroom."

He nodded meekly, getting to his unsteady feet, a hand gripping the wall for balance as he teetered in the general direction of his bed.

She was down the stairs and back in his bedroom with a glass of water by the time he was finally getting into bed. She set it down on the nightstand for him, then sat on the edge of the mattress. "What can I do to help you, Sebastian?" she asked quietly, meeting his eyes to make sure he was paying attention to her and not a hallucination. "Who do you need me to be right now?"

He stared at her for a long time. "I dunno," he finally said. "I just... no one else can see me like this..."

"You're right. Some of them might even take the chance to kill you," she sighed, absent-mindedly pulling her hair up into a bun. "You're lucky I'm sentimental, you know that?"

He nodded. "I shoulda gone in there... six years they 'ad 'im... ripped 'im apart..."

"What could you have done? Could you alone have saved him?" she raised her eyebrows, "You were one man. You aren't responsible for what happened to him."

"Got ordered t'go in... told 'em t'sod off.." He laughed. "Bastards didn' like that too much... but..." He looked over at Lorna then. "I would'a gone.. for Luke... for... If I'da gone then he might've... I dunno..."

She sighed, pulling up her knees to rest her chin on them. "We'll never know. But you can't go back and change it. You need to let it go, or you'll always wonder about it."

"You don' understand," he said almost urgently, sitting up and reaching out to grip her arm. "I was right... had t' be..." He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, shaking slightly. When he opened them, O'Hare was behind her. "Make y'rself useful an' go get me another drink, 'least," he growled to the figment.

She watched him for a moment, face blank as she decided how to approach this. Maybe getting him unconscious was the best option; but she was going to have to get him to relax first. "What do you do to wind down, Sebastian? And don't say drinking, you've had enough."

He looked at her for a long moment, then at O'Hare, who still stood, expression blank, silent. "Shit, I'm a mess..." he muttered quietly.

"Yeah. You are," she agreed, crawling up further onto his bed and sitting with her back against the headboard.

He sat back slowly, fingers tapping nervously, watching the gloomy figure at the foot of his bed.

"Whatever you're seeing isn't real, Sebastian," she frowned, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "It isn't there."

"I know he's not," he said softly. "But I see him... Shouldn't'a mixed so many different sorts o' things as I did..."

"You don't say?" she sighed, leaving her hand on his shoulder. "Just close your eyes. The spinning won't stop, but you'll stop seeing him. I've been through enough bad trips; sometimes that's all you can do."

He shakes his head a little. "Prefer to see him than... other things," he said quietly, leaning into her touch a bit, too drunk to care.

"Okay," she murmured, knowing that arguing with him would get her nowhere. She huffed out a breath, and removed her hand to just lean against his side. "You should drink some of that water."

"I should," he agreed, reaching out for it clumsily but managing to get it over to him with most of it still in the glass, taking a sip. "I'm sorry," he sighed a moment later.

"There's a lot of things you could be apologizing for," she pointed out, "Which one are you sorry for?"

"You know what I'm sorry for," he said quietly. "For throwing you under the bus... Shouldn't'a done that."

She didn't say anything for a minute, wondering how much of this was the drink and how much was actual guilt. "It's.. It's alright." She swallowed. "I- Fuck, Moran, I don't know. Just... don't worry about it. It's done. No going back."

"It's not alright," he sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "I didn't care... should'a cared."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "That would have meant you had to care about me, Sebastian. I don't expect that from you. You can let it go."

"I did though," he sighed. "Do. Can't trust anybody like you..." He kept eyes on Luke, starting to feel sleepy again.

She didn't know what to say to that. She just stayed silent for a long moment. "I won't hold that against you when you're sober."

"Good," he laughs. "But I don' plan on bein' sober any time soon, so y' got time."

"Good. I have to absorb that," she chuckled dryly, letting her head fall back against the headboard with a dull thud. "Could you maybe cut down on the drinking though? Like, so I don't get myself killed."

"Oh, righ'... you're dry... Sorry. S'either that or drugs and that doesn't help you any." He shrugged. "Need to get out of reality..."

"There are other ways of leaving reality that don't include alcohol or narcotics," she sighed, elbowing him slightly. "Believe me, I had to learn to cope with something else when I was pulled off heroin. That's what makes me a good grifter. A heavy sense of escapism. It's a relief being someone else."

"Fuck that. Been drunk since I got out, an' I'll keep being drunk. I'll just try an' be good 'round you mostly." He sighed. "I can' do this Harrison..."

"Fuck that." she huffed, elbowing him harder this time. "After you tossed me under the bus, I had to get back up. I'm still doing it, yeah, but I _am_ doing it. Don't give up just because some tortured guy appeared to bring back old guilt. How many people have you tortured, done the same thing to? He's one person."

"No, tha's... tha's not it..." he muttered, furrowing his eyebrow, trying to make himself clear. "They were wrong, Harr'son... That's the whole point... They were _wrong_ and I was right an' fuck them... but they were... they were right..."

"Oh, Christ," she sighed, sitting up from leaning against him to wrap her arms around him, frowning the whole while, and gave him a squeeze. She felt ridiculous trying to wrap herself around such a huge man, but god he needed it. "Everyone fucks up. Don't let it haunt you, Moran. Who else is going to help me keep my job?"

He shook his head a little. "I shoulda gotten 'im out... I never.. never should've left him... I was wrong... Made the wrong call. That was when I decided they were wrong... t' do this 'stead of that... But maybe I was wrong... Maybe I'm just wrong..."

She shushed him, lightly combing her fingers through his mussed blond hair. "You're not wrong, Sebastian. You're right about a lot of things. Saved my life more times than I can count. How many other people have you saved?"

"That's not my job," he mutters, shaking his head. He leans into her touch. "I don't know... Harrison, I don't know..."

"It might even come up to about even," she snorted, resting her cheek against the top of his head. "It doesn't matter. Sebastian, it wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything to that man. Your biggest sin is inaction, and it was something I would have done too. Self-preservation comes first. It has to."

"No... they told me to go in... I didn't..." He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, holding onto her and trying to ignore the eyes boring into him from the corner of the room.

"They told you to. So what. How many bad orders have been given in the military? More than can ever be accounted for. It made you a bad soldier. But you were never the type to be a soldier, were you? You follow orders from one person, not an organization. And it doesn't make you a bad person, either." She adjusted her arms around him to be more comfortable. "I mean, I don't mind you. I can't speak for everyone."

He shrugged, resting against her, eyes slipping shut for just a moment, though they opened again quickly. "You hate me. Shouldn't of done what... what I did... so messed up..."

"I don't hate you. I told you that already," she murmured, brows drawing together. "I understood why you did it, and... I don't like it. But I can get over it. Who says I won't do the same thing to somebody else? I know I'm not better than that." She sighed. "You've done more good for me than bad, I have to admit that. I don't hate you. I know, I tried."

He sighed, pressing his face into her side and not speaking any further, a hand gripping her shirt tightly. He was exhausted.

She didn't try to keep the conversation going, just fell silent, her fingers combing through his hair as soothingly as she could. She hoped that he could fall asleep.

He leaned into her touch gratefully, almost cat-like, and a few minutes later his body started to go slack as he drifted into unconsciousness.

She was relieved when he started to fall asleep, more for his sake than for her own, and continued stroking his hair even when he was well and truly out, trying to stuff down the protective feeling in her chest.

* * *

He woke to pain.

His head was killing him, and his stomach wasn't much better. His mouth was a desert, and when he creaked his eyes open, the light was blinding and painful. He let out a groan. "Fuck..."

Lorna had made herself at home in an armchair tucked into the corner of his room hours ago, and she'd fallen asleep there, curled up into a ball with her legs hanging over the arm of the chair. She woke up with a crook in her neck at the sound of his groan, pushing herself up and rubbing at her eyes. The hangover he had must have been astronomical. "'Lemme get you some painkillers," she mumbled, stumbling to her feet and shuffling towards the bathroom.

He was still drunk, he realized, and felt like he had a slowly expanding, nausea-inducing foam in every cavity of his body, including his stomach and skull. He let out another groan and rolled onto his side, curling into a ball.

She appeared back by his side with five pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other, and lifted her leg to nudge him with her knee. "You need t' take this. C'mon."

He squinted up at her, and reached out for them, shifting upwards just enough to swallow the pills and the water before setting the glass aside and flopping back on the bed. "I need another drink, is what I need," he muttered. "Take the edge off."

She gave his shoulder a swat. "No you don't, don't be a fool. You'll only extend your hangover. You're not a full-blown alcoholic like me, you won't be fixed by drinking more," she scolded, flopping onto the bed at his feet.

He grunted in annoyance, shoving her a bit with his foot, not enough to shift her. "Rude. Depriving a man of a hangover cure."

"It's not a cure, it's a dirty band-aid," she scoffed into the mattress, ignoring his foot in her side. "Hydrate yourself the clean way."

"You're such a hypocrite," he muttered, pulling the pillow over his head. After a moment he peered out from under it, staring at her. "Shit. You're actually here, aren't you?"

"Yeah," she huffed, her offended voice muffled. "You fucking asked for me to come, you piece of shit, don't get all defensive now."

He sighed, nodding. "Suppose I did," he admitted, poking her with his foot again. "What're you doing down there, then? Least come up where it's comfortable."

She made a sound of acquiescence and hefted herself up to crawl up beside him before letting herself flop back down again. "So you still seeing shit, or is that gone now?"

"O'Hare's not around, if that's what you're asking," he sighed, rolling onto his back.

"Well, that's good at least. See, that's why you shouldn't mix liquors. Amateur," she chuckled, grabbing one of his pillows to hug to her chest and bury her face in. "Shit, though, you were fucked up last night." She didn't bring up that he'd apologized to her, like she said she wouldn't, but she wondered if he remembered.

"It wasn't amateur. I know my way around alcohol. I didn't care. I was trying to fuck myself sideways as quickly as possible. I mostly succeeded. The absinthe was probably a bad call, though..." he sighed.

"Absinthe is always a bad call," she confirmed, lifting her head from inside the pillow to merely resting on it. "Anything that's basically a drug in liquid form is bad for you."

"Yeah, thanks mum," he sighed, reaching up to rub at his eyes, before glancing over at her. "Thank you, though. For coming."

Lorna shrugged, pretending like she wasn't mentally counting on one hand the times he'd thanked her and meant it. "Not like I was doing anything particularly interesting. It's easier to take care of you than it is to take care of myself."

He looked away at that, nodding just a little. "I meant what I said. I'm still drunk so you can still ignore it if you like. But I meant it."

She hadn't expected that. "I... Thanks." She fell silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. "You know, if you're not careful I'm going to start thinking you're not a heartless bastard after all."

"Me, too," he said quietly. "Why the hell do you think I'm blind drunk?"

"Touche. If it makes you feel any better, there are a lot of really successful murderers out there who were really quite emotional. I mean, Hitler had like, what..only two mistresses? Never mind, that's not where I was hoping that would end up," she muttered, rolling onto her back with a long breath. "How are your hands?"

He frowned, raising his hands to examine them. His knuckles were torn open and lightly scabbed over. He shrugged. "Had worse."

She nodded. She'd had worse too; the injuries she'd inflicted on herself by punching out a window had only just healed a week before. She turned her head to look at him. "Why O'Hare? Why is he the one that.. set you off? There had to have been others, over the years. Why is he different?"

He shook his head a little, sighing. He was still drunk enough to explain to her, what the hell. "My last mission in the army, I took my squad in for covert ops. Things went shit-side, and I was the only one to get out of there. Got ordered to go back in and get any survivors, but there weren't any, so I told 'em to piss off and went AWOL. Eventually got rounded up and court-marshaled, but officially, I was right. No survivors." He glanced over at the corner with a shrug. "O'Hare turned up yesterday at headquarters looking like he'd been put through an electrified meat grinder a few times and healed up wrong. He'd been there six years. Just got home. He was the only one."

She sat up, drawing the pillow into her lap. "I sort of got that from your mumbling last night, but it wasn't what I was asking. Why him? He wasn't the last one you left behind in the field when things got hot, I'm sure. They aren't eating you up, not like this guy is. Why is he special? Why do you care about this one?"

He looked askance at her, tempted to fend her off with sarcasm, but he didn't have it in him. "I dunno," he finally admitted. "I think... because back then I still cared," he said quietly. "That was when I decided to stop caring. But... I mean, I was always a tool, but I wasn't always an ice-cold bastard."

She nodded, looking down at him quietly. "I wish I could say that you were wrong to stop caring, but I can't. Caring is not an advantage. Look what it's doing to you now." She let out a long sigh, raising a hand to rub at her eyes. "I wish I could turn it off. But I guess even you can't keep it shut out forever, huh?"

"No," he sighed, studying his hands slowly. "No... it seems that right is reserved solely for our dear James Moriarty."

"The bastard," she mumbled, suddenly very aware that she hadn't gotten much sleep at all. "Do you want me to make you some breakfast? If not I might conk out in your armchair again. I feel like death."

He shook his head a little. "I'd just be sick anyway," he muttered. "Sleep in the bed. You're at my house, least I can do." He sat up slowly, grimacing.

She fell back onto her side, replying with a tired grunt. She was out like a light in seconds.

He honestly was going to try and give her space, but standing and walking seemed like unobtainable goals at the moment, so finally he just slumped back against the pillows, rolled over to give her as much space as he could, and joined her in sleep.

* * *

When she woke up again a few hours later , it was with a little confusion. She must have really been out cold if she hadn't sought the enormous warm spot on the bed in her sleep. Perhaps that was the difference being properly dressed made. She yawned and sat up, reaching for her phone, which she'd set on the nightstand before she'd fallen asleep the first time. One new update from HQ.

 _Magnussen not dead._

She sighed. Great. That was going to complicate things in the future, she just knew it.

* * *

Playlist: Fall Out Boy - What A Catch, Donnie


	22. Hangovers and C4

A/N

This one's just for Emily! :D

* * *

He woke a little while later, feeling slightly better, though not a ton. He shifted slowly onto his back, taking a breath and staring up at the ceiling. So. Drinking was out while Lorna was around, and he didn't have any decent substances. Seems he was clean until he got rid of Harrison. He glanced over at her side of the bed, but it was empty, so he pushed himself up into a sitting position and then worked his way out of bed, getting his balance before heading for the stairs. "Harrison?"

She'd done the only thing she could do; she made a grilled sandwich. She couldn't do anything about the situation in HQ, and even if she could she was on forced leave. And making the sandwich hadn't been easy. Sebastian's kitchen wasn't exactly what could be called well-stocked. When she heard him coming down the stairs from where she was eating over the sink, she swallowed her latest bite to call over her shoulder. "In the kitchen!"

He headed in, nodding at her and pulling the biggest glass he had out of the cabinet, filling it with water.

She finished off her grilled cheese and brushed the crumbs off her fingers and into the sink. "Feeling any better? You seem to have regained your senses, if you're going for the water."

"I would be going for the booze, but you wouldn't let me so, honestly, what's the point?" he muttered, taking a sip of water and heading to sit at the table.

She smirked, cleaning up after herself and following to sit across from him, tapping her fingers on the table. "The hit on Magnussen failed."

He glanced up quickly, then grimaced as his head protested. "Shit... Jim'll be furious..." He stood, heading for the stairs. "I need to go in..."

She snapped her fingers. "Uh-uh. You're not going anywhere. How are you going to explain your condition, let alone work in it? Don't be a fool."

"You've been using that word a lot lately," he grumbled. "I'll tell him I'm sick. Was how I got time off in the first place." He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Of course, he won't let me anywhere near him," he grumbled.

"Yeah, so sit your arse back down. You're just going to get yourself killed. Have you forgotten how easy that is to do?" She gave him an expectant look. "I'm helping. Sit."

He waved her off, thinking. "He won't kill me," he muttered. "I'll text him," he decided. "See if he wants me to video call 'im... Good. Yeah. Where the fuck's my phone..."

"He won't. Someone else might. Survival of the fittest. And I have it. I thought you might be stupid when I told you," she snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Sit."

"Give me my phone," he muttered, walking back over to sit in front of his water. "Let me text him. He'll be fucking furious if I don't contact him. More so, anyway."

She frowned at him for a moment, then pulled his phone out of her pocket. "Fine. But play it fucking safe, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, reaching out to take it.

 _Just heard about Magnussen, sir. Still sick. Would you like me to video conference you? SM_

Jim had been working furiously for hours, delegating tasks and receiving incoming information with the speed of a supercomputer. He only gave a token glance to his phone on the off chance that it was someone important who had texted him.

 _It will only make me busier. No. JM_

He nodded at the response, texting the only logical response.

 _Anything I can do to help? SM_

 _Don't get killed. Magnussen's people are out for blood, and you're at the top of the list. JM_

"Charming," he sighed, tossing his phone onto the table. "Nice to know he still cares." He took another long gulp of water.

"Well, I've _always_ thought of him as a father figure," she quipped, reaching up and undoing the bun she'd put up earlier. "You're going to have to piss like a motherfucker later."

"Yup," he agreed with a sigh, considering the water. "So, what were you up to before I interrupted?"

"Stealing your limited food," she shrugged. "I didn't wake up much before you did."

"No... Well, yes. But I meant yesterday," he said, kicking his feet up on an empty chair.

"Oh, nothing. At all. I've holed myself up. My brother works for the other team, so to speak, and I made the mistake of visiting him just as shit went down. He knows what I do. I thought it would be better to stay off his radar."

He made a bit of a face. "Best keep that from Jim, just saying. He would be less than thrilled to hear that."

She shrugged, sighing. "Why can't he know? He's a way in. If it's my brother or me, it will be me, every time. Jim might be _thrilled."_

He raised an eyebrow, turning that over. "That's true," he agreed. "Your gamble."

"Yeah," she muttered, thumbing a scratch on a table. "It'll depend on what move they make. If they fuck too many of our people up, I'll have to give him up. I can live with it if I'm the one to do it. I won't watch someone else do it, though."

He nodded a little. "Like I said. Your call." He finished off his mug of water with a sigh. "What's the damage look like in there?" he asked, tilting his head towards the living room.

"It looks like you took a jackhammer randomly to each of the walls. You're not going to be able to patch those up on your own. The rug may still be salvageable."

He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "The downside to having combat training," he muttered. "I'll get someone in here to repair it later this week."

She nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me. Fuck, though, you're lucky I'm supposed to be clean or I would have just joined you. I was never one to refuse a drink."

He nodded just a little. "Well, that wouldn't have been too awful. Would have passed out soon, anyway." He stood slowly, starting to examine the food in the kitchen, looking for anything that seemed appetizing.

"Okay, _I'm_ lucky," she muttered, stopping herself from rubbing incessantly at the table and twisting in her chair to keep her eyes on him out of habit. "You've got some fried fish in there that doesn't look too bad. Though that may be a bit too greasy for you."

"Greasier the better for a hangover," he pointed out, heading over to the fridge and pulling out the fish. "Well done not drinking, then."

"The threat of death is a good motivator," she snorted, rubbing her temples. She got a lot of headaches, now that she was cut off, and her insomnia certainly hadn't improved any. "But I'll admit what I'm _really_ not looking forward to is the blood test. I've had enough of needles for a lifetime."

"When is that, anyway?" he asked, tossing the fish on a plate and into the microwave.

"Four days. They want to catch me as I'm coming off break so they know any alcohol I may have had hasn't had time to truly get out of my system," she sighed, picking up her phone and idly scrolling through a few text messages from Malcolm, who was reminding her to eat.

He caught a glance at the screen over her shoulder. "How is dear old Malcolm? As pathetically needy as ever?"

"Yes. But it's hard to fault him on it. His neediness was probably the only thing keeping me alive for a little while." She sent back a brief reply assuring him she'd eaten so he wouldn't feel the need to spam her inbox, then set her phone down. "Unfortunately for him, though, he's doubtful ever to be anything more to me than... well, for lack of a better word, a rebound."

He snorted slightly, pulling his fish out before the microwave could beep at him and heading back over to the table, grabbing a fork on the way. "Gee. How shocking."

She rolled her eyes, then looked down again as her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with the message. Unknown number. She unlocked the screen, read the message, then turned the phone around and slid it across the table so Sebastian could read it, her own face draining of blood.

 _In the spirit of fair play and lingering familial ties, I'll give you a head start. Someone with the initials MH pointed us your way. 3 Eric._

 _P.S. - You're not the only one on the list, so maybe you'll get a full day while we're busy._

He stared at it for a long moment. "Son of a bitch," he breathed, shaking his head. "How much you want to bet the other one on the list is me?"

Lorna raked a hand through her hair, letting out a puff of breath. "I wouldn't bet against it if all I had on the line was a pound. The question is how long until they find this place?"

"Excellent question. Let's not wait to find out, shall we?" he asked, standing, hangover put on the back burner. He picked up his phone.

 _Holmes blew our cover to Magnussen. Going dark for a while. SM_

He headed up the stairs to gather what little important possessions he had in this place. "Get anything you don't want exploded."

"I have everything," she shook her head, patting herself down to make sure. She hadn't exactly brought much to his place, and the phone she had on her now was only going to end up broken in some alley. She'd have to deal with living in the same pair of clothes for a little while. Hopefully they could hole up somewhere with a shower.

He nodded, coming back down with a pack, sliding a gun into his shoulder holster. He tossed a few credit cards from his wallet onto the counter and poured oil over them, tossing a match behind and stepping back from the blaze, walking over to pull new ones out of a drawer, along with a couple of passports, sans photos, and a few stacks of cash. He tossed everything into the pack. "Right. Time to go," he said, starting to pour more oil around, the flames beginning to spread.

She tossed her phone into the growing fire, already half out the door. At least she'd had the forethought to leave her safe house with several knives on her person. "Want me to hail a cab or do you want to leg it on foot for a few blocks?" She asked, stepping out of the flat to give him room to leave and shut the door behind him. There wouldn't be evidence of the fire inside for a few minutes at the least.

"Legging it. We'll take the underground, harder to track." He tossed her a hat. "Keep your face hidden."

She nodded, tucking the hat under her arm briefly to put her hair up, changing her profile as much as she could, then putting on the hat and her jacket hood over top. She trotted down the stairs, tucking her hands into her pockets to keep ahold of at least one of her weapons at all time. "Where are we going?"

"Good question," he said, nodding a little and pulling on his own hat, a stetson. "But seeing as they could be listening to us, just trust me for now."

"Alright," she agreed without hesitation, mentally taking a picture of him in a stetson to amuse herself with later. At least she knew now where her loyalties really lay. Not with her brother.

He headed down the stairs and out the door, pulling out what looked like a car remote as they neared the street, and pressing the alarm button. Behind them, there was a startling concussion as the apartment blew.

She swore, instinctively flinching away and ducking her head, then shot him a dirty look, jogging a few steps to catch up with him. "Warn a girl before you loose C4 on the place, Christ."

"I did warn you. Told you to grab anything you didn't want blown up, if you recall," he said, slowing to a walk as people started to stop and gawk at the fire. "Slow..." he warned, glancing over his shoulder as if noticing the fire for the first time and grabbing her shoulder, pulling her around and pointing. "Try and ham it up for the cameras..."

"Please, I'm a better actor than everyone you know, except for the Boss," she scoffed, already smoothing a wide-eyed, half-scared, half-awed look onto her face like a well-worn mask. It wasn't hard to act scared around flames - she was goddamn terrified of them.

He started pulling her back through the crowd as people moved forward, an arm sliding around her shoulders. He pulled out his phone as though taking pictures.

She kept pace with him, only letting her face fall blank when they were nearly a block away. It was either a benefit or a disadvantage that she was with him; on one hand, they wouldn't be looking for two people together. On the other, if they were gunning for him first and they succeeded, she was that much closer to being next in line. She glanced up at Moran. "Do you think they'll try to kill us outright or take us?"

"Knowing Magnussen's knowledge fetish? Take us, I'd imagine, but honestly, who knows?" he said, pulling her with him into an alley and starting off in the direction of the nearest underground entrance.

"Great. I don't know which one I'd rather have, to be honest," she muttered, resisting the growing urge to take off the hat. It felt stifling.

He nodded, pulling out his cell phone and dropping it carefully into the shopping bag of a woman walking past, after checking for any messages from Jim. He turned down the street towards the nearest underground. "Keep up."

She bit back a snappy retort, just picking up her pace a bit to make up for the differences in their strides. There was no time to be sarcastic. She nodded at the sign of the nearest entrance. "There we go."

He nodded as well, ducking into the stairwell, keeping his head down so that the brim of his hat hid him from cameras. He grabbed two coats off the rack of a tourist shop and tossed a hundred to the owner as they passed, tossing one to Lorna and pulling the other on himself.

She yanked on the coat, vaguely proud of not tripping down the stairs in the process, and nudged Moran, bringing his attention to the nearest tram. If they didn't have anywhere in mind, it seemed like a good bet to her.

He nodded slightly, heading in that direction, leaning in to say softly. "Different cars. Take it to Oxford Circus and get on the Red Line to Greenford Station. I'll meet you there."

She nodded, peeling off from his side immediately and disappearing into the crowd, picking the last carriage so she wouldn't have to watch her back constantly. Part of her was concerned about taking the underground anywhere while people were looking for them. So many cameras, so many people that could be looking for her face. It was easy for her to disappear, yes, but how easy was it for someone else to appear next to her? She climbed onto the last car and took an empty seat, keeping her head low and her eyes down.

* * *

The next two hours were a maze of trying to confuse any followers as much as possible. Finally, he met with Harrison at Greenford station, and started walking, loading two train tickets on his phone and flashing them at the collector as they walked through. "We're going to the country to lay low for a while."

"If you believe that will do the trick, I'm not going to argue," she murmured, incredibly relieved to be next to someone as strong and good at hand-to-hand as he was. And the added benefit of having a nice train to sit still in for a while wasn't bad. Still. She doubted this would get them away scott-free.

They boarded the train, sitting side by side, and he handed her a paper. "Did you lose anyone on your tail?"

"I thought a man in an over-sized sweatshirt was following me for a while. If he was, I lost him. So much for my brother's head start," she snorted, shaking it out to start scanning through it idly. "I hate to think that this has been too easy, though. They have Holmes on their side. For this, at least."

He shrugs. "I'm not sure how much he wants to risk involving himself. Playing the local tip line is one thing, but actively getting involved..."

She shook her head, shrugging helplessly. "I'd have thought the same thing if he hadn't sent along a signature. That means he cares enough to let us know that it's _him_ having us hunted down." She sighed, folding up her paper and setting it in her lap, glancing out the window as the train lurched into motion. She didn't want to worry about their chances of survival. They weren't too good. Throw in a man with access to satellites and they dropped like a sack of rocks.

"Jim'll help us if it gets too bad," he said, as if reading her mind. "We're worth too much to him for him to abandon us to Holmes. He'll enjoy the challenge."

"We're worth a lot, but he didn't exactly help the last time. I got us out of there. I'd say 'we' but your biggest contributions were keeping me from freezing to death in that room and mostly walking yourself out. God knows I cannot carry you," she chuckled, resting her elbow against the window so she could lean her chin on her hand. "Excuse me if I don't have much faith in Jim."

"Yes, terribly sorry for getting tortured for about seven hours longer than you," he shot back. "I did say when they started beating me with hot iron "Oh, please don't to that, terribly inconsiderate to make Harrison have to half-carry me out', but they ignored me."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "I wasn't accusing you of not pulling your weight. You pulled what you could. More than most people could. I was pointing out that the last time we hoped Jim would pull us out of the fire, you got so fucked up that it fell to me. That doesn't happen often," she said quietly, turning her gaze back to the window. "I'm trying to be realistic about our odds. I think it's better not to be an optimist in this situation, don't you?"

"Jim would have pulled us out if things had gotten bad," he said firmly. "They weren't, not dangerous, so he didn't. He'll help us now. Always has, always will."

She sighed, dropping her head from her chin to rub at her eyes. "I don't often believe that someone can play Jim, but if I had to pick one it would be him. He's won before."

"When? He's never done something Jim hasn't predicted. He's easy game." He shook his head a bit. "I don't trust many people. But Jim Moriarty will get us out of this mess if we need him."

"I noticed that nobody was asking how Sherlock Holmes made it down from that roof without getting his skull smashed in when he came back. There was a lot of excitement about it, yes, but not a lot of questions. You don't think the older Holmes didn't have something to do with that?" she raised her eyebrows. She didn't blame him for not asking questions. It wasn't easy to ask questions of Jim.

"Jim knew how he did it, or at least down to several possibilities. He always knew that was a possibility. Look, do I seem to be one inclined to blind faith?" He started scanning their fellow passengers as the train got underway.

"No," she admitted, turning to add her eyes to his in their scan. "But there's always a chance you're wrong. I mean, it's a slim chance, but I don't want to risk underestimating him. I rather be pleasantly surprised by Jim."

"Suit yourself," he said, nodding a little. "I'm not saying I'm going to be lax. I'm just saying we've got a better system than they do."

"I'll give us that. We haven't been weighed down with bureaucracy. Yet," she snorted, noting a few people with children. Unlikely that they would be suspect, but she wouldn't write them off.

He nodded a little at that, keeping an eye one a woman in an ill-fitting jacket similar to theirs. "Huzzah for that."

Lorna looked out the window again for a few minutes, trying to keep them from being too conspicuous. "So have we got a place in the country somewhere or are we going to stay at a charming little B&B? I haven't had blood sausage in ages."

"I was going to find some remote shack, but maybe somewhere with a civilian presence wouldn't be a bad thing. More people around to keep an eye on the suspicious, even if it's us." He shrugged.

She nodded. "The power of small towns is legendary." She pulled her mp3 player out of her pocket and put an earphone in on the ear closest to the window. "No one suspicious asks for a charger cord, though, so I think I can make us look a little normal. Maybe you should work on looking meek. Sometimes I'm surprised even I give you lip."

"Yeah. Six foot two with a scarred face and a shoulder holster. Very meek." He smirked. "I'll try. Any tips from the grifter?"

"Apologize profusely with every step you take. Knock a few things over, be generally endear-" she glanced at him, giving him a scolding look. "Okay, I'm not sure if sarcasm was necessary."

He grinned. "I'm guessing that's not 'endearing'. I'll have to work on that."

She bit back a smile, turning her face away so he couldn't see if she broke out in one anyway. "Uh huh. I'm sure you will. It's alright, I can be more than charming enough for the both of us. I have excellent people skills."

"Want to take up our Italy personas? I'll be the well-meaning but unsatisfactory husband and you can be the energetic entrepreneurial wife." He picked up a magazine, starting to flip pages.

"I'd say yes, but I'd need a lot more alcohol to keep up that kind of energy," she scoffed, drumming her fingers against her thigh to the beat of the song on her mp3 player. They both knew _that_ wasn't an option. "Anyway, I don't need the excuse to push a Mafia boss into bed. I suggest we're overworked stock-workers. Who the hell else escapes to the country in the winter?"

He nodded at that. "I can live with that, so long as I can let you do the talking. Your strong suit, not mine."

"Yep. If I need any of the local farmers intimidated, I'll... go get you. I just realized I no longer own a phone." She sighed. "It should be okay, unless someone wants to talk stocks with me. Then I'm going to start playing the headache card."

"We'll pick up throw-away phones once we're off the train," he said with a nod. "We'll be fine."

She nodded, reaching up to rub some of the tension out of the back of her neck. Nothing like being on the run to make you tighten up. "I'll need clothes, too. It'll get a little suspicious if I'm seen wearing the same shit every day."

"As do I. We'll shop around a bit, get what we need, and then hole up for a bit and keep our heads down." He turned the page in his magazine.

"Sounds positively cozy," she snorted, leaning her head back against the seat and closing her eyes. "I'm going to get caught up on the sleep I missed out on last night. Kick me if anything exciting happens."

He nods a little, settling back to quietly observe the train over his magazine.

* * *

Two hours later he nudged her awake with his foot as the train neared their station. "Up."

She was up in an instant, the part of her brain that kept running in the background violently reminding her of the multiple reasons she couldn't be slow about getting up, and near about jolted right to her feet before she realized the train was still moving. Slowly, but moving. "W'most there?" she mumbled, rubbing hard at her eyes. "Wherever 'there' is?"

"Yeah, we are," he said, straightening his tee-shirt a bit. He'd taken a moment to pull on a proper pair of trousers, but other than that he felt incredibly dressed down.

"S'long as that's it," she sighed, relaxing a bit and trying to get her hair into order now that she knew that weren't under immediate attack. "I feel a lot better. Been a couple hours at least, then?"

"About two and a half," he said, nodding. "Once we're off the train let's just find a store and go from there."

She nodded, looking out the window as the train started slowing, scanning over the little town they were entering. "This place isn't too small. Shouldn't be hard."

He nods, starting to scan the platform as they stepped off, putting an arm around Lorna loosely, mostly so he knew where she was in the crowd.

She did her best to avoid being a hindrance as they started moving, keeping herself in the limbo between too slow and too fast. She wondered why he'd chosen this as their stopping place. Had he been here before, or had this been a random choice? She deftly kept a pickpocket from dipping a hand into Sebastian's backpack as they started moving through the crowd to the street, giving the kid a light slap on the wrist. "This place doesn't appear to be much nicer than the London Tube," she muttered.

"No, it's just poorer," he said with a bit of a smirk. He headed towards the train station exit to the main streets.

"I don't think either of us is strictly wrong," she snorted, glad to be heading out of the crowded station. She liked lightly scattered crowds at ritzy parties, not mobs of people who smelled like they'd never heard of, let alone seen, a shower their entire lives. She'd done her time on the streets, and she wasn't keen to relive them. When they finally broke out into the open, she was glad that he'd given her this oversized jacket. It had dropped a few degrees. "You don't think it will snow, do you?"

"I'm hoping not, but we'll get some gear all the same." He started down the street. It was a small city, in the center of a vastly rural area. "We'll shop and then get a taxi out of here." He headed for a hair salon.

Lorna gave him a slightly fearful look as she saw where he was steering them. "You're not making me cut off all my hair, are you? I take great pains to keep gum out of it so that precise thing doesn't happen."

"Was thinking more of a dye job," he said, smirking a bit. "I'll get a buzz, and we'll tip heavily with suggestions of silence."

She groaned, holding up a lock of her hair and looking at it mournfully. "Okay," she muttered sullenly, glaring at the front of the barber shop. "Let's get this over with."

"You can choose the color!" he laughed, heading in.

* * *

A half hour later, he was flipping through a magazine, hair freshly shaved clean, waiting for Lorna.

Lorna went into the salon a brunette, and she came out a redhead, looking mildly put out. She stopped in front of him with her hands on her hips, her mouth set in a thin line. "I'm going to kill my brother for this, I swear, I'll do it."

He glanced up, and smiled, eyes going a bit dark. "Damn. You should be a redhead more often," he smirked, standing. "Let's go get some cloth to go with the cut, shall we?"

She gave a slight wave of her hand in a show of acquiescence, leading the way impatiently. She did not want to be in a place that smelled strongly of hairspray any longer than she had to. "Any opinions on how I should be dressed? The likelihood of me being upset with your suggestion is about nil."

"If I had my say, I'd be all for slinky and scantily clad, but honestly, sweaters and dress pants are probably more character-appropriate."

She chuckled, looking up and down the street for a nearby shop, and, spotting one, started down that way. "I still need underwear. You're not out of luck yet."

"Ooo... Lovely. That sounds like that could head in a very pleasant direction," he smirked, following after her. He sighed. "You know... It wouldn't be a bad idea to pick up some concealer or something to cover up these scars," he said, indicating his face. "They're pretty distinctive. Do you think you could manage to cover them up?"

She glanced at them, then nodded. "Yeah, no problem. I've covered up worse," she shrugged, grabbing hold of a strand of red hair and holding it up so she could look at the color in the light. "We could probably get something that'll work at the drug store."

"Alright, add that to the list," he said with a nod, entering a department store. "Right... let's find some ill-fitting, ill-made clothing and move on."

She held out her hand. "You might as well give me some money. I'll move faster if I don't have to hunt you down in the men's department," she hummed, already standing up on her tiptoes to start looking over the racks. "I can throw my shit together and be back in ten minutes."

He nodded, passing her a few hundreds. "Get a wardrobe. I'll meet you by the exit. Stay away from windows." He paused for a moment, then bent to kiss her, straightening. "See you later, honey," he said, with just a touch more volume, nothing too conspicuous, before turning for the elevator.

She remembered just in time not to look surprised, and turned in the opposite direction. In eleven minutes she was back in front, a bag full of loose sweaters and mildly flattering trousers in hand, along with a few pairs of skimpy underwear that she'd gotten almost as a joke, but mostly because she had to feel prettier with all those baggy sweaters.

He joined her a few minutes later, with his own bag, and a large suitcase. "It'll look odd if we just arrive with shopping bags," he pointed out, pausing open it and place his clothes inside, motioning for her to do the same.

"Good point," she agreed, dropping her own bag in after his. "Alright, let's find a place with good concealer. Prepare to have me manhandle you around the store trying to find the right tone."

"Sounds thrilling," he mutters blackly, letting her set off to whatever store she felt appropriate.

She pulled him along a few streets until she found a drug store, waving him in ahead of her and putting a finger in the middle of his back to push him towards the makeup aisle. "Alright, just stand there and look pretty for a few minutes."

"Piece of cake," he sighed, trying to look as annoyed as possible. "Just get it over with."

Lorna scoured the aisle. There was nothing that pulled equal attention with scars as poorly matched, splotchy foundation. In a few minutes, she found one that matched his skin tone. "Alright. This'll do. Just don't sit by any fires. The light will cast shadows where there aren't supposed to be any."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said with a nod. "Can you put it on now? The fewer people who can ID me from these things, the better."

"Out of the store would be better," she shrugged, nodding towards the door. "It will look weird here, and there's cameras to boot."

He nodded. "Let's get some toiletries and go, then," he said, heading for the next aisle.

She hummed in agreement, following him. In a few minutes they were outside the store again, toiletries in the suitcase and the foundation in Lorna's hand. She pulled him to the side, under the overhang. "Hold still."

He tried not to make a face as she put it on. It felt odd, but it was necessary. "Alright. Can you think of anything else we need?" he asked, trying not to move his face too much.

She capped the concealer and stowed it in her pocket, shrugging. "No. I think we have everything a vacationing couple normally has, right? We only have the one pair of shoes each, but I don't see us dressing up during this, so I don't think that'll be a problem. We just need a place to stay."

He nodded. "Right then. Off we go."

He hailed a taxi, and within ten minutes they were out of the city, watching hills and cows pass by the window.

Lorna spent a few minutes looking out the window, then she was fiddling with her hair again, eventually pulling it up into a ponytail so she couldn't see it. "What names are we going by in front of strangers?"

"Excellent question. What are your thoughts?" he asked, smirking and reaching out to tuck an escaping curl of hair back.

"I don't know, I think our names are quite nice and it's a shame to have to change them. I'll usually answer to Lana. That 'L' makes me look up every time," she rolled her eyes, internally analyzing how much of Sebastian's behavior was practice for feigned domesticity and how much was the red hair.

"Alright, Lana it is then. Do you want to name me? Or shall I think of something? I can answer to anything once I've thought about it enough." He sighed, trying to stretch his legs out a bit in the small car.

She shook her head. "No, you do it. I've never liked naming things. I start to stress out about it," she shrugged, watching a field full of sheep go by.

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling, before finally coming up with "Alec. Clean, sounds like it could be old money, no one will bother with it."

"Alright. The difference in hair should make it easier for me to remember. I don't think I've ever seen you with it so short." She fished a pack of gum out of her pocket - another lucky thing that had been in her jeans - and popped a piece into her mouth. "Want one?"

He nodded, reaching over to take one. "Thank you. My mouth still tastes like stale booze and fried fish. Not a pleasant combination." He sighed, rubbing at his eyes a little. "Once we get there and get things scoped out, I'm taking a nap."

She nodded. "Yep. And I had one on the train, it's only fair. I'm not at a hundred percent, but at least I'm not tired _and_ hungover," she shrugged, giving him a sympathetic look. "I assume we're going small? Mom and pops place kind of deal?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Never somewhere I've been personally, but I've had my eye on it. It should be a good place. Only way to get to it is to drive or get a taxi. It's in the middle of nowhere with a wide open plain all around. No way to sneak up. "

"I have to commend your planning skills and extreme caution. We'd likely be up a certain creek without a paddle if you didn't spend most of your days strategically planning out things down to the furniture placement," she chuckled, looking out the window in a vain attempt to see it. She missed the expensive cars at HQ, with the soft leather seats and the legroom fit for a basketball player. She didn't miss Sebastian's driving.

"One experience like this where you haven't planned and suddenly you learn," he says, watching as the bed and breakfast showed up in the distance, a rambling estate with a cheery house at its center. "There we are."

"Nice place. They must get good business, during the travel season. Bit dreary for it now," she commented, glancing out the window to get a look at the gray sky, which seemed to still be debating upon whether or not to dump frozen rain on them. "I'd say I hope the proprietor isn't too chatty, but you can't run a B&B and be the kind of person who lets strangers go by without gossip exchanged."

"Which is exactly what we want," he says easily. "She's a Mrs. Hull. You put on a good smile for her, and she'll love you, and be happy to gossip to us about anyone that comes in who seems suspicious."

She gave him a good, satisfying frown just so she wouldn't feel one building up in her during polite conversation, then dug out the spare money from shopping, noticing they were close, now. And the cabbie would not be giving them a cheap fare for having him take them all the way out here. "Whatever you say, Alec."

"Thank you, Lana," he returns with a smirk, sighing in relief as the cab stopped. He left Harrison to deal with the fair, hopping out and stretching his cramped legs before unloading their luggage. Once Lorna stepped out, he headed for the house.

She followed a step behind out of habit, looking up at the house as they got closer. There had been money here at some point. Now the house was perhaps a little less taken care of than it could be, but it still had charm. Not that she cared.

He carried their case with ease- it was mostly empty, anyways- and they entered the lobby-dining room-lounge combination that was the first floor. A bell rang as they entered, and a woman's voice came from behind a door marked 'Kitchen'. "Be right with you folks!"

Lorna gave the place a once-over for any cameras or surveillance equipment, but the place looked clean to her. And, equally as actually clean. There wasn't a speck of dust to be found. "Okay, this is better than bunking at a chain motel."

"Thank you..." he said with a smirk, as a small woman bustled out to greet them.

"Oh! Hello, dears. We don't get too many people out here this time of year, you'll almost have the run of the place. Can I get your names?" She looked at Moran and he gave a shy smile and looked at Lorna. The woman hardly blinked, redirecting her expectant smile.

Lorna immediately broke out into a grin, reaching out to shake Mrs. Hull's hand. "Hi, we're Lana and Alec Jacobson. We like going places during the off-season, we're not much for crowds," she smiled genially, wrapping an arm around Moran's waist and giving him a squeeze. As much as she could sell the shy giant routine, she would. "I looked on the website - you're Mrs. Hull, right?"

"That's me!" the woman said, smiling brightly. "Please, though, call me Heidi. I'm thrilled to have you both," she said, smile widening as Moran leaned into Lorna's embrace just a bit, tucking her under his arm. "Where're you folks from?"

"We're in from London," Lorna replied, pulling a mock, exaggerated grimace. "You would not _believe_ how nice it is to get away from it all, good lord. Such a relief to get some fresh air, to de-stress, you know?" she hummed, looking up at Sebastian and putting on a face that was almost pitying. "My poor Alec, he's just been so _tired_ lately." That would help smooth over any lingering effects his hangover had on him.

"Oh, I _know_ , dear. Those cities, they kill you! That's why I'm way out here in the middle of nowhere. Just this house and the land and the open sky! Why, there was a young man we had in here last year, came out because of a heart attack, of all things! A heart attack, at 27, I tell you! It's all that stress..." She sighed, shaking her head. "How long will you be staying?"

She gave a carefree shrug. "Honestly, I really can't say! We haven't had a good vacation in years, and now that it's starting to take a toll on our health - we'll just have to see, you know?"

"That's just fine! During the busy season we're all booked up, but this time of year we can easily take it day to day. I've even got the honeymoon suite open, if you're interested. It's got a lovely view..." She smiled, evidently eager to please.

She gave Moran an excited nudge in the side, positively beaming. It occurred to her that neither of them had rings, and she'd made a bit of a foolish mistake already introducing themselves as husband and wife... they would just have to improvise, and hope their bare hands would go unnoticed. "Oooh, really? I really do love a view, that would be fantastic!"

"Then come right up and have a look, get settled in, all that. Whenever you like I can show you around." She smiled and headed for the stairs, motioning for them to follow.

Lorna let her smile relax somewhat as she started following Mrs. Hull up the well-worn wooden stairs, fighting the urge to rub at her cheeks. It was difficult being so un-ironically cheerful for any amount of time. When they reached the first floor landing, she took a quick glance down the hall. All the doors were set a good foot inside the walls; good cover, if things came to shooting.

Sebastian followed a few steps behind them both, with their suitcase in hand. It was two more flights up before they reached the top floor, and Mrs. Hull led them down to the door at the end of the hall, pushing it open. "Just in here. Dinner's at 6 p.m., but don't hesitate to find me if you need anything before then. Any questions?"

"No, I think we're good. Unless Alec has any questions, that is," she smiled, patting her "husband" on the shoulder and relieving him of the luggage to carry into the room. She wasn't the strategic mind Sebastian was. If he needed to know something, she was unlikely to ask that question with a shot in the dark.

He shrugged a little, taking his time to climb out of the shell he'd put himself into. Casual. "Not really... Though..." He hesitated, then gave a shy smile. "Lana's always trying to get me to socialize more. It'd be nice to get to know some people while we relax... Is there anyone else staying here?"

He was instantly smothered in excited encouragement as Mrs. Hull took off, telling him all about the lovely couple downstairs and 'those boys in 2D, not brothers if you ask me, but that's not my business. But if it were I've always supported that sort of thing, you know, the dears,' and the couple from Ledeworth with a little girl they'd left home-

He managed to extract himself about fifteen minutes later with a sizable mental dossier of the current residents of Mrs. Hull's B&B, promising to ask if they had any more questions and see her at 6 sharp for dinner as he shut the door, immediately dropping into a scowl. "Jesus, she's a walking mouth."

She'd managed to unpack their suitcase in that time, folding and storing their clothes neatly in the antique chestnut dresser. His things were on one side, and hers on the other, and it was a lot more neat than it would have been if she were alone. "I noticed. I'd have done it, but it would have looked a bit weird to have you whispering your questions to me like a schoolyard secret."

He nodded with a sigh, walking over to the window, pleased to see it was actually a sliding door which led out to a wrap-around balcony. "This is perfect."

"No kidding. I love the decor," she smirked, purposely needling him, then came to the conclusion that now wasn't really the best time for that. "No, yeah. This place is built like it's ready for a siege."

He nodded again, walking across the room to lock the door before dropping his backpack, starting to unload their more... sensitive equipment to check it over. Night vision goggles, compact sniper rifle, a plethora of other guns and ammo, knives, a box of bugs and other surveillance equipment, and two bullet-proof vests. "Christ, that thing was heavy," he muttered, rolling his shoulders a little.

"Fucking hell, you were carrying all that in a damn backpack?" she laughed, a little amazed. He hadn't looked like he'd been under any strain at all. "Moran, I'm pretty sure you may actually _be_ a mountain."

"Wasn't time to complain," he said with a small smirk, checking over to make sure there wasn't any obvious damage before packing it back in the bag for the time being, snapping a lock around the zipper and tossing Harrison the key before finally falling onto the large bed. "Nap."

She nodded, sinking into one of the armchairs facing the sliding glass door. "I'll stay up, make sure no one managed to tail us right away. After six hours I think we're in a little less immediate danger, but until then..."

He nodded, already partially unconscious. "Tap out if you need to..."

She didn't bother responding, since it was unlikely he'd even remember it, and settled down for a good, long sit.

* * *

When he drifted back into consciousness, the room was dark, and the world outside was dimly lit with the last dregs of the sunset. He scrubbed at his eyes, looking over at Harrison. "Hey..."

She shifted in her seat so she could look at him. "Hi," she replied, then inclined her head towards the tiny fridge in the corner. "You missed dinner. I brought back what wouldn't be absolutely vile cold."

He nodded his thanks, sitting up slowly and reaching up to rub at his shorn head, not used to the feel yet.

"Mind if I conk out for a while? I'm starting to get that weird dry feeling in my eyes," she murmured, reaching up to rub them with a yawn. Unlike him, though, she was going to get into something actually comfortable.

He nodded, standing and walking over to the fridge, pulling out the plate of food. "Go ahead. Anything interesting while I was out?"

She got up stiffly from her chair, moving to the dresser and pulling out the pair of pajamas she'd gotten herself earlier. "No. I met a few of the other patrons at dinner. They're all _thoroughly_ boring people," she snorted, getting out of her clothes with clumsy hands. She was more tired than she'd anticipated.

He nodded just a little, mouth full of bread and roast beef, watching her change out of the corner of his eye.

Eventually she managed to get out of her street clothes and into her sleep clothes, and took over the lukewarm spot Sebastian had left on the bed. "Wake m'up if you need me," she yawned, burrowing into the covers and dropping off the sleep almost immediately.

He mumbled something in response, glancing towards the bed longingly before returning his gaze to the road. He glanced at the clock. In an hour he'd go downstairs and see if Mrs. Hull had any coffee.

* * *

Playlist: Kansas - Carry On Wayward Son


	23. AA

Lorna woke up in the middle of the night, completely disoriented with the total lack of light. She hadn't been in country-darkness for a few years. Living in London made a person used to a certain amount of light that made it through curtains and under doors, but this was reminiscent of cave darkness. "Mmph. Seb?"

He glanced up from his third cup of coffee, not that glancing did much good. "Here," he said after a moment, scraping the chair a bit. "Want some coffee?"

"No, thanks," she sighed, only shifting to make herself more comfortable and then falling still, staring up into the darkness. "How are you holding up?"

"What do you mean?" he asked casually, though he knew exactly what she meant, sipping the cold coffee and staring out into the blackness.

"You know what I mean," she said quietly. "O'Hare. The hallucinations. And now you have the added stress of being hunted. I'm surprised you could sleep at all."

He shrugged. "I can sleep when I need to," he said, intentionally avoiding the rest of the question and standing, walking over to the slider and pushing it open, night-vision goggles in hand so that he could scan the area.

She didn't miss his dodge, but she knew that prodding him never turned out well. A lot of things involving him didn't turn out well, if she was being honest with herself. And yet she'd gone to help him anyway. She sighed.

He reentered a few minutes later. "Nothing," he sighed, setting the goggles aside and closing the sliding door again. "Tomorrow I'm going to go put a proximity detector a ways down the road both ways, so at least we'll have notice of anyone coming in."

"Okay. Will you need me to chat with the Hull woman to keep her occupied or will it be quick?" she asked, just about vaguely making out the outline of his shape as her eyes adjusted to the dark.

He shrugged, walking over to sit next to her on the bed. "I'll say I want to walk around, great outdoors and all that."

"Oh, thank god," she huffed, then chuckled. "That woman really can talk... Oh - it occurred to me earlier, but we were in front of her - I suggest we say we're recently married, and we did it in a rush. Because we don't have rings, and I'm not sure I've ever seen a married couple without them."

He shrugged. "I have. Modern relationships and all. But we can try to get rings if you like." He sighed, staring out at the moonless night and wishing he had a drink. "It's dark as fuck-all out there... I don't think anyone's coming tonight if they haven't already."

"I think you're right," she murmured, shifting a little and pulling the covers up to her chin. "I think we're out of the thickest part of the woods. You should just try to sleep again."

He sighed, still considering the window, then stood, pulling out the pack and unlocking it. He pulled out some of the proximity detectors and placed them at the windows and doors, before locking everything up again and changing into pajamas.

She didn't strain to try and watch him through the darkness, just closed her eyes and tracked him by the sounds he made as he moved through the room. She knew he wasn't at 100% because she _could_ hear him. Normally he was practically a wraith, he was so quiet. When he got into bed, the bit of her mind that had been dozing for a moment tried to get her to move closer, believing it was Malcolm out of habit. She was not at 100% either.

He lay down on his side, felt Harrison shift and then stop. In one hand he held a knife in a death grip, stuffed under his pillow, and he closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the old building settling and Harrison's breathing.

For a moment she was worried that he'd say something, and then when he didn't, she relaxed, curling up and burying her face in her pillow. In a few minutes she fell from a light doze into a dead sleep.

He didn't _need_ to sleep, really, just wanted to, which proved to be a problem as minutes of wakefulness dragged on. The pitch black of the room and the relative silence did little to distract him, and his imagination was not somewhere he wanted to be currently. Finally, after what felt like an age, he rolled out of bed, fingers cramped shut around the knife, and went back to the chair, trying to return his attention to surveillance. That, however, proved to be just as uneventful. Finally, he pressed his thumb onto the tip of the knife, until he was just barely avoiding breaking skin, and focused on that. Variations on the theme helped until the sky started lightening enough for him to see again.

* * *

Lorna awoke when the sun had struggled halfway up the horizon, vaguely pleased to find that when she opened her eyes she could see colors and details instead of fuzzy black shapes. She uncurled from the ball she'd spent most of the night in (as she was wont to do when she slept in unfamiliar beds) and sat up, groaning. "Fuck.. it's early, isn't it?"

He nodded, glancing over at her before returning his attention to the landscape. "About five a.m. There's a few ways into this area that would be optimal if you don't want to fight with bush or be seen too quickly. I'm going to put detectors there as well as the roads, I think..."

"Uh huh. Alright," she mumbled, sliding out of bed and giving a sullen glance at the bright orange light streaming in through the window, and then turned to shuffle for the bathroom. "Shower."

"You could sleep more if you wanted," he pointed out. "We don't really have anything to do."

"No, no," she sighed, pausing by the doorway and resting her forehead on the wall. "If I get up late today there's a whole cycle.. better that I don't."

"Mmm..." He didn't respond beyond that, reaching out and picking up his cold coffee.

She disappeared into the bathroom to take her shower, planning on taking as much time as she needed, and praying that the old building had more than one source of hot water.

As the light in the room increased, he pulled out the guns again and starting going over them more carefully, taking them apart and cleaning them, preparing for whatever they might have to deal with in the days to come.

She came out of the washroom a half hour later with a blessedly plush towel wrapped around her chest and her pajamas stuffed under one arm. "When my hair gets wet it looks like someone's slit my throat, Jesus Christ, I think I've seen actual blood pools that were less alarming."

He snorted with laughter. "That'll stop eventually," he smirked. "Just hope it doesn't rain any time soon."

"Oh, hell, I didn't even think about that," she muttered, holding up a damp lock of her hair and giving it an exasperated look, then tossed her pajamas on the bed and walked over to the dresser. "Why didn't you get a dye job and I get a short cut? We could have been punk," she chuckled, pulling out a shirt and a pair of trousers that she thought would look mildly acceptable together, along with some underwear.

"Oh, yes, that would have gone over so well," he agreed sarcastically, piecing together the pistol carefully.

"I've never had my hair short before. And probably won't, while I still have this job," she shrugged, dropping her towel on the bed and getting changed. "You men can be awful strange about a woman's hair, you know that?"

He shrugged, too. "I like short hair," he said, walking over to get a change of clothes and heading for the bathroom. "Or whatever."

"You're not exactly the norm, though," she snorted, folding up her pajamas and then wandering over to the table where he'd been fiddling with the guns. She took a sip of the quarter-cup of coffee, and nearly spat it back in. Cold, stale coffee was not a good taste.

"Fresh pot on the hot plate," he called over his shoulder as he heard her gag on the coffee, before shutting the door and turning the shower on.

She turned to get herself a cup, and was pleased to taste that he was right. He didn't _seem_ the type to mess around with her caffeine needs, but it was always up in the air with Moran. After a moment's deliberation over whether or not she knew how to turn off the proximity detector for the sliding glass door, she settled with just standing in front of glass and sipping her coffee, enjoying the view.

He emerged a few minutes later, drying off his own hair and walking over next to her. "It's always a nice view for the first few hours. Then you get sick of it. It's a shame."

"Mm. That's why I've always been happy living in a city. The view always changes. London, particularly. Dublin even more. One of the times I've been there there was a loose horse wandering around the streets," she said, giving a small lift of her shoulders as if that sort of thing were normal. "Though I imagine the birding is good around here."

"Birding?" he sneered, shooting a look in her direction as he opened the packaging of a razor and shaving cream from the suitcase.

"Mmhmm," she confirmed, taking a nonchalant sip of her coffee. "I like birds. And I have a spectacular knack for remembering their names. I had to learn it for a job like, four years ago, discovered I liked it. Not many worthwhile birds in the city, though. Sometimes you can find a raven in the park who will get closer if you've got meat with you."

"That's fascinating, Harrison, truly," he said sarcastically as he finished dressing. "If I need a feather identified at some point, I'll be sure to ask."

"Weren't you the one who said everyone should have a hobby?" she smirked, glancing at him as he finished up. "Oh, Christ, do you know how strange it is seeing you in something that wasn't tailored for you? I didn't even notice it until it was gone, but your normal clothes are pretty couture, Moran."

He grinned as he buttoned his jacket. "Yeah, well, I could say the same about your 'elementary school secretary' vibe," he shot back. He walked over to pick the backpack, starting to transfer the guns into the suitcase so that he could use it to carry the proximity detectors.

"You mean _'hot_ elementary school secretary,' I know you do," she retorted with a smirk. "You want me to do anything while you're out being useful? I can't think of anything that would help us out, but I'm a tad vapid before I've finished my first cup of coffee."

"Just keep an eye on things," he said, pulling on the pack, the pistol in his shoulder holster. "Make further friends with our dear old innkeeper if you can."

She nodded. "Alright. If you come back and I'm gone, I've probably been sucked into the black hole that is her conversational topics. Come save me."

He rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Likewise, if I'm not back within a few hours, you should probably get out of here."

"Ugh," she groaned, "Don't get killed, okay? God, only Jim's allowed to do that," she muttered, then turned towards the door, coffee still in hand. "Shriek if you get in trouble."

"I'm sure I'll do exactly that," he muttered sarcastically, heading out into the hall and down the stairs.

She followed him out of the room a few minutes later with the purpose of looking for Mrs. Hull, feeling much better, and much more awake, and stuffing down a nagging concern about the sniper's safety.

* * *

The next few days were mind-numbingly average. The second day they were there, Sebastian had borrowed Mrs. Hull's car and gone into town to get a few more supplies. He'd told Harrison it was for mobiles and gun oil, which was true, but he also got a sturdy supply of 90 proof, which he hid in the root cellar of a barn he'd found on his wanderings. The next night, and the one after, he'd visited the supply in lieu of sleep, making sure to return to the B&B in time to brush his teeth and shower any scent of alcohol away before Harrison woke up.

Lorna had noticed something amiss about Moran's behavior, but she didn't have enough proof to confront him about it. When she'd woken up in the middle of the night on two different occasions to find him missing, plus the way he seemed to only become _more_ lethargic in the morning... she knew he was up to something, but she couldn't even guess at what. She only hoped that it wasn't anything as bad as sneaking out to have tea with the enemy. Now the two of them were headed back down the hall to their room, just up from supper, and she was wondering if she could wear him out enough to guarantee him sleeping through the night when he opened the door in front of her and they both took in the intruder.

The door opened, and he attributed the moment of stunned consideration to his exhaustion. He really should try to sleep tonight. Then there was a flicker as the man went for a gun, and he was pouncing forward, one hand covering the man's mouth in an iron grip, the other locking him against the floor as they fell almost silently.

She slipped in behind him, shutting the door swiftly and quietly behind her and turning the deadbolt before stepping over the mild struggle on the floor and pulling a gun from their suitcase. Then she stood, and loaded the weapon, just the man could hear the click.

His victim stilled instantly, and he pulled back, hand still covering his mouth. He immediately kicked the man's gun out of the way, and started surveying the room, eyes lighting on an outlet that was half out of the wall, new electronics clearly stuck to the back. "Getting your ears in?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and returning his attention to the pale man as he reached up to untie his tie, to use as a gag.

Their intruder stared up at Moran defiantly, muttering something that sounded vaguely swear-like into the sniper's palm. Lorna set the loaded gun down on the bed and moved to crouch in front of the outlet, carefully peering inside. "It doesn't look like he finished. I don't think we're being heard anywhere else."

"But who would have been listening, becomes the question," he said with a growl, forcing a stray sock into the man's mouth, making him gag and sputter, before tying it in place with the tie. "We need to take him somewhere... not here."

Lorna gave a helpless shrug, looking around the room with a look that said she knew there wasn't an answer available. "What are we gonna do, stuff him in a closet? What do you suggest?"

He shook his head, thinking it over. They didn't have much of a choice. "There's an abandoned barn not far from here... it ought to do."

"How are we supposed to move him? It's not even that late, we can't go dragging him down the hall," she shook her head, letting out a huff.

"We'll have to wait until night, then," he said without hesitation. "After everyone is asleep."

"Yeah, that's the best option," she sighed, raking her fingers through her hair in a stressed-out motion, then she spun on her heel and dug Sebastian's rope from his suitcase, moving over and working around him to truss up their victim.

"Against the bedpost," he said, hauling the man up by the front of his shirt to where he'd indicated. "Don't want him worming about and causing trouble."

"Good idea," she muttered, helping move their intruder and then bending around to bind his hands to the post. "There. You can check my knot if you want." If he could even see in that much detail. He looked tired.

He glanced at it, reaching out to tug on it a few times, staring at it for a few moments. "Looks fine," he said with a small nod after a moment, standing. He walked over to the bureau, pulling out a small bottle of an energy drink, twisting the cap off and taking a small sip.

She sat on the edge of the bed in silence for a few minutes, watching him, then looked down at the man who'd broken into their room. He was wearing comfortable clothes, and clothes that fit him. Not shoddy purchases like their own. How had he found them?

He swallowed a few more sips of the foul-tasting liquid before closing the bottle and tucking it away again, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath. He turned to the intruder again, who was staring at them both with beady, hateful eyes. "Oh, give it a rest," he muttered. "You've got a long afternoon ahead of you."

Lorna gave a small snort, nudging the man in the side with her foot. "He's right, you know. I'm going to get a book or something, but I suggest you just sit there quietly and think about the mistakes you've made."

Moran pulled the chair over, sitting in front of the man and watching him quietly. The man struggled for a bit against the ropes, before eventually falling still, evidently resigned to his fate.

Lorna settled herself down for the afternoon with a book about birds, which she'd found on the nightstand with a few others about the area, and read it only _mostly_ because she wanted to reinforce to Moran that she didn't care what he thought.

The energy drink soon kicked in, taking away the sleepiness but not making him feel any better. So he kept busy by watching over their charge, twisting his foot back and forth menacingly or sticking a pin into his arm on occasion if he got bored.

* * *

After the hours drew on and it became dark, and then well and truly pitch black, she looked up from her book and set it down in her lap. "Well. Ready to drag dead weight down a few flights of stairs?"

"Raring to go," he sighed, standing slowly. His body ached, and he walked over to the drawer to finish the bottle of energy booster before tossing it in the bin. "Let's get on with it." He returned to their captive, starting to untie the rope, one knee across the man's lap firmly to keep him in place as the ropes loosened. Then he re-tied them, leaving the bedpost out of the equation.

She did her part by keeping her hand clamped around the back of the man's neck, like scruffing a cat. People often tried to take a chunk of flesh when they got afraid, and she'd rather not have to explain that to a doctor. "Alright. Let's do this, then."

He nodded in agreement, standing and hauling the man up by arms. "Listen," he said softly, stooping to pick up the packed backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. "In case you had any ideas of funny business, I have no qualms about killing you and everyone else in this building. Are we clear?"

"I wish I could say he was lying," Lorna sighed, a bit wistfully. It was so easy playing good cop. "But he's a real cold-hearted son of a bitch. Boy, the stories I could tell you. In fact, if you walk down those stairs for yourself, you might be saving yourself a good patch of skin."

Moran gave her a smirk. "You're too nice to the bastard. He doesn't need his skin to talk. Just his tongue."

She shrugged, smiling slightly as they began manhandling the bloke to the door. "I don't know, I thought I'd offer up a benefit for cooperation. But I suppose I am being awfully nice to a man who tried to bug our room. That's just _naughty,"_ she scolded, giving the man a stern look before she laughed.

He smirked, then shushed her as he opened the door. To his relief, their charge remained quiet as they moved through the house and down the stairs, finally making it outside. He paused for a moment to get his bearings, trying to pretend he hadn't made the trek a half-dozen times before, and then headed off.

She just followed in silence, keeping her hand firmly on the man's back, just to remind him that she was there, and willing to act. It wasn't easy, making the journey in the dark - she could barely see her feet, and the ground was far from even. When they reached the barn, she almost looked past it. She'd thought it was a hill. "Well. Isn't this cozy."

"There's a root cellar underneath," he said, pushing open the door. "Fairly sound proof. We'll go there."

"Maybe I should have brought my coat," she muttered, shutting the door behind them and sliding in place the rusting latch. "But I suppose it's not too far from home, is it?"

"Not really. It's warmer down there, anyway," he muttered, heading for the bulkhead. "I'd wager, anyway. Out of the wind." He forced their quarry to his knees before walking over to haul the old door open.

She waited patiently for him to open the door and drag their bound package back to his feet again before following, eyes flicking up to find a single light bulb on the low ceiling. Dubiously, she pulled the chain. She didn't even have to squint when the light came on.

He walked over to a dim corner, throwing a dingy blanket over his stash before grabbing a chair and bringing it to the center of the room. "Let's rearrange, shall we?" he said with a smile, bringing the chair to the center of the room.

"Get comfy, darling, you're going to be here for a while," she hummed, patting the stranger's shoulder and gesturing to the chair, trying to put in as much game-show host as she could into the movement. She hadn't had fun on the job for a good while, but this? Getting a little vengeance for an invasion? This she could enjoy.

He dragged the man into the chair, starting to adjust his bindings once again, tying him tightly to the wood. "Now, to let you speak, finally," he said with a chuckle, reaching to start undoing the tie. "I'd imagine you're eager to stop tasting my stale foot sweat."

He made a both affirmative and disgusted noise, digging his feet into the floor. Lorna watched carefully, wishing they had enough rope to secure his legs as well. She didn't fancy being kicked at any point tonight. She turned, scanning the room, and then started rummaging.

He looked up as she started banging about. "What are you looking for?" he asked, almost sharply, as he loosened the tie, leaving their captive to spit out the sock on his own.

"Rope. I don't think your tie is long enough or rough enough to get a good knot in, and I rather like my shins like they are, without bruises," she replied absently, not looking up from a cabinet she was half in. "Don't mind me."

He glanced to her left, where his stash was hidden, and walked over to it, starting to 'look' through the corner. "Good idea. None over here."

"Yeah, excuse me if I don't believe you. Today you set your toothbrush down on the nightstand and then wandered around for five minutes looking for it. Considering your secondary occupation, it's amazing what you look right through," she snorted, moving onto the next rack of shelves. "I'll look my- ah, here we go," she chirped, grabbing a coil of ragged, dusty rope from the bottom shelf and turning around to brandish it triumphantly.

He took a slow breath, relieved, before turning around to take the rope. "Alright, friend. Name?"

The man rolled his jaw, still working the kinks out from having his mouth stuffed full of sock for hours. Then he looked up at Moran for a moment, and weighed his options. "David Rutherford."

"Nice to meet you, Davey," he said, kneeling beside the chair at an angle that he couldn't be kicked at and starting to tie his right leg to the chair. "Care to make this easy and spill your guts? Or do we need to start making that phrase literal?"

David squared his jaw, remaining silent. Lorna stepped forward, crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you tell anyone else about us before you tried to bug our room? You're going to want to answer this one, believe me."

Still silent. "Oh, good, I get to have fun, then," he says with a smile, reaching out to start opening his pack, pulling out a knife.

Lorna stepped in front of the chair and crouched so she could look up at the soon-to-be torture victim. "You married, David? You here with anyone else? When they find your body a month from now, will they cry? I'm only asking because I've watched it happen before. That's what happens to the people who don't cooperate. They end up at the bottom of the lake."

"Or maybe just here..." Seb provided, smiling and stepping forward. "Rotting out in an abandoned root cellar to be discovered in a few years by some randy teenagers..."

There was a light sheen of sweat on David's forehead now, his cheeks slightly paler than they had been. Before Lorna could speak again, he shook his head once, a sharp jerk of a motion. "No one knows. I wasn't... sure."

"Weren't sure of what?" he asked, smiling and leaning forward. He was sturdy and powerful on the outside, but he felt off. The pale sheen of the man's skin was off-putting. He was distracted by a trickle of sweat dripping down over David's temple and reached out to scrape it off slowly with the knife. It was a good intimidation strategy, but in reality he just wanted the bead gone. He took a slow breath.

David's eyes flickered off to the side, instinctively avoiding the other man's as he wet his lips nervously. "I didn't know if it was really you. It didn't seem right. You... look different. And the chances of my happening across the two of you together, alone, they weren't promising." He glanced at Moran, then at Harrison, trying to gauge their reactions.

"No, you're right. Your chances aren't promising," he said with a smirk, hand gripping the knife so hard his fingers whitened. "Who do you work for?"

Rutherford worked as a small-time tech, and at that, one who wasn't given many secrets to keep. He'd never had any special training besides an orientation for the fire evacuation, and he only knew about these two people because the head honcho had wanted as many eyes and as many techs looking for them as was possible. He wasn't built for espionage. "M. Holmes. I don't know his first name."

Sebastian's nostrils flared slightly. "Is that so?" he asked, eyes darkening. "And how is M. Holmes doing?"

The man shook his head, looking confused. "I don't know? I've never even seen him."

He smiled. "Well, isn't that just a coincidence, then?" He rested the knife against the man's chest almost casually. "We're on the run from M. Holmes, and just happen to run into one of his associates, but he happens to be completely clueless. Isn't that odd, Harrison?"

"It is. Especially since we had such a disagreement with the man that he needed therapy to recover the use of his hand," she smirked, entirely proud that she'd been the one to do it. Rutherford shook his head a bit frantically.

"I've never seen him. I've never met the man, believe me, please."

"Oh, I believe you, I do," he said, nodding sympathetically. "But Harrison here, she's the paranoid type. Sad really. Wears a lot of tin hats. But there you are. So I think you might have to be a bit more convincing than that..." he grinned, pressing the tip of his knife slowly through the man's shirt until blood started welling up around the knife.

The man started to shake a little, his face going white as a sheet as he tried to lean away from the sniper's blade. " _How?_ What do you want from me?!" he yelped, wide eyes going back and forth between Moran and Lorna.

"I want answers," he said calmly. But the man's panic was catching. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ He forced his hands to remain steady, staring the man down. "Everything you know about Holmes. Now."

"He- he works in government. I don't even know if he's in MI6, or something higher, I just run the numbers, and I run scans- I don't think he does any field work, I think he has agents, or something," the man supplied, stumbling over his words in his haste, still trying to lean away from the knife, and just digging his back into the chair.

He grit his teeth, more angry with himself than with David, but in total furious enough to be tetchy. "Listen, either Holmes sent a total _idiot_ to keep an eye on us or you're lying," he snarled, dragging the the knife down his chest.

He cried out, going slightly green as he caught sight of the blood on his chest. " _Fuck!_ No, no, you don't understand, I'm here on _vacation!_ I've been here for a week! Please, _please!"_

"Shut up!" Moran snarled. "If you don't have anything to say, don't say it! I don't want to hear the excuses!" He pulled the knife back, pressing it against his hand instead. "You want to match your boss?"

Desperate tears started to well up in the techie's eyes as he shook his head frantically, "I don't know what that _means,"_ he half-sobbed, still shaking his head. Lorna watched from against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. This was odd, for Sebastian. His fear tactics were done with control, not.. being mildly unhinged.

"I said," he snarled, "if you don't have anything useful to say, don't say it!" He shoved the knife downward angrily, through the hand, watching as he screamed, his hands shaking. He almost jumped back as the face flicked, was covered in scars before returning to that of David.

Lorna stepped forward, reaching down to tap his shoulder with one finger. The man was going to be useless for the next few minutes at the very least, and he certainly wouldn't be aware of them. "You need to take a break," she said, voice quiet. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but it's not going to work."

He turned around quickly, walking away, leaving the knife stuck where it was, taking slow breaths, trying to get a hold of himself. O'Hare's face still was still haunting him, torn and scarred. He was going to throw up. He turned away, heading straight for his stash and pulling out a bottle, not caring if Harrison saw him.

She watched him go, and was just about to turn away when she saw the bottle in his hand. A second later and she was across the room with a death-grip on his wrist. " _This_ is what you've been doing?" she snapped, standing up on her tiptoes to force him to look at her, not over her. "Instead of sleeping you've been _drinking?_ I didn't tell you in London that you'd had enough just for that _day,_ I meant that you don't use it as a coping mechanism! You don't become what I was, you hear me?" she snarled, wrenching the bottle from his hand and hurling it at the far wall, turning even before it shattered. "It almost _killed me._ Since when did you become this stupid?"

He wrenched his arm out of her grip, hand already raised to strike before he checked himself, hand curling into a fist before it dropped. "I think I missed your promotion, Harrison," he says quietly, voice trembling with anger. "Congratulations. Unless I'm still in charge here?"

"You're impaired, Moran," she hissed, grinding her teeth in an effort not to completely shout at him. "You haven't slept for days. Sleep deprivation is almost as bad as being well and fully drunk, and you know it." She squared her jaw, falling silent for a moment and looking up at him. "Do you even see the same man in that chair that I'm seeing?"

"Of course I do," he spits back. "David Rutherford." He sets his jaw, walking over to retrieve his knife, the chair arm stained red, and wiping it off on Rutherford's arm.

She kept her rampant disbelief to herself, silently walking forwards and throwing back the tarp he'd set over the corner, and beginning to clean it out without a word. She hated that this had been what he'd been doing with his sleepless hours. Absolutely loathed it. It was almost a personal affront.

He walked over, catching her wrist. "You don't get to decide that," he says quietly. "Leave it."

There was no way she could argue with him. She'd never been able to. He had too much of an advantage over her with rank, with the danger he represented. She yanked her arm out of his grip, glaring up at him with a murderous expression. "Then you better fucking move it," she snapped, turning and throwing the tarp violently back into place. "And next time you try to drink yourself to death in your apartment because of some bloke you left behind, don't come to me for help."

He nodded a little, calm now. He could see O'Hare out of the corner of his eye, though he knew if he turned to look at him it would be David. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll keep that in _mind_.." she muttered under her breath, half turning in a circle and realizing she couldn't walk out, couldn't cool down, and she just took a moment to press the heels of her hands into her eyes and just groan. trying to get out some of her anger. Life would be so much easier if she could really tell him what she was thinking, instead of holding back because he'd make her pay for it.

He took a slow breath, hands shaking as he straightened his jacket. "I'm going to take a drink," he said, looking over at her. "I'm not going to get drunk. When we get back, I'm going to sleep. For right now, we have work to do."

She fought the urge to just press harder against her eyes and let her hands drop, looking up at him with a dead neutral expression - the one she used when she was too angry to risk letting it show. "In my opinion, sir, you really ought to sit this one out."

"Opinion noted, Harrison," he said, stepping forward again and looking at the man, who was beginning to get his sense back. "David! Back with us, I see."

David was shaking, in pain, and seriously struggling not to piss his pants. "What the fuck," he whispered, shaking his head. "What the fuck is happening to me right now? I can't believe this is happening..."

"Perhaps it isn't," Moran said with a smirk. "Perhaps you've died and are in your own little version of hell. In which case, this goes on and on and on... for eternity. Isn't that exciting?" He took a swig from a bottle, then closed it up and set it aside.

"No.. No, don't do that, don't do that," David frowned, screwing his eyes shut. "What do you _want_ from me, mate? I don't _do_ anything."

"What _do_ you do, then? I can almost promise that Holmes doesn't pay anyone to sit around with their thumbs up their arses. Unless you want to lose your other hand as well."

"No! No. I write algorithms that go into searches. Like, like, someone sends me a picture of a person and I write up a new, more efficient formula to track them. That's- that's how I recognized you two," David stuttered, trying to take deep breaths, as if that would help him deal with the pain.

He nodded a little, walking forward. "How many people does Holmes have looking for us?"

David shrugged as well as he could, making a very distinct 'I dunno' face. "I don't pass out a-assignments, or anything, I just do the job and pass it on to my superior. I don't know where it goes from there!"

He studied his face, but had to look away as it flickered into O'Hare again. He walked away, over to Harrison. "Thoughts?"

She shrugged as well, her arms folded over her chest. "I don't think he's lying. I think if he was, he would be wearing something that looked less like an atrocious Christmas sweater, and I think he would have told someone else what was happening. I saw him at dinner the first night we arrived. I think he's a very unlucky man."

He nodded in agreement. "I concur. Which means, of course, that he's suddenly become much less useful." He flipped his knife in his hands. "Unless there's anything else you want to know?"

She snorted, shaking her head, and gave a slight wave of her hand. "No."

David started to hyperventilate.

"Good," he said, turning around and stalking forward, ignoring O'Hare's protests in the last seconds before he slit his throat. He watched him gurgle into silence, and David reappeared, dead.

Lorna watched impassively, sliding her hands into her pockets as the man silenced, and the only sound left in the room was the sound of dripping. "What do you want to do with the body?"

"Probably should bury it," he says quietly, kicking the chair backwards and watching David's head bounce off of the floor. "Don't want the smell tipping someone off."

"Yeah," she sighed, scuffing the floor with her shoe and heading for the door to the barn. "I'll start looking for a shovel, then."

He nodded, watching her go before turning to take another pull off the bottle. Then he started cutting the body free.

She returned ten minutes later, and that was five minutes after she'd found the shovel, because she hadn't trusted herself not to give Moran a good whack with it. "Okay. I hope you scouted for good body locations. And a new place to stay. We can't be here anymore."

"I know a few good places. As for here, I don't see why not. He came here by cab. We'll leave Mrs. Hull a note from 'him' about a family emergency and the settle up money, and no one's the wiser."

"Someone's going to notice he's missing," she reminded him, looking very tired all of a sudden. "And they'll trace him to this place. You know who he works for. How hard would it be?" Either way, she was kipping on the armchair.

"He's got a week vacation, showed up the same day as us. We have a few days. But if you want to move, we will," he hoist the body up carefully.

She rubbed the back of her neck, deliberating for a moment. "I guess we can wait for the morning. I don't feel good about it, though." She shouldered the shovel and headed for the door. "Okay, let's get this over with. Christ."

He nodded, heading after her, trying not to get blood all over his clothes. "Look, we'll leave tonight if you want."

She kept back something spiteful about things that she wanted, just glancing over her shoulder at him with a shake of her head as she held the door to the pitch-black outside open for him. "No, I rather you had a night's sleep under your belt before we have to watch our tails."

"Fair enough," he said, without further comment, heading out into the dark and taking a left, towards an area with a few hills that he'd seen a few days ago.

She didn't try to start up conversation again. Not when they reached the place where Moran unceremoniously dropped the body, and not when the shovel broke ground for the first time. Her anger didn't burn away quick.

He shoveled for a while, let her shovel, shoveled some more, and generally was content with her choice to avoid conversation. He understood why she was pissed. He would be pissed about the exact same thing if the situation had been reversed, but it wasn't reversed, and so he had no desire to be sympathetic.

It was only when David Rutherford was in the ground and half buried when she felt she had something to say, and paused shoveling to do it, planting the tool in the ground and leaning on it for a moment. "Fuck O'Hare. He might as well be dead, Moran. He doesn't change anything. You still left him behind, you still became a cold bastard. Mooning over what could have been kills you. I would know, I've got the liver and the scars on my hands to show for it," she said emphatically, then immediately began shoveling again, biting the inside of her cheek. "This is the last thing I'm going to say about it, but you aren't exactly making progress on loosening up, anyway."

He watched the dirt fall into the hole for a bit longer, before he shrugged. "Look, therapy isn't exactly looked on favorably in the business, alright? I'd much rather be a drunk than perceived as weak. _That_ is a death sentence."

She shook her head, sighing, and handed off the shovel to him. "You're missing the point. The drink makes you weak. Look at me; they took me off and I had a goddamn stroke. I'm angry because you're just completely disregarding another type of weakness."

"Yeah, well, it's better than the alternative. I'm trying to find a happy medium, alright? Obviously not the... alcohol poisoning I was heading towards when you found me, but I need something to take the edge off of things." He wasn't sure why he was explaining himself to her, but he did anyway, tossing the dirt almost violently into the hole.

"Ever tried yoga? I hear it's therapeutic," she sighed, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. She felt absolutely coated in dirt, as if it had gotten under her fingernails and clothes and into her hair, and she was desperate for a hot shower. Her fingers were practically numb. "Or working out. I'm surprised you don't use the gym in the office to just punch shit out."

"I do," he said with a sigh, tossing the last few shovelfuls in and starting to tamp the dirt into place. "To work off the drinking. But I don't exactly have a gym here, do I? Just walls to crawl and a useless bed." He snorted a bit, and took a breath. "Look... I'll get past it, alright? No need to be so bloody pissed."

"I can't help it," she retorted irritably, helping kick a few loose rocks over the soil. "I see a bottle and I want it. I want it _so bad._ The lengths I go to to avoid it - I don't go down streets that I know have liquor stores on them, Moran," she huffed, pushing a stone into the dirt with her heel. "And you go and do what you're doing. It feels personal. I know it's not, but it feels that way."

"Why the hell do you think it's all the way out here?" he asked, frustrated, waving to the building. "I shouldn't care. Anyone else, I would've said fuck'em and had as much as I wanted in the room, on me, and if they got shot, their problem. But you... I've kept it a fucking mile and a half away, Harrison," he snarled. "I don't want to make my problems your problems. Went out of my way." He took the shovel and headed for the barn.

She just let out a long breath, the fight draining out of her, and followed him in silence for a few moments, worrying the inside of her cheek. When they reached the dilapidated building, she cleared her throat. "Well... I.. Yeah. You have. I'm... Thanks."

He put the shovel away in the corner. "Just save it," he muttered, shaking his head and taking a breath. "C'mon. You're freezing. Let's go."

She did what he wanted and shut up, falling into step behind him and letting him lead the way back to the B&B in silence. She didn't feel like alienating the closest thing to a friend she actually had.

He took off his shoes before they entered, waiting for Harrison to do the same, carrying them so as not to leave tracks as they headed up towards their room. He entered and shut the door behind them. "Alright... We'll leave tomorrow morning."

"Okay," she replied softly, turning and heading for the bathroom without another word. She'd never fall asleep if she felt so filthy. A minute later, and the sound of the shower running could be heard through the cracked door.

He peeled off his now-ruined clothing, putting them in a trash bag he found in a cabinet and waiting for Harrison to come out so he could clean up.

She reemerged not even five minutes later, keen to get into pajamas and then crawl into bed, and plucked the trash bag from his hand as she passed, immediately dropping in her stained clothes. "The water is still hot."

He nodded, heading for the shower immediately afterwards and stepping in, starting to wash the crimson off his hands and the mud from the rest of him, trying not to think about how furious Harrison had been.

She packed the trash bag away in their suitcase to dispose of in another location, got into her pajamas, and started transferring her clothes from the dresser into their luggage, chucking the clothes she wanted to wear tomorrow onto one of the armchairs. When she was done with that she lifted up the covers on the bed and slipped underneath, curling up in a slightly-frigid ball and shutting her eyes. Better to avoid all chances at conversation.

He walked in a few minutes later, having run the conversation over a few times and having decided that there wasn't a threat to his authority, which had left him in a slightly better mood. He pulled on his pajamas and climbed into bed, sighing at her shivering. "C'mere," he says softly, giving her the option.

She hesitated for a moment, assessing over whether or not she still felt spiteful enough to refuse, then moved over, curling into his warmth and doing her best not to put her cold toes on him. Sometimes he could be a real ass, but she had to admit that he'd been right tonight, and he'd gone out of his way to keep the alcohol away from her. Sometimes she could be a real ass, too.

He wrapped an arm around him, pulling her to his chest and rubbing her back a bit to lend warmth, not speaking further as he closed his eyes and did his best to sleep.

She fell asleep as soon as she got warm, which didn't take very much time at all. And she'd always slept better with another person occupying the bed. Her last vaguely conscious thought was that she hoped they didn't have to bury a body at the next place they stayed.

* * *

He woke fairly early, tired but not completely exhausted, and shook Lorna awake. "Time to go," he said quietly, sitting up.

She made a small noise to indicate she was awake, lying there for another moment before shifting and pushing herself out of bed, shuffling for the clothes she'd thrown onto the chair last night. "Have we got to do 'nything else besides payin' before we go?"

He shook his head a little and started pulling his clothes on. "Nothing. We just need to get up, pay, and get out."

"Good," she mumbled, following suit and then putting her pajamas away. She might have even missed the B&B, if not for the fact that it had been so quiet there. She missed noise. "Any idea where we're off to?"

"A bit," he said, looking over at her. "I think it's time to draw these bastards out. Thoughts?"

She combed a hand through her hair, letting out a huff of a breath. "We could start jumping my old safe houses in London. My brother knows where most of them are. I assume there will be a few people watching each."

He nods in agreement. "Take the few we encounter down, and move on before the next wave hits."

"Exactly. I'm sure I can find us places to sleep in between houses. I've spent a lot of time on the streets," she yawned, putting her hands on her hips and looking around the room. "I think I have everything."

"Good," he said with a nod, picking up a washcloth and starting to wipe down surfaces for prints.

She got her shoes on and then zipped up their suitcase and got his backpack from the coffee table, setting everything by the door. It would be strange, taking him to all her old haunts.

He finished up a few minutes later, walking over to pick up the pack and opening the door with the cloth. "Let's go."

She nodded, slipping out in front of him with the suitcase and beginning the trek down to the ground floor, trying not to leave any marks behind with her shoes.

He'd called a cab as soon as they'd gotten up. Their elderly proprietor was banging around in the kitchen, so he walked over to knock on the door gently. "Sorry to bother you, but we've had a bit of a family emergency and we're going to have to leave early..."

"Oh, you poor dears!" Mrs. Hull said tenderly, a hand going up to clasp at her pearls. From behind Sebastian, Lorna fought down a smirk and turned her attention to the throwaway phone she'd gotten, reserving them train tickets. "Well, let's just settle the bill and bustle you out of here, then."

He nods in agreement. "Add in any inconvenience caused by our leaving, as well. I know we told you we'd be here longer." Never leave someone disgruntled behind you. That was the worst possible scenario in a situation like this.

She waved them off, shaking her head as she pulled down a hefty notebook from one of her shelves. "Shush, shush, I wouldn't hear of it! Family is more important than anything else, and in the off-season, too!" she trilled, writing them out their bill with the quick efficiency of a professional who'd never relied on a computer. "There you are, check or cash will do."

He handed her the cash, giving her a tired smile. "It's been a pleasure. I wish we could stay longer."

"You're welcome back anytime, my dear," Mrs. Hull smiled, giving him a motherly pat on the arm and returning to fussing over breakfast. "Have a safe trip home!"

"We will," he agrees, trying not to laugh at the irony as he headed for the door behind Harrison. He took their bag and put it into the boot of the cab. "Where are we going?"

"Back to London," she replied, tucking her phone into her coat pocket and pulling open the cab door. "Don't worry about the abundance of security cameras, I know what I'm doing. We're probably going to have a few uncomfortable nights, though."

He shot her a withering gaze. "Oh. Help. Turn the car around. We're not heading to a five-star hotel?"

She gave him an incredibly exasperated look and got into the taxi, seriously considering for a moment telling the cabbie to just drive before she tamped down on her irritation. They were about to go on the offensive against a significantly powerful corporation that was trying to find them first. It wasn't either of their faults that they were stressed. "Let's go, huh?"

He nodded, climbing in behind her and letting her direct as she would, leaning back and closing his eyes, listening to the road as the taxi started moving.

After she'd given their driver their destination, she sat back and tried to relax, letting her mind wander to her plan as soon as they reached London. At one point in time, it had been second nature for her to avoid the streets, avoid places where police officers often ate lunch, avoid the corners she knew sported cameras. When she'd carried a backpack full of drugs up from the Thames, that was when she really had learned her way through the back alleys, and that was when she'd accumulated her hidey-holes. "We'll want to be armed before we leave the train station," she murmured, glancing at him from the corner of her eye before falling silent. She could brief him more on the actual train.

He nodded just slightly. "I don't anticipate that being a problem," he says, nodding to the backpack. "What else do I need to know?" He opened his eyes, turning to look out of the window. He'd done this so many times, laying low, poking his head up to goad on whoever was hunting him enough to get their position and kill them. He was in his element. Usually he would be relaxed, rested, sharp. Instead, he felt sick, both mentally and physically, and it was very uncomfortable.

She sighed, but didn't try to convince him to wait until they were on the train. "We're going to be doing a lot of moving through the echelon of crime in the city. I don't know how much of it you've seen; my understanding is that you've always been pretty high up, but I could be wrong," she shrugged. "Either way, there's going to be constant conflict. For various reasons. The only time we'll be even close to safe is when we find some place to settle for the night and we blend in with the rest of the homeless people."

"I've worked in the rough side, Harrison. I have some experience, not as much as you, but I'm not going to be out of my element, alright? You take the lead in there, but don't expect me to be complaining." He reaching up to rub at his eyes.

Six months ago, Lorna would have made a joke about not hearing him say she had more experience. Now, she just nodded and let it drop. It just wasn't fun to needle him anymore. "I might complain a little bit. But it will probably be about how the neighborhood has changed and _back in my day..."_

He smirked just slightly. "Never thought I'd see the day you got old," he ribbed lightly, returning his attention to the window.

"It's really hard to tell, now that I've dyed my hair," she chuckled, then looked over at him. "You should take this time to doze. You still look exhausted. I'll get you up when we reach the station."

Usually he would have argued, but right now wasn't 'usually'. He didn't argue, just shut his eyes and let himself doze off.

* * *

A half hour later, she nudged his shoulder with her elbow, already in the process of leaning to the side so she could get to the money in her pocket. "We're here."

He woke slowly, but nodded, sitting up and stretching slightly, rubbing at his face as the taxi came to a stop. He climbed out, stretching, and waiting for Harrison to pay the cabby as he unloaded their luggage.

She quickly finished up and got out of the car after him, reaching to relieve him of the backpack. He was already tired, she didn't him sore and stiff, too. "Okay, we should be right on time for the train."

"Perfect, lead the way," he said, frowning as she took the pack but not commenting. He disliked that she was babying him, but at the same time he could see the advantage and didn't bother arguing.

She led the way into the train station, applying liberal use of elbows to clear a path in the crowd exiting the station. A few minutes later they were on the train, sitting down and putting the bag in her lap so she could carefully transfer a couple knives onto her person. "I have a feeling this day is going to be really long."

He slipped a hand into the bag as well, pulling out his handgun in its shoulder holster and quickly tucking it under his jacket. "Do we ever have short days?"

She helped aid the transfer by shaking out her jacket, drawing any attention they had away from his hands and to hers instead. "Those few days when we'd just gotten home from the crazy dungeon and we were knocked out, maybe? Do they count if they're not aided by drugs?" she snorted, folding her coat back up and setting it in her lap.

"I don't think so," he said, shifting his jacket a bit as he adjusted the holster beneath it. "But maybe." He pulled out his burner phone, shooting a text to Jim letting him know they were alive.

She made herself comfortable for the train ride with her mp3 player, plugging in one ear and leaving the other clear as a precaution. Dulling her reflexes would do neither of them well.

In London, Jim had spent the time in which his top operatives were out of the office trying to forcefully sew the deteriorating relations between Magnussen and himself back together. He loathed the man, but his resources were valuable, and losing both Moran and Harrison would slow Jim down for a year at the inside. It wasn't worth continuing the spat over. When he got the text from an unfamiliar number, he was slightly relieved. He wouldn't need to start looking for replacements immediately. If they got back to HQ in one piece, then he would feel a little more secure. He sent back a terse reply on the off-chance that it was someone trying to weasel their way into his system, and went back to work.

Moran smirked at the text, then sat back to enjoy the rest of the ride. Jim would get them out of this if necessary. So far things hadn't been too bad.

Lorna fought back the urge to suggest that he try to sleep again. She'd seen the look on his face when she'd simply taken the backpack from him outside. As the train lurched into motion, she just crossed her legs and stretched out as much as she could in the limited space and carefully put a mental lid over any lingering, idiotic protective thoughts. That was shit that was just going to make her angry later.

* * *

The train ride passed quickly, and soon they were re-entering the familiar suburbs approaching London. "What's the plan once we get off?" he asked quietly.

She tugged her earphone out to answer, checking out the window to gauge how far from their station they were. "Get out of the station. They have to have people watching the trains, right? If anyone follows, we lead them somewhere less public and take care of it."

He nodded in agreement. "You get us out, I'll watch for tails." He straightened his jacket again. He was glad that they were going to be moving soon. He was sick of sitting still. He was raring for a little action, body almost vibrating with uncomfortable energy. He was spoiling for a fight, and was almost hoping they were followed.

"Unfortunately for them, I think it's likely you'll spot some," she snorted, shouldering the backpack as the train started slowing. Truth be told, she wouldn't mind if they were followed; torture was messy and complicated, and stabbing someone to death was not. Adrenaline had that effect.

He stood, stretching, and followed Harrison onto the platform, taking the backpack this time. If they needed to run, he didn't want the extra weight slowing her down. "We should have worn the vests," he growled with a sigh. He was half tempted to pull them both into the bathroom and change into them, but they needed to be moving more than they needed to be bulletproof.

She led the way through the crowd, putting on the walk that told people she had a place to be and that she was willing to run them over to get there. "I'm willing to risk that they won't get a chance to have a clean line on us," she returned, glancing over her shoulder at him to make sure he was still relatively close. They joined the sea of people flowing out into the exit tunnels, where she ducked her head again. Unfortunately, they were a little more noticeable than the people surrounding them. Moran's scars hadn't been covered up, and her red hair stood out a little more than she would have liked. "See anyone?"

"Hopefully," he muttered, keeping an eye out for tails and unconsciously monitoring Harrison's direction to make sure that they weren't walking smack into sniper-friendly territory.

"Not really in the range of acceptable answers," she replied, a little absently, shouldering free of a particularly thick bunch of people as they reached the exit and spilled out onto the pavement, where she made a direct beeline for the nearest alley. She'd picked this particular train because she knew where it ended up; she was familiar with the area. It was where she'd grown up, and there were a couple good spots to lead any tails for a quiet murdering. "Should we risk calling a cab, or should we try and get Jim to send us a car?"

He shook his head a bit. "Tail," he said softly, eyes hardening as he glanced over his shoulder at the woman exiting the station and heading quickly after them. "We'll discuss that once they're dealt with."

She nodded, not turning or looking, just leading the way off the street and into the dank alley, slipping her longest knife from out of her jacket pocket and stealthily unfolding it in her hands. Two blocks further this way and they'd reach the perfect junction to deal with their unlucky follower. She just kept moving fast, hoping that they'd reach the small, dark little square between the buildings before their tail made it to the mouth of the alley.

He kept pace with her, slipping his own knife out of his pocket, feeling the weight of the gun against his chest but wanting this to be slow, drawn out, to make whoever this was pay for the shit he'd been dealing with.

When she reached their ambush point she was around the corner as fast as she could make it without slipping on the damp pavement, the back of her neck prickling with the helpless fear of being shot in the back. Then she leaned against the wall, glancing at Sebastian from the corner of her eye as he did the same next to her. She tightened her grip on the handle of the knife, tightening her jaw as she waited for the woman's quick, carefully-placed footsteps to reach them.

He was calm, hands steady, heart rate slow, waiting. Counting the paces, waiting as they crossed over the damp newspapers in the street, the click of heels changing, muffling...

 _Now_.

He didn't think as she came around the corner- _Amature of her, to just bull through_ \- just acted, grabbing the woman by the neck with his arm and pulling her back against his chest in a quick motion, free hand grabbing the hand with the gun and yanking it off to the side firmly.

She kept against the wall and out of the way until he'd subdued her, and then she moved back into the contended space and slipped her blade up under the woman's rib cage, gritting her teeth as she felt the woman's muscles clench and wrench at the knife. As soon as she felt blood seep onto her fingers she gave the knife one last good thrust up and yanked the weapon free. This woman would be long dead by the time her people found her. She didn't give a damn.

The woman was dying quickly, silently. It wasn't the slow, rough death his hands were craving to participate in, but it would do. He satisfied himself by snapping her neck a few moments before she would have lost consciousness anyway. Then he scooped the body into his arms, heading for the dumpster a few feet away, waiting for Harrison to open it.

She was only a step behind him, quickly ducking around him to pop up onto her tiptoes and hold up the lid enough for Moran to dump his burden. As soon as the body thudded down into the empty bin - good, that meant the trash wouldn't be emptied for a few days at least - she dropped it again only long enough to peel off her jacket, wipe off the blood on her hands, and then chucked the bloody clothing in after. "Do we risk calling the Boss?" Harrison asked, turning to look up at the sniper with darkened eyes. "It's your call."

He shook his head immediately as he straightened his own jacket, glancing over it for obvious signs of blood on the dark material. "If Jim decides to help us, he will. We're in London. I guarantee that he is aware of our situation. We keep moving."

Lorna nodded and fell back into silence, turning to continue down the alley, leading Moran back out of the narrow space between the buildings and back out onto the sidewalk. After a brief moment to get her bearings, she took a right, and fell into a pedestrian pace. If she could get them to one of her old hidey-holes by the river, they'd be halfway to HQ, and with plenty of good warehouses to hide in once they'd removed any immediate threats. Another ten minutes of walking, and she glanced over at him again. "Do you want help carrying something? If Jim is aware of our situation, then I have no doubt Holmes does. I don't want you to get, like, tired or something. Not that I'm even sure that's physically possible with you, but... We _could_ jack a car."

"I'm not going to get tired," he said, rolling his eyes. "Trust me. I especially won't get tired faster than you would. Don't insult me. As for jacking a car, we're trying to stay low-profile, remember? A call comes in about a jacked car and that gives Mycroft something to follow on the cameras."

"You're right, you're right," she sighed, shaking her head. Maybe she needed some decent sleep, too. She didn't say anything else until the buildings around them slowly began evolving from run-down little apartments and closed drug stores into block-long warehouses, a good sign that they were nearing the river. Eventually, she started checking the numbers painted in peeling white on the side of the buildings.

"We're close," she stated, beginning to crane her neck to try and see if she could spot their destination. "A few of these are still used by the smugglers I used to work for. They'll help us out, if we pay them. Or if any of them recognize me, they'll help for free and try to call someone I don't want coming down here, but it's a better alternative than sitting around and waiting for Holmes to send a helicopter to find us."

He nods in agreement, shifting the weight of the pack slightly to relieve where it was cutting into his shoulder. "Good. How long do you think we'll be able to lay low here?"

"A few days, maybe, at the most," she replied, peeling off onto one of the small, cluttered paths that ran between the buildings. "They'll get antsy if we try to stay too long. Smugglers like to keep the cargo moving. If things aren't safe enough for us then, they'll probably drop us off somewhere I can work with. Wherever that will be, though, is going to be less safe than here." That was assuming the smugglers didn't recognize her. She tried not to let it worry her too much, and she'd already decided to keep what had happened with this particular group to herself. They weren't dumb enough to turn down good money, so Moran was perfectly safe.

"How familiar are they going to be with you?" he asked as they approached a door. "What should I be expecting here?"

She paused with her hand in the air to knock, muttering a quiet swear under her breath, then dropped her hand back to her side. "I don't know, to be honest," she started, "But it could vary. If it's people I knew personally we'll be fine. If it's people who only know my face and-slash-or have only heard of me... I might be in some hot water. You'll be fine, though, they won't turn down good cash money," Lorna shrugged, trying and succeeding to successfully hide her apprehension.

He sighed, but nodded. "Can't be much worse than Mycroft. Let's go." He looked up and down the street, counting the people passing the entrance of the alley, making sure none reappeared, or glanced their way.

She knocked twice without further delay, biting the inside of her cheek as the metal door reverberated, glancing down the alley where it led to the river. A few moments later, and there were the sounds of several latches being undone before the door was yanked open, and a tall man with short-cropped dark hair and several eyebrow piercings was staring at them. Lorna relaxed somewhat, a small smile appearing on her face. "Hey, Anton, mind if we come in?"

* * *

A/N

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	24. Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene

Twenty-One Pilots - Heathens

* * *

Anton had to take a moment to recognize her, then he blinked, stepping back slightly. "Lorna," he greeted, with a thick Russian accent, "Come on in. You must be in some trouble to have come back here, no? Who's your friend?"

"Moran," he grunted, stepping inside after Lorna. His name was well known in many circles, he was interested to see if this was one of them. He kept a hand close to the knife hidden in his belt.

Anton became perhaps just a little more alert, his watery blue eyes glancing down at Lorna with a cautious curiosity before he shut the door and turned to lead them into the warehouse. It was a dimly lit space, and filled with rows of ceiling-high racks, stuffed with crates. Most of those, Lorna knew, were empty or filled with useless crap, but scattered throughout in a certain numerical pattern were crates packed with bricks of heroin. "Most of the old crew here is dead," Anton said, once they were past the first few rows of shelves. "Julio went back to Colombia. Alexei's in Miami." He glanced back at Moran, then looked down at Harrison again. "You don't have many friends here, you realize this?"

She nodded, taking in a slow breath and idly checking the row numbers they passed in order to keep from looking at either of the men. Fuck. If the others knew of her, shit was going to go down. Anton wouldn't be able to help that. "I do. We've got money, by the way." She left her meaning clear; she wasn't asking for a favor. "If they call _him_ down make sure Moran gets shuffled into another warehouse. We're trying to avoid some people."

Moran glanced at Harrison, glaring when she caught his gaze. She was withholding information, which he didn't appreciate given the circumstances. He watched the stacks warily for an ambush, not trusting their guide. For now, however, he let Lorna take the lead. She would fill him in later, whether she liked it or not.

Lorna could practically feel Moran's hostility boring through the back of her head, but she refused to stiffen up, trying to keep the air between herself and Anton relatively relaxed. She'd known him years ago, when she'd been a mule and been hooked on the stuff, and when she'd escaped - taking out a few aggressive coworkers in the process - he had simply let her go. He had watched her walked out the door, and hadn't spoken a word. That put him in her good books.

They walked down a few more rows and then Anton led them to a right, into a sudden clearing within the shelves, where a few mattresses were shoved up against the sides and a table was sat in the middle, where two men and a woman were playing a game of cards. The woman Lorna had never seen before in her life, but she vaguely recognized the other two. And, by the looks on their faces when they looked up, they recognized her, too. "Hey, what the fuck are you doing back here? You stupid or something?" The nearest one heckled, dropping his cards on the table.

Anton stepped forward. "They have money, Hiram. Relax."

Hiram stood, and Moran took a slow breath, ready for anything.

"I don't care if they have money. I don't want her fucking money. Not after what that bitch did. I wouldn't touch it." He spat. "I don't need no money. Could do with a bit of fucking her up, though. Fair's only fair, innit?"

She didn't take a step back, but she did tense up, grinding her teeth until it hurt to keep herself steady. "If you'd all let me out when I wanted out, shit wouldn't have gone down that way," Harrison said slowly, her eyes fixed on Hiram but monitoring any movement from the other two. Would Anton back her up if it came to blows? Moran probably would, out of principle, but she wasn't sure that was enough. Then she gave it just a bit more thought and realized that was a stupid thing to think. "I only did what he did to me. What you _let_ him do. _Fair's only fair,_ right?"

Hiram looked disgruntled at her reversal of his logic, but didn't back down. "You clean? You look clean. Always a shame to see a wild mule. I bet all it'd take is a hit to have you begging again." He smirked proudly, stepping forward, slipping on a set of brass knuckles from his pocket. "I'll even let you suck my cock again."

"Fuck off," she hissed, absolute disgust becoming clear on her face. If she was being completely rational, it might have been a better idea to play the docile and harmless card, even if she had nearly come close to overdosing them. They didn't know about the murder skills she'd picked up since. Then again... "You fucking think I'm unarmed? Take a step closer, I dare you," Lorna snarled, this time nearly completely bluffing. She'd tossed the knife she'd used in the alley. Moran was the one who was armed. "I'll put a bullet through your idiot brain. Maybe someone else here will be a little more _reasonable."_

"That's enough, from both of you," Anton said, voice quiet but firm. "Harrison, you're a guest here. Act like it. Hiram, if you don't want to take pay, that's fine. But you know what happens to employees who botch a job."

Hiram growled, teeth bared, but glanced at Anton and didn't advance any further, waiting on Lorna.

She bit the inside of her cheek and broke eye contact, stifling the urge to swear. There were a few people in this world that she didn't cross if she was in a right state of mind, and two of them were occupying the room now. She cleared her throat, looking up at Anton and giving a curt nod. "Apologies."

The woman at the table tossed the cards in her hands down with a sigh, heaving herself up from her chair. "Sit down, Hiram. If you're gonna be a bitch about it I'll fuckin' do it. What you guys need, then?"

"Somewhere to lay low for a while," Moran said, meeting the woman's gaze steadily. "And food that doesn't involve us going street-side."

Hiram sat, grumbling, and reached across to get a look at the woman's cards while her back was turned.

The woman kicked out the leg of Hiram's chair without looking, bearing the air of someone who had been dealing with such cheaters since the day she'd first picked up a deck. "We can do that," she nodded curtly, glancing over at Anton, who nodded too.

"You two can stay here tonight. We don't have any shipments coming in, so the place should be locked down. Hiram - no, Jacob, go get the usual foodstuffs, alright?" he raised his eyebrows, and the other man at the table, who'd remained silent so far - now that Lorna thought about it she thought she remembered something about him being mute - gave Anton a thumbs up and got up from the table, gathered up his coat, and disappeared into the racks. The Russian turned his attention back to Lorna. "You're in luck, you know. He's not supposed to be back until tomorrow or the next day. You can sleep easy tonight. Come, I'll get you settled," he beckoned with a wave of his hand and then led them in the opposite direction of the door, towards the backroom/converted den. Lorna felt the back of her neck prickling with apprehension. The instant she was alone with Moran she was going to have to spill a lot of beans.

Moran nodded and followed the man down a hallway and into another storage room. A few boxes moved revealed a trap door, and he let their guide drop through first before following, hackles raised until he made sure the room- a sparsely furnished bunker with two doors, one open to reveal a bathroom, the other steel and barred shut from the inside- was clear.

"Thanks, Anton," Lorna said quietly, taking in the state of the place. It hadn't changed much since she'd last been in here. Maybe it was even a little cleaner. Now she remembered why she'd been certain this was a good idea.

"Don't worry about it, Harrison. We'll save the money talk for when you leave, yes?" he raised an eyebrow, and she realized that meant he trusted her enough to not have been lying about the money. She appreciated that.

"Yeah, okay," she agreed, letting out a long breath and watching as he gave her a curt nod and then pulled himself back up out of the room and shut the trapdoor above them. She took a deep breath. Better that she did before Moran had a hand around her neck.

"You have one minute to give a very good explanation for the shit we just walked into," Sebastian growled as soon as the door shut. "Because if anyone else had pulled a stunt like that, I'd've shot them before Hiram up there was finished reminiscing about skin whistle. Still wondering why the fuck I didn't." His body was relaxed, but he stood tall and his eyes were dark with anger.

She rubbed the back of her neck, taking a second to try and figure out how to begin, then glanced back up at him, looking pained. "When I asked what dirt you had on me you hit on this. Ryan DeWitt. Before I met him I was just a drug mule, like everyone out there, and after him I was doing this. The reason I've been as terrified of the Boss from day one as I am is because of _him,"_ she breathed, raking her hand through her hair. "He played the same kind of games, but he made them personal. When I tried to leave the first time he got me hooked on fucking heroin. So the next time, I did the same to him. And anyone else who'd gotten in my way the last time." She was starting to desperately wish she had a pack of cigarettes on her, because her hands were starting to shake. "But this was the only option. This is the safest place. You'll be fine, they've heard of you, you saw Anton's face. I didn't.. I didn't put you at risk, okay?"

"Is this still Dewitt's crew?" he asked, tone revealing nothing, eyes closing off as he waited for her response, fingers still curling to brush the knife in his sleeve.

"Yes," she replied, curling and uncurling her fists to try and relieve some of the tension building in her shoulders, her eyes somewhere between their feet. "...Technically. This is more.. his division. One of the crews. He runs the European operation." Her eyes flicked over to the door. "If he's not back tomorrow, I was planning on leaving before he had a chance to come back. That leads to the river. It's a good bolthole."

He nods curtly. "So not only did you walk into a blind gamble that endangered both of us without letting me in on it, but we're still gambling, is that about right?" he asks, nostrils flared. "Did it occur to you that we don't need any more enemies at the moment? Even if you leave, his crew is still going to tell him you were here, and now we've got two crews looking for us, one above ground, one below. We'll become fucking pariahs except with Jim's crew, which is exactly where Holmes will be looking for us. You fucking idiot."

She was cringing before he'd even gotten to the end of his spiel, her face paling slightly. "You're right, I fucked this up," she managed, her stomach turning over unhappily as she considered the fix. "So.. so you'll leave, then. I'll stay. They won't give a shit about finding you, and if I get killed then they've done your job for you, right?"

He nodded. "You're right. That is _exactly_ how we should handle this situation," he agreed, holding her gaze as he tried to convince himself to do just that. But he wouldn't, and he knew it, so he quickly added sarcasm to cover the lapse. "I'm sure Jim will be fucking _thrilled_ to hear that some pint-sized drug shuffler bounced one of his uppers. That won't spot our reputation at _all_." Good. That was a believable excuse.

She managed to look at him for more than a few seconds, unable to hide her disbelief. Quickly she realized that he was keeping her out a situation that she'd kill to stay out of, so she wiped the disbelief from her face and managed an expression that didn't say 'who are you and what have you done with Moran' quite as loudly. "I.. Okay. Are you... sure? I really didn't expect an argument, to be completely honest."

"Yes, well, as we've already seen today, your ability to judge the consequences of your actions is evidently fucking impaired, so why don't you stop arguing and let me do the thinking?" He wouldn't leave another person to die slowly. Anyone else, he wouldn't give a shit, but this was Harrison. And his mind wasn't in a strong enough place to do it.

She immediately took his advice and shut up, turning sharply and heading for the beaten-up old desk in the corner - the only furniture in the room besides a few mattresses on the floor and a single stool under the trap door - where she began going through all the drawers. After a minute of feverish searching she found what she was looking for and sat down on the desk, already tapping a cigarette out of the box and trying to get the lighter to work with a shaking hand. "Shit. I really fucked up," she whispered, finally managing to get the thing lit and taking a harsh drag. "Fuck, though, you should have seen the _other_ place..."

"We could have gone somewhere no one knew us, Harrison," he snarled, half tempted to walk over and put out the cigarette on her arm, but deciding that he'd rather deal with the smoke than with her jumping and shivering like a spooked rabbit. "That's what fucking _money_ is for!"

She didn't bother trying to argue that finding a guaranteed place to stay without having connections there to begin with was a little much to ask, deciding that he'd probably had enough of her for a while and just concentrated on getting the fag down to the filter as quickly as she could. When he wanted something from her he'd say something. Until then, she took stock of the place, noting any changes that could potentially impact a fight. Not something she normally occupied herself with, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

He walked over to sit on one of the mattresses, pulling out his knife in the blink of an eye and skewering a rat that scuttled out before it could go more than a foot, watching it twitch around the blade, before he lifted it on the knife and flicked it off. It landed with a thud in the far corner, spattering a bit of blood and still convulsing slightly.

She couldn't help herself. "We have to sleep in here, you know. Possibly for more than one day. I'd make a quip about you losing your sense of smell but I _really_ don't want to piss you off more than I already have," she muttered, stubbing out her cigarette on the ash tray sitting on the desk and sighing wearily. She lifted a hand to rub at her eyes. "How do I make this better, Moran?"

"You can stop complaining. I'd rather smell it rotting than smell its shit and let it bite me while I sleep," he growled, shutting his eyes and leaning back against the wall.

She knew he was right and decided that the best way to calm him was to just shut up again, sliding off the desk to begin going through the drawers again, this time with a little less desperation and a little more curiosity. Ten minutes later she'd taken the inventory - nothing exciting, although there was quite a few needles if she needed a weapon in a bind - and flinched slightly as the trapdoor opened above them, Jacob leaning in on his stomach to precariously drop a paper bag onto the stool below. Then he gave a wave and disappeared again, the room returning to its dimmer state. The smell of fish and chips wafted over to her.

He stood and walked over to pick up one of the takeout boxes and a bottle of water, leaving the others in the box on the floor and returning to his spot on the mattress, ignoring Lorna for the time being as he dug into his food.

She waited for him to sit before she got up to get her own, moving to sit on the floor with her back against the dish as she flicked open the little styrofoam box and immediately wolfing it down. She was pretty sure that it came from the same place Moran had taken her to on Jim's checking account a few months ago. Which meant it was the same place where she'd met Ryan. She paused eating and took a drink, trying to fight down sudden nausea. She had to remind herself it could have been worse. "You're a light sleeper, right?"

He nodded shortly. "By necessity. Yes." He started mopping up the grease from his fish with the chips.

Her eyes flicked up to the ceiling. "You think if you hear that tonight you'll wake up?"

He nodded again, without hesitation. "Absolutely." He didn't like the idea of sleeping in here anyway. It was too enclosed.

"Good," she muttered, returning to eating again. She had a strong suspicion that good old Hiram upstairs would have a lapse of self-control during the night, and she didn't want to find out what he was capable of. After a moment she set down her half-eaten food and stood, heading for the bathroom. "I'm going to shower. You can have the rest of my food, I don't want it."

He didn't respond, just continued to clear up his own box, though once she closed the door he stood and retrieved the food. He tossed both back in the bag they'd come in, along with the rat, and tied it shut tightly.

Lorna returned ten minutes later looking the same except for her wet hair, which had managed to alarm her once again as it bled dye, and sat back down in her corner, her back hitting the desk with a thump. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the room. She'd been in here many times. Half the time she'd been high, half the time she'd been desperately trying to get a hit off of someone else. Hell, if she hadn't been hooked on the stuff, she didn't know if she'd ever have become a grifter. This place had been good practice, even if it had been miserable. She sighed. "By the way, there's a shitload of needles in the desk," she said quietly. "In a pinch they could be useful. If I try to take one when we're not in a pinch break my wrist."

He smirked just slightly at that. "Gladly. Are they loaded or empty?" He wanted to know what he was dealing with. He'd had enough problems with being in the dark today.

"Empty. Keeping heroin in a syringe is just asking for a bunch of bacteria to be shot into your bloodstream," she shrugged. "Anyway, I think they're just for customers. Easier to get someone hooked if you have all the necessary things to help them along," She snorted, smirking. "I didn't cook up a fresh batch for anybody when I left, though. I wonder how many of them got sick."

He sighed, shaking his head a bit. "You know, for a junky you had a sick sense of humor." He glanced over at the drawer, before walking over and pulling it open, glancing over the needles and nodding. "Just making sure. No offense."

"I'd been through some pretty sick shit," she snorted, glancing up at him with mild amusement as he got up. "None taken. I did give you express permission to break my wrist if I got any ideas in my head. I don't need to go down that road again. I didn't even want to the first time."

He nodded slightly. "Don't need you having one more mark against you. You're already toying with life if Jim finds out about this." He returned to his mattress, lying down.

"Yeah, you're right," she sighed, combing through her wet hair with her fingers before getting up and walking over to the bag that had been acting as their suitcase, unzipping it and rifling through to pull out a few warmer clothes. "I suggest you put on another layer before you try to sleep. It gets cold down here, especially now that it's winter."

He nodded. "If you can sleep with one of the vests on, do," he said quietly, nodding. "Just in case."

"I can sleep in anything. Good idea," she replied, tugging out one as soon as she had a coat tucked under her arm. It wasn't even that late, but there wasn't anything to do here, and the more sleep she had, the better off she'd be.

"Toss that this way when you're done," he grunted. "I'll do the same."

She did as asked, tossing it to the foot of his mattress and then slipping the vest on (more like buckling it on, it was _huge_ on her) and the coat on over top. The mattresses didn't look exactly clean, either, but it had never bothered her before. Now she was spoiled, all used to clean sheets and a distinct lack of the scent of stale piss. "I guess I'll try to sleep now. If some shit happens later I don't want to be half dead," she muttered, flopping down onto her mattress and staring up at the ceiling for a moment before sighing and shutting her eyes. As much as she wanted to stay awake, it wasn't a good plan.

He waited until she was asleep, and as soon as she was, he slumped forward into a heap of exhaustion. He dragged himself through the motions of pulling on the vest and a jacket, then slumped sideways on the mattress, not even bothering to pull his feet onto it before he was asleep.

* * *

When she woke again, in the dark, she wasn't sure for a moment why she had. That moment was quickly shattered as she realized that the pitch black in front of her was man-shaped, and she'd just sucked in a breath of air to shout when his hand clamped over her mouth, another grabbing her by the arm and dragging her half off the mattress. There were a few seconds where he struggled to keep her still and she got in a good jab with her elbow, and then she was kicking out at Moran's mattress, finally remembering to try and shout again, despite how muffled it was. As soon Hiram realized her goal, he released her arm and suddenly there was a sharp pain in her side.

His mattress jostled, and there was scuffling.

It was instinct that propelled him out of the bed, identified the smaller of the struggling parties as Harrison, and drove the knife into the other figure without question. Instinct that shoved the howling body down and muffled it, instinct that pulled the knife free and buried it once more beneath the rib cage, up, hard.

He woke over a twitching, bleeding body, and twisted the knife. The twitching stopped.

Lorna lay on the floor for a moment, just getting her breath back, and then she sat up with a grunt and yanked off the coat and the vest and tentatively touched her side, hissing. "He got me," she grumbled, sparing an irritated glance behind her at the corpse and then returning her attention to her side, pressing her hand over the shallow wound. "Not bad. Don't need stitches, the vest stopped most of it. Christ. Thanks."

"No problem," he grunted, wiping his blade off on Hiram's body before standing to turn on the light and walking over to take a look at the wound. "Let me see," he said gruffly.

She peeled her shirt up enough to show him the bleeding mark just about her hip, making a face down at it. It would probably heal in a few days, if given proper rest, but knowing the situation they were in, it would probably take a week and a half, during which she'd be in just enough pain during a fight to be good motivation. "What the fuck was he going to do, dragging me out of bed like that? If he'd just slit my throat while I was asleep that would have been that. Sick bastard," she spat."

"My guess would be he wanted to get a little revenge and one of your famous blowjobs before he killed you," he spat, prodding the wound with professional but not gentle fingers.

She flinched slightly as he gave a particularly uncomfortable jab, and made herself feel better by spitting on her attacker's corpse. "I figured, I'm just trying to make sense of how _stupid_ he was," she growled, only now starting to feel the adrenaline that had been flushed into her system. "Men _always_ forget about the teeth."

He sat back, wiping the blood off his hands on Hiram's trousers. "You'll live. I'll climb up and ask for a first aid kit while you figure out how to explain dead Hiram here."

"What is there to explain, really?" she sighed, moving over to awkwardly pull off the jacket Hiram was wearing to wad into a ball and hold against her wound. At least with Hiram dead there was no one left in the warehouse who actively _loathed_ her. She watched him lift himself out of the room and then sat heavily on her mattress, leaning her head against the wall and shutting her eyes. What a shitty day.

Moran dropped down a few minutes later. "No one's up there but I found a kit... But there's some commotion in the next room. I think we need to get moving."

She immediately got up, looking nervous. "What kind of commotion? The kind of commotion that will wait for me to stick a band-aid on this or the kind of commotion where we take the kit with us?"

"I don't know. I didn't loo-"

The trap door opened, and a smooth, snide voice called down. "Harrison... I wouldn't bolt if I were you, I've got men on the tunnel exit. Big men, bigger guns. It's so nice that you're here, wouldn't want you leaving too early..."

All the blood drained out of her face, her eyes flicking to Moran on instinct, like somehow this was in his power to stop. Dewitt's voice was still the same, still raised the hair on the back of her neck, still made her feel like a young girl out of her depth again. _He wasn't supposed to be back this early._ She cleared her throat, trying to get a hold of herself. If she'd survived Jim, she could survive Ryan. "Back so early? I hope your trip went well," she replied, her voice admirably steady.

Moran stiffened, immediately identifying the voice by the way Lorna's face drained. His nostrils flared, and he bent to pick up the knife.

"You've got a visitor, by the way. I know you didn't want to be found, but I always make exceptions for relatives."

She muttered a swear under her breath, something involved 'Eric' and 'bloody' and 'bastard'. "I don't suppose it's too late to send him away?" she asked, pressing hard onto her stab wound, hoping that she could at least get it to clot up a bit before she was required to punch somebody in the throat.

"No, I'm thinking not, Lorna," came a different voice.

Moran glanced at Harrison, eyes flashing, and he hissed " _What the hell, Harrison?_ "

She didn't answer him, already turning for the bag and quietly rummaging through it, speaking loudly over her shoulder to make sure that there was no difference in the sound. "Eric. Don't do this. You think there won't be retaliation from my network?" she challenged, finally grabbing a handgun and keeping it by her side. She couldn't cock it yet, not when they could hear.

Moran reached into his jacket and pulled his own gun out of its shoulder holster.

"Of course there will be," the voice returned. "But this is retaliation in and of itself. You didn't think I'd find out it was your organization that put that hit out?"

"Ooo... Lorna, sounds like you've been naughty."

"Of course I've been _naughty_ , Ryan, I sleep with people for information," she snapped, hand tightening slightly on her sidearm. "I would have thought you would guess that, considering you _got me into it._ And for _fuck's_ sake, Eric, you're smarter than this. You don't do this stuff for a living. This is an odd job. You're white collar crime, little brother, and the people I work with kill people like you on a day-to-day basis," she snarled, hoping that anger alone would keep either of them from trying to enter the room. It wasn't very defensible except for the fact that the steel door leading to the river was bolted on the inside and the only entrance was the trap door. Overhead, she heard Anton say something that got lost before it clearly reached her ears, and she shifted uncomfortably.

"Don't make this any more difficult on either of us, Lorna," Eric said tersely, and a foot appeared in the hole before he dropped down completely, gun already raised. He seemed surprised to see two guns pointing back at him, and Moran had to resist rolling his eyes. _Amateur._

He didn't falter, though, keeping his gun trained on Lorna. "Put your gun down. Your friend too."

She didn't move, cussing herself out in her head as she realized she'd taken off the vest to attend to her cut. Eric, however, didn't know Moran was protected. Glancing at the sniper, she slowly started to crouch, making as if to set her gun on the ground. If he made a move, she could get a shot in. It was asking a lot from him, though.

Moran didn't need much more than the glance, he'd been thinking much the same, and took a quick step forward, startling the other man, who swung his gun around. "Don't get cocky," he warned, but Moran kept moving, finger on the trigger.

 _Come on, Harrison, take the-_

The gun went off and he felt the bullet slam into his chest.

* * *

Playlist: Hozier - Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene


	25. That Boy Is A Monster

_Come on, Harrison, take the-_

The gun went off and he felt the bullet slam into his chest, the vest taking most of the force, but not all, and he stumbled back, clutching his torso and trying to regain his breath.

She'd cocked the gun as soon as he'd started forward, another shot ringing out a split second after the first. Eric collapsed to the floor like a puppet with cut strings, a bullet hole in his forehead, and she only spared one glance towards him before she was flicking the safety on her gun and shoving it into the back of her trousers, hurrying to Moran's side. "Fuck, I wasn't fast enough, shit, are you okay?" she rambled, hands hovering over his chest, her eyes wide.

He gave her a distracted thumbs up, still working on catching his breath, as Dewitt called down with evident delight. "Are they both dead? Or just your brother?"

"Just my brother," she called back distractedly, beginning on unstrapping the vest from him - the dent in it would only be a hindrance. "He should have shot me instead. Mistake on his part."

"Shame. Oh well, just makes my life more entertaining," the voice sneered. Moran finally got a full breath as the vest was pulled away, taking another moment before standing slowly and giving Harrison a nod.

She dropped the vest and let out a sigh of relief, grateful that he was alright. If he'd gotten hurt because of her, there'd have been hell to pay. From Jim, and from her own conscience. "Ryan," she shook her head, looking back up at the ceiling. "Just stop playing. I'm done with games. Remember the last time you tried to play a game with me? How long did it take you to get off the drugs again?"

"About four hours. I don't get addicted easily," DeWitt crooned. It had taken much longer, really. He'd been a mess for months. But it was so much more entertaining to crush her dreams. "Now, if I were you, I'd move away from the door. Just a suggestion."

She moved instantly, a hand going around Moran's wrist and yanking him after her to the other side of the room. She'd just reached the doorway over the bathroom when there was an earsplitting bang and the steel door came flying in a few feet and crashed onto the ground, leaving the two of them coughing out the dust trying to get into their lungs. She didn't know why she was just as surprised to see big men who looked like security pouring through the doorway and surrounding them. They must have all been Moran's size.

"Now..." came Ryan's voice, "This will be much easier for your friend if you don't _struggle."_

He really should have been furious, but his concentration was elsewhere. Sizing up his opponents, noting scars and muscles that indicated fighting styles and weaknesses. They were vastly outnumbered, but it might be possible to break free... he stood tensed and ready to fight.

"Anything I can do to ease this situation a little, DeWitt?" he called up.

"Let me think about that for a moment..." he chuckled, not even bothering to sound half-serious. "No. Really, it was unfortunate you had to be here, Mr. Moran, I have no quarrel with you or your employer. But my lost little bird here..." he trailed off, and Lorna was pretty sure he was smirking. This was why she hated nicknames. DeWitt had a habit of making them. "You ought to come _home,_ birdie. And you will. If you don't, I'll have them kill Mr. Moran, and I _really_ don't want to do that."

"You do realize that if you kill either of us, you'll be making an enemy of Moriarty, yes?" Moran pointed out coolly. "Think about that for a moment. Is that something you want to do? Think about the enemies of Moriarty and how they fare for just a moment."

"Magnussen seems to be doing quite well for himself," DeWitt laughed, then sighed. "I'm disappointed in your silence, Lorna. Take them to the riverbank. If she remains silent, shoot him and then toss him in the river."

Lorna swore as the men surrounding them moved forward, one of them twisting her wrist until she was forced to let go of the gun in her hand, and then she was being forced out the door, too many hands on her for her to be able to struggle away from any of them. _Fuck fuck fuck._ She had to agree, or Sebastian was going to get killed. _FUCK._

For Harrison's sake he held his punches, waiting as the walked along for a mistake to be made, for their moment to come. Let their captors feel secure... then strike.

She was still lost in thought as she was forced through the tunnel, though some part of her brain registered that there was a thump behind her of feet hitting the floor. So DeWitt was going to follow? Willing to expose himself on the beach, just for this? He must have been angrier than he was letting on. A few more feet and then she was being forced to her knees on the rocky sand, hissing slightly as they jostled her cut. As Moran was similarly forced downward next to her, she looked over her shoulder, tracking DeWitt as he came out of the tunnel. He still looked, for the most part, the same. Same sallow skin, same green eyes, same carefully-styled blond hair. He smiled at her as he reached the beach, and she dropped her eyes, shoving down a swell of nausea.

"You going to make this easy for yourself, little birdie? Easier for _all_ of us."

Moran took in their surroundings carefully, cataloging advantages and weapons. They were in a fairly deserted area, but a few blocks down the pier was a restaurant strip that had a good night life. If they could make it there they'd be able to blend into the crowd. But it was a matter of getting there. And the gun nudging the back of his skull was certainly an obstacle.

She stopped being able to look over her shoulder back at Ryan when the goon behind her nudged her head with a gun, and she took a hint, staring straight in front of her at the edge of the water. " _Here's_ how this is going to work," he started, his voice unbearably smug. "You're going to come back and work for me. And _this time,_ you'll do _whatever I say."_ His voice became a little darker, maybe a little more bitter. "You'll do this or my friend will shoot yours in the head. You have until the count of three. One... Two..."

 _Fwit. Fwit fwit fwit fwit._

Lorna flinched at the telltale sound of a silenced gun (guns?), grunting as the man behind her clipped her shoulder on his way to the sand. What the _fuck_ had just happened?

Sebastian reacted immediately to the sound of the guns, dropping at the same time the man behind him did and pressing himself to the slimy pier. When it stopped he didn't move, taking in the situation slowly, hoping the dark would lend him cover.

"Mr. DeWitt, I presume." The voice made Moran's blood run cold. _Fuck. Not now..._ He remained slumped to the pier.

"Who the hell-"

"I'm Mycroft Holmes, as I'm sure you're well aware. Now, the gentleman with the gun to your head is going to escort you to a vehicle. I would ask that you go quietly. I really don't need you enough to permit any trouble. Ms. Harrison, I'll be with you and Mr. Moran directly, I really wouldn't attempt that bolt you're considering. I have excellent snipers."

She settled from the tense crouch she'd shifted into - unlike Moran, she'd been trained to run from situations, not to hit the floor - and took a deep breath, trying to calm her suddenly racing heart. This would not end well for them. It would end _worse_ for her, after the knife she'd put through Holmes' hand, but it wouldn't end well for Moran. She heard two steps of footsteps moving away, and was comforted by the fact that at least she was free of DeWitt. It wasn't a huge comfort, but it helped. Another goon who looked just like the one that had been shot behind her in the dark walked up to her and roughly yanked her hands behind her back to put her in cuffs, then hauled her up using only her arms. "You've got excellent timing, Holmes, I'll give you that," Lorna said dryly, determined not to let him know that she was scared beyond reasoning.

"I'm glad you can appreciate it," he returned with equal dryness. "You can get up out of the muck, Mr. Moran, we're aware you aren't dead."

Moran shrugged and pushed himself to his feet. "It was worth a shot," he chuckled, though he was still tense, eyes watching the two men approaching him. He was just about to strike-

"I hope I need not remind you of the snipers," Mycroft said, and a bullet hit the pavement an inch from his right foot. He relaxed slowly, relenting to the message. They needed him alive, not walking. "No, no, I think that's clear."

Lorna hissed as the thug in charge of holding her gave her a bit of a sharp push towards the street, jolting the wound Hiram had given her. That was going to be used against her too, she was sure of it. Fuck, this was bad. No way it would be as easy to escape as it had been last time, either. Not that they would even go to the same place. "Put them in the car. You know the drill. I'll see you in a few hours, my criminal friends," Mycroft said sardonically, tilting his umbrella to examine the sand that had collected at the tip. Then she was practically carried up the bank to the street and unceremoniously pinned against the side of a nondescript black car and blindfolded, and finally, was shoved into the back seat.

Moran was shoved in immediately behind her, also blind, but he could feel her familiar form shoved against his side. "How's your side doing?" he asked under his breath as the car started up and they took off for who-knew-where.

"Not great," she murmured, forcing herself to sit up a little straighter despite the fact that she had no idea how low the ceiling of the car was. "And I suspect once they find out about it it's not going to get any better. At least you weren't tranq'ed this time."

"Yeah, that's a bonus," he agreed, and sighed. "Can you tell if it's still bleeding? I don't need you bleeding out on me, we're in enough of a mess as it is."

She shifted around a little, trying to gauge any new dampness on her shirt without the aid of her hands. "I don't think so, but I'll let you know if I start feeling dizzy." She gave up the strong and tall pretense and slumped back into the seat, a little glad that she could feel Moran right beside her. "I don't know what I can give them this time. I don't think this will go well for me."

"It isn't going to go well for either of us, but you're right, he's pissed at you in particular. I'll try to shift some of the focus my way, just shut up for once, okay?" he muttered gruffly, letting out a grunt as the car went around a tight corner.

She sighed, bracing her foot against the seat in front of her to keep herself from moving any more. "This is my fault, Sebastian. I'll take what comes to me. Don't make it worse for yourself if you don't have to, please," she said quietly, trying to keep her tone non-confrontational. She felt guilty enough about this without him trying to take some of the heat. He didn't need to know this, but she would have said yes to DeWitt rather than see him shot and thrown in the Thames.

"Don't be a fucking twat," he muttered. "You think I'd be taking any blows for you? Fuck no. But if I can keep him occupied and annoyed with a bit of chatter, I will." He focused on her next to him, on the smell of freshly-detailed car, so different- _different_ \- than the humid reek of the backseat of an offroader stuffed with him and five others, sackcloth scratching his face and neck as they jostled along a jungle road. He was in London, and he was heading for a place he could escape from, easily, with Harrison in tow. No one left behind.

She couldn't help but laugh quietly. "Okay, I can't argue with that. Chatter all you want," she smirked, then sighed, closing her eyes beneath the blindfold. "I'm going to try and get some rest. I don't know what they'll have in store for us this time. Here's hoping it's nothing to do with bugs."

He chuckled, but didn't comment in case someone was listening and decided reruns would be entertaining. "Just shut up and sleep if you're going to, Harrison. And don't die. Or I'll be pissed off."

"I'll do my best, sir," she snorted, adjusting a little so that when she fell asleep she wouldn't just melt all over Moran. With one more passing thought about how lucky she was that she could sleep anywhere, she drifted off.

* * *

When she woke up again, someone was already dragging her out of the car.

"Oi, fuck off mate. I know I'm pretty, but keep your hands to yourself, how 'bout you?" Moran spat at one of the guards as they hauled him out. No one had touched him, but there were few better ways to attract attention. "How about you fondle your buddy there, and leave me out of it?"

"Shut up and walk," the larger of the two grunted, shoving him forward.

"Easy, sunshine, just making conversation."

Lorna remained silent and docile, unwilling to pass up this chance more than once. Either way, she'd had enough _attention_ from armed, crude men today. Whoever was directing her was quiet about it, using only nudges to indicate turns as they entered some building. She lost track of turns almost immediately, but she did notice that the floors squeaked under her shoes, and she could see light through her blindfold. Somewhere just as clean and official as the first time, then. It would be a mistake to throw them into a room without a concrete lock, though, so where were they planning on placing them? The thought was jarred out of her as whoever had a grip on her upper arm jerked her to a halt, turning her towards them slightly. "This one's already hurt. Fresh blood. Did the retrieval team get sloppy?"

"No, she came in like that. Was already in a tight spot, must have happened then."

"Rough day for you, huh, ginger?"

Moran rolled his eyes beneath the blindfold. "Not that this isn't entertaining and all, but can you lot just piss off? Either put us where you're keeping us or let us go, because unless anyone's bending over any time soon, you're boring as fuck and I'm tired."

"This is why I didn't want to dye my hair," she muttered as the guy holding her made an irritated noise and got her moving again. This time it wasn't far at all. She heard a door opening, could briefly see a bit of wall as her blindfold was whipped off, and then she was shoved into the room hard enough that she fell, taking the force of it on her shoulder with a yelp. A moment later and Moran was booted in behind her sans-blindfold, and then the door was shut and she couldn't see a thing. They were going to be stuck in darkness this whole time? There must have been lights in the room, of course, it was too much of a security hazard not to have them on whenever someone had to come get them, but... Christ. She pushed herself up into sitting position and scooted towards where she thought the wall was, only ending up against something that stuck out of it at her shoulder level. She got up with a hiss to bump it with her knee and try to figure out what it was. "Damn," she snorted, "They must be planning a prolonged stay. I found a _cot."_

He sighed, pushing himself off the ground and starting to feel around. "There's another one over here. Ah, and they've been kind enough to provide us with a toilet. Charming." He sat on the cot, feeling around it for anything useful.

She sat down on hers, too, and leaned against the wall a bit uncomfortably. She would feel better if she wasn't handcuffed and she could check her cut, but she would have to do without. The only question left of any real importance was how long they would be in here before someone came for them. In the jailbreaking sense, and in the torturing sense. "I kinda miss the other room, to be honest."

"No thank you," Moran snorted, assuming a similar position on the other cot, though he didn't know it. "No thank you. I'll take pitch black to fucking overstimulating white any day."

"I have a suspicion we'll be getting that blinding white every time they open the door anyway," she sighed, staring up into the blackness with a growing hatred for the itch on her nose. "I hope they locked up Dewitt, at the very least. He deserves it."

"Interesting that Holmes took him... I would have expected him to put Dewitt down with the rest of them," he muttered. "Wonder what use he serves?"

"I don't want to think about it too hard," she murmured, making a face that she knew he couldn't see anyway. "All I know is- _fuck!"_ Whatever she knew was cut off as the room lit up and it suddenly felt like her retinas were being fucking stabbed.

"Come along, little birdie," came DeWitt's voice, disgustingly cheerfully, and someone who felt much stronger than the kingpin dragged her off the cot and half-carried her to the door.

Moran swore as the light came on, but leaped to his feet as soon as he heard the voice. "Hey, leave her alone!" he ordered, trying desperately to get his eyes to work but already heading in the direction of the voice. As soon as he could see shapes he was lashing out with his feet, but his depth perception was off and he missed. He was trying to get a better idea of where the shadows were when he felt a jolt of electricity, and his body stopped cooperating. The taser dropped him, and before he could get his feet under him, he heard the door slam shut.

 _Fuck_.

"I've been wanting to do that," DeWitt chuckled as the guards pushed her down the hall. "Idiotic oaf."

"Contrary to his occupation and stunning good looks, he's actually quite bright," Lorna sassed, unable to keep herself in check now that she knew what was waiting for her. She would sustain herself with the knowledge that she _would_ kill Ryan, and he would die screaming. "But I guess you wouldn't know that. Look at you. Getting yourself all mixed up in this. You're going to regret it. One of them is going to kill you. Maybe _I'm_ going to kill you," she smirked, and was rewarded with a jostle from one of the guards.

"No, actually, I don't think so," DeWitt chuckled. "Though I admire your enthusiasm. Mr. Holmes and I have worked out a contract deal of sorts. He feels I'll have more luck with you than he will."

"I bet that's because the last time he put hands on me I pinned his hand to the wall with a knife," she snorted, looking around as he led her and her guards into a cleaner room than the horrific atrocity she'd been stuck in last time, where they roughly pushed her face down onto the table to undo her handcuffs, then flipped and strapped down on her back. She sighed. "Could have done with a chair this time, to be honest."

He shrugged a little, walking over to a table outside of her field of vision. "The table's better for the time being. Easier access," he said, returning with a tourniquet and starting to secure it higher up on her arm. "I've been thinking about how best to take my revenge on you for a long time, birdie," he said with a smile. "I thought about killing you, all sorts of different ways. Thought about fucking you, but a slut like you wouldn't be too bothered by that, would you? You've had half of London and most of Asia between your legs at one point or another. So the best way I can think of is also the simplest." He tied the tourniquet and ran soft fingers down the inside of her arm.

"No," she said instantly, without thinking, yanking hard at the restraints, feeling like something had crawled inside her chest and _squeezed_ her lungs. "No, no, no, Ryan, don't," she pleaded, eyes flicking up to him, wide and scared. "Don't do this to me again, _don't do this to me again,_ please, _anything_ but _this!_ " she shook her head, still attempting in vain to get out of the straps pinning her to the table. " _Ryan, please."_

He let his head tilt back, taking a deep breath, expression blissful as he listened to her pleas. "You know how long I've been wanting to hear that? Hear you begging?" he sighed. "It's music. Bach and Chopin have been outdone. As for you..." He leaned over her, smiling. "I'm going to give you a taste, that's all. Just a taste."

"No, no, don't," she kept going, now trying to catch his sleeve, his shirt, anything to keep him from getting a syringe, _anything_ but that. She couldn't do this again, couldn't be that _person_ again. Amazingly, she managed to twist her wrist enough to get a death grip on his belt, pulling him closer to the table. " _No._ I rather you kill me. Don't- don't do this. If you're going to do this you might as well kill me, cause that's where I'll end up, okay? Okay?"

He laughed, waving the guards off, leaning down to kiss her roughly, hands shifting to undo his belt buckle. He stepped away a few moments later, leaving the belt in her hand. A guard stepped forward to wrest it from her grip a moment later as DeWitt started to prepare a syringe. "Lorna, darling, look, see?" He stepped back with a syringe that was barely a quarter full. "Not even a full hit. That's not going to do anything, is it?" he asked, smiling.

His distraction tactic worked - she was too revolted to notice what he was doing until it was too late, and then that potential weapon was taken from her as well. "Yes it _is,"_ she protested, gritting her teeth hard so she didn't do the alternative and bite through her tongue. "I haven't.. I haven't had a hit in years, okay, you _know_ that, don't you? _Anything_ else, Ryan, I'm _begging_ you."

"Got to do better than that," he cajoled, tapping the syringe as he walked over, stroking his fingers over her arm to find a vein.

"Tell me what you want from me, tell me what you want," she said frantically, twisting her arm down so he couldn't access her inner arm. "Please, I don't - I've _never_ known what you want, okay? Wasn't doing this to me once enough?" she strained at the restraints again, trying to get free, despite the fact that there were two quite burly guards by the door.

He smiled at her. "This is what I want, Lorna," he says softly. "You, begging, in my power, eating out of my hand. I want this. I want you hooked and begging. I want that. That's all. It's that simple." He grabbed her arm with bruising strength and twisted it outward, and jabbed the needle in, depressing the plunger swiftly. "Enjoy."

She grit her teeth and pressed her head back into the table, squeezing her eyes shut. If she was lucky, this was a bad batch, and it wouldn't work, or it'd kill her, but she wasn't a very lucky person. It wouldn't be long now, either way.

"Alright, that'll be all, gentlemen," DeWitt smiled, waving to the guards. "I'll be fine from here on out." He walked over to Lorna and checked the locks on her ankle straps, before walking up to untie her wrists and chest. "May as well let you sit up," he said with a smile, stepping back out of reach quickly.

Lorna sat up, if only because it would make the heroin travel a little slower up her arm. "Pretty brave of you to dismiss them, when I could throttle you at any moment," she said half-heartedly, all the fight drained out of her. She was powerless against this. "People on heroin can still kill, you know that."

"Yes. But if you kill me, your source dries up, and you get turned over to Mycroft Holmes," he said, smiling a little. "Though I suppose you should be allowed to pick your poison."

"I _want_ my source to be dried up," she snapped, not willing to pretend she was enjoying his little game. "I told you I rather be dead than this. I would have thought after the last time you would have learned that I mean what I say."

He laughs a little. "Alright, fine, fight all you want. It isn't going to change the fact that you're an addict, birdy. You can't fight what you are."

She didn't respond, leaning forward and beginning to undo the straps holding her ankles down as fast as she could, despite the fact that it made her side start screaming at her. "Fuck you. I'm an addict, but I'll fight it until it kills me. I'll kill you too."

"Good luck with that, dear, they're locked," he smirked, nodding to the padlocks on each buckle. "Five digit combination. But by all means, start guessing. Maybe you'll get lucky and it'll be all zeros."

She stopped and considered him for a moment, a muscle in her jaw jumping. She could probably reach him from here, if she lunged, but it would really, really hurt. The odds that she'd successfully get a combination out of him were astronomically small. But she'd give him a black eye if that was the last thing she did, damn the consequences. She lunged for him, and there was a split second where she thought he was too far and she was just going to hurt herself on the side of the table, then she got ahold of his collar and yanked him closer, shouting as the clotting her wound had done was undone and a fresh batch of blood oozed down her side. "Combination, please. Do you need both of those eyes?"

He remained calm, reaching up to grab her wrists carefully, firmly, thumb stroking over the bruise left by the needle. "Can you feel it yet?" he asked calmly, holding her gaze. "Feel it starting to work its way into your system?"

She could. And it felt _great._ She'd forgotten the creeping bliss of it. She hated how much she liked it. Anger welled up in her chest at him for doing this to her again, after everything she'd done to get free of it. She jerked her wrist out of his grip and brought her hand back to slam into his face with a sickening crunch. "Feel _THAT."_

He let out a cry of pain and kicked the table to break free of her grip, jerking back well away from her as he reached up to grab at his nose, which was crooked and bleeding. "Alright, bitch," he growled nasally. "We can play the game that way if that's what you want." He headed for the door, pulling it open and turning to look at her. "Why don't we let that hit settle in a little and see how you do."

Lorna didn't grace him with a reply, just spitting in his direction and wrenching at the ankle restraints again, wondering if she'd be able to slip free if she took off her shoes. Not that even really mattered now. She could feel a slight heaviness in her limbs, and it wouldn't be long until she felt too good to care where she was.

He stepped outside, walking around the corner and stepping into the observation room, a hand pinching his broken nose to try and stem the flow of blood. He sat in a chair, watching the screens, and reveled in the situation. The pain was worth it. She was going to crumble in his hands.  
Eventually she stopped struggling and let her back hit the table again, sighing. Within a few minutes she was wondering why she'd _ever_ quit heroin. There wasn't a single inch of her that didn't feel perfect.

He watched as she melted slowly onto the table over the next few minutes, and smiled. There it was. He had her. He knew he did.

* * *

Two hours later he walked into the room, giving Lorna a smile from where she was relaxing on the table. "Hello, birdie. How're you feeling?" he asked, smiling toothily.

"Better than you, probably," she chuckled, stretching out like a cat in a motion that would have really hurt if she'd been capable of pain at the moment. " _Really_ good... why did I stop this?"

"Because you're stubborn, dear," he sighed, walking over to the table and returning with a full syringe, tapping carefully, staying well out of her reach. "What do you say, Lorna? Do we top you off before you go back to your cell? Or would you rather run dry?"

"What kind of a question is that?" she laughed, holding out her arm to him. "Yes please, thank you. Sorry for breaking your nose. Now you know why Mycroft hates me."

He smirked, tossing her the capped syringe. "You'll forgive me if I don't trot right over. And I've hated you much longer than Mycroft, dear. No hard feelings."

"I hated you _fiirrstt,"_ she sang, just barely managing the coordination to uncap the syringe and sit up so she could find a decent vein, and then went about the familiar motions of shooting up and tossing the syringe into a corner. "No offense, but you were kinda a bad boyfriend. You should work on that."

"I'll try. Seems you're a bit spoken for at the moment, however. Mr. Moran hasn't stopped beating the walls since he gained his feet. He's very put-out. Shall we go see him?" He asked. "I'll unlock your feet if you promise not to bite."

"Yeah, okay, let's go see 'em. _No biting._ Scout's honor," she nodded, putting on a very serious face and then chuckling, unable to maintain it. "Anyways, Tiger's the one who bites, not me."

"Come along, birdie, I'm sure he'll be glad to hear that," he smirked, walking over to unlock her ankles and offering her a hand up. "Shall we?"

She made a humming sound of confirmation, taking his hand and using it to steady herself as she slid off the table. When she was so buzzed it was a little harder to walk in a straight line. She hoped Moran was in a good mood.

He led her through the halls, occasionally stopping to steady her, unlocking the cell door. "Go on through," he said, smiling. "It'll lock behind you."

"Cool," she hummed, opening it and slipping through, idly taking the tourniquet off, and closed the door behind her, shutting her back into the darkness. "You in here?"

"Harrison." Moran stood quickly, cursing slightly at the blackness. "What did they do to you?"

"Some, uh," she chuckled, "Some _really_ good quality heroin. Where's the cot? I don't feel like I need to be standing..."

There was a long moment of silence. "You had better be fucking kidding, Harrison. Really. This had better be a fucking horrible joke."

She made a mildly unhappy noise, having bumped her shin in the dark on the cot. She sat down heavily, sighing. "Nnno. No joke. If it makes you feel better I didn't want the first hit. M' pretty sure I broke Dewitt's nose. Heh heh."

He didn't answer, laying back on his cot and staring at the ceiling, fist clenched tight with anger, trying to decide who he was more furious with, Lorna or Dewitt. It was pretty easy to settle on Dewitt, but he wasn't going to risk going near Harrison either.

She didn't try to force conversation, happy to just lie down and just feel _good._ She hadn't felt so good in years.

* * *

It wasn't until a few hours later that she shifted, her breath hitching, and she curled in on herself, scraping her nails across her scalp. "Moran?" she whispered. Now she remembered why she'd quit. Now she felt like she was about to die.

"Getting yours, finally?" Moran sighed, sitting up slowly. He'd been expecting this.

She couldn't speak for a moment, too horrified to. How long would it haunt her this time? "I rather he'd killed me," she said finally, her voice hoarse.

He stood slowly, taking a breath and walking over, feeling around before sitting in the free space on her cot. "How much did he give you, do you know?"

"A syringe and a quarter, I think," she said quietly, swallowing hard. She curled up more, trying to give him more space, trying to make him less angry at her. "I can't.. I can't deal with this."

He took a slow breath. "It wasn't your fault, Harrison. You're being tortured. I'm furious as all hell. But not at you. How can I help?"

"There's really.. nothing you can do," she shook her head slightly, knowing that he couldn't see it. She felt like she needed to throw up. The months it would take to recover from this blow... She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to focus on breathing. She felt like _shit_ now. "You should just kill me," she continued, her voice a little quieter, maybe a little more scared. "I can't- I can't say _no_ once they cut me off. Whatever they'll ask, I will tell them. Whatever they want me to do, I'll.. I'll do it. It would be... better if you didn't let me."

He sighed, then reached out, his fingers brushing across her chest, and then, suddenly, closing over her throat. Tight. He felt her jump slightly, and leaned down to whisper in her ear, expert fingers letting a small stream of air past her throat. "Is this what you want, Harrison? You want to give up? Want to hand over the keys on your life?"

He kept his grip firm for a few seconds, feeling her pulse under his fingers, before he released her. "Don't fucking ask me that again. I will make your life more miserable than it currently is," he spat, standing and stalking over to the far side of the room.

"I'm not _suicidal,_ Moran," she snapped, coughing as she regained her breath and sitting up. She felt too much like death to be able to put up with Moran's crap. "I'm not _giving up._ I'm being real fucking _LOGICAL_ about it. You haven't been on heroin. You don't know the lengths you're willing to go to get another hit. I'm saying that I will have a moment of weakness that trumps all my other weaknesses, and I will say something I shouldn't. Something that might get the network in trouble. I know their goddamn address, don't I?" she hissed, jabbing her elbow back into the wall just to try and feel some pain, just to make sure she wasn't still intoxicated. Then she sagged, growing a lot quieter. "I don't want to die here, okay? But I'm not going to fight you if you decide it's for the best. I wouldn't win, anyway..."

"It's not for the best!" he said furiously.

It was. He knew it was. He should have killed her the moment she came back hopped up. He knew exactly what she would do to get another hit.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Those aren't your calls to make."

"I've been around you long enough to learn the kind of calls _you_ make," she snorted, unable to work up the energy to be truly angry with him now. "It's not like I'm fucking _forcing_ you either, Christ, I'm not _making_ the call. It's your decision. It's always your goddamn decision," she huffed, laying back down on the cot. "This is how shit works with you and me. You decide whatever the fuck you want to do and I react to it."

"I'm your _superior officer!_ Of _course_ that's how it works!" he growls. "Stop trying to make the noble fucking sacrifice. We're both fucked. So grit your teeth, and do your damn job!"

"What is my _job_ in this fucking place?" she laughed, throwing her arms above her head and accidentally smacking the hard corner of the cot. "What am I going to _grift?_ I can't fuck my way out of this one, sir, if you haven't noticed. The best I could do would be to get Dewitt close enough that I could kill him, but what then? What's Mycroft's backup plan? How will I get out of that room?" She shook her head in the dark again, snorting. "I'm a liability. You _know_ that. I just don't understand why you're denying it."

"I'm not denying it. I'm just saying that it's not any of your fucking business how I handle it," he snarls, taking off one of his shoes and snapping it at the wall above her head.

She wouldn't have flinched if she'd been able to see what the hell had just made that smacking noise above her head and then thumped down to the cot next to her face. "Wh- Did you.. did you just throw a _shoe_ at me?" she asked, disbelief coloring her voice. She wasn't even angry. Despite herself, she giggled. "You threw your shoe at me. Your _shoe."_

"If I had a knife, it would have been that," he shot back angrily.

She fell silent, remembering what Dewitt had said when she'd been too high to really soak it in. This was just so.. uncharacteristic of him. When had he started giving her these free passes? She hated to think that anything that Ryan said had a nugget of truth in it - and she didn't want to think it and be _wrong -_ but she considered the possibility. It wasn't exactly a likely thing. Still, she was less offended by the idea than she ought to be after the way her mother had gotten killed. "I was going to say yes, you know," she said suddenly, unsure exactly why. "On the river bank."

"That's the first smart thing you've said all day," he snorted. "Otherwise they would have killed me and then done the exact same things they were threatening to do to you anyway. Or worse." He crossed his arms over his chest, taking a few breaths, trying to calm down. He was being sloppy.

"I know," she shrugged, idly checking how much blood was on her shirt. "Just... I don't know. Pointing out that if I wanted to get rid of you I totally had my opportunity. You can tell Jim that if I drag you back to HQ half dead again," she joked halfheartedly, then sighed. Better to forget what Dewitt had said. She didn't need to be delusional as well as an addict.

He sighed. "At this rate I'll be dragging you." He sat up. "How's your side doing?"

"I don't know. Hard to tell in the dark. I wrenched it when I broke Dewitt's nose, and I don't know how much blood I lost after that. I mean, I feel shitty, but that's what heroin does to you when it's done making you feel good," she muttered, closing her eyes. It felt futile to stare into the dark. "No one's prodded it yet. We'll see if that continues."

He sighed, and then stood fully, walking over while pulling off his shirt, tearing a strip. "Look, I'm ripping my shirt for once," he muttered. "This is going to be tough enough to do in the dark, so no complaining."

"I can probably do it easier, I can feel where it is," she murmured, although she shifted slightly to let him know where she was. "But if you want to dote over me I'm not going to complain."

"I will punch you in the face. That isn't lethal," he snorted, tossing the shirt her way. "Fine. Do it. But if you do it wrong because you're tripping balls, then I'm going to be pissed when you die of blood loss."

"I'm not high anymore," she shook her head, fumbling a little with his shirt in the dark and setting about the business of dressing the wound. "If I was high this wouldn't hurt like it does."

He sighed, walking back over to sit down, lacing his fingers together. "I've decided I like the light better, even if it's fucking obnoxious."

"Yeah, me too," she murmured, hissing quietly as she secured the makeshift bandage. "But I'm a little pleased we have a place to sleep. I'll be glad when I get to sleep in my own bed again, though. And not Malcolm's, either."

"Amen," he snorted. "To both parts. It's about time you put that sod out to pasture, no offense."

"I'm not the one you called a sod, no need to apologize to me," she snickered, then sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I knew I was going to have to even before I left for my sabbatical. He's got a ring in the dresser he thinks I don't know about."

"You're kidding," he snorts. "Fuck, that poor animal. Should I just shoot him when we get back, get it over with? Jim wouldn't give two shits."

"Do what you want with him, I don't care either way. He held me together with scotch tape for a few weeks, but I'm not exactly fond of him. Eugh. _Marriage._ Gross," she huffed, rolling her eyes. Malcolm was no longer on her list of potential rebounds. Not that she had anything to rebound _from_ at this point.

He nodded a little. "Well, that's good news. If we ever get out of here, then offing him will be very therapeutic," he said with a smirk.

"We ever get out of here, my department is going to have to step _very_ carefully for a few weeks," she snorted, cracking her knuckles with a mild grimace. She was almost certain she'd sprained her hand breaking Dewitt's nose, but it was the least of her worries right now. "I don't see why _you_ get to off him, though. I'm the one who fucked him."

"Fair enough," he sighed, smirking. "I suppose you can kill him. I get to watch."

She laughed, tossing his shoe back in his general direction. "Go find your own homicide, Moran, this one's mine. What claim do you have on this one?"

"He's a tosser and I employ him," he snorted, letting out a noise of complaint as the shoe barely missed his crotch, before picking it up and pulling it on.

"Bullshit, that's not a claim. You have to sleep with him first. _Then_ you can watch," she snickered, wondering where she'd almost whacked him to have him make that sound.

"He's not my type," he snorted. "I don't do obnoxious and sniveling. Well... I do. But that's business, not pleasure."

"I don't know, I can be pretty obnoxious. Although I suspect that the last time you fucked me you were trying to get me to do what you wanted in that little game with Jim, so maybe your record is clean after all," she chuckled good-naturedly. There was no point in being bitter about it.

He opened his mouth to answer, but didn't know what to say. He wanted to say that that wasn't true, but it should be. That was part of the plan. Finally, after a bit too long of a pause, he just said "Think what you like," and left it at that. "How are you feeling?"

"Like death. That's why I'm trying to ignore it," she sighed, massaging her forehead. "I hate coming down off of drugs." She knew that she'd gotten it right. She didn't know why he was being so weird about everything.

"Can't say I've been there," he said calmly. "But it sounds like it sucks."

"If you're lucky you won't ever _be_ here," she sighed. "I never wanted to do this again. Since you're apparently not going to kill me now I have actual concerns about my future. Shit, detoxing is not fun."

"Hopefully he doesn't dose you up again," he said with a sigh. "But I doubt it."

"Yeah, me too. It'll be worse when it leaves my system a little more. Then my brain will want it back," she muttered, silently cursing the thing. "Should I ask you to knock me out later this week, please do so. Sometimes it's easier just to be unconscious for a little while."

He nodded. "Will do." He shifted around on the cot a bit, trying to find a comfortable position on the slab before giving up and lying flat on his back. His ribs were starting to ache where the bullet had hit earlier. "For now I'm going to try and get some sleep."

* * *

The next few days (as best they could tell in the pitch blackness) were repetitive and frustrating. Lorna got dragged out in the morning, and Moran paced the cell, trying to think of a way out and waiting for her to come back. Then he'd help her to her cot and wait for her to come down, and think of different ways to try and kill whatever came into their lair. He always failed, though he was getting better at recovering from being tased.

* * *

It wasn't until their fifth or sixth day there (by his best guess) that things changed. The mooks came in at what seemed to be the usual time, and tased him, as usual, but instead of grabbing Harrison, they grabbed him, pulling his limp form into cuffs before he could regain himself and then pulling him into the hallway. He could hear Harrison asking what was going on, but her voice was cut off as the door slammed shut, and then he was brought through into a lab and strapped into a chair, despite his struggles.

DeWitt walked in a few minutes later, the purple bruises under his eyes from his broken nose only just starting to fade. "Mr. Moran. I thought I ought to change things up a little, just for posterity's sake. And you were starting to look bored. We couldn't have _that,"_ he said dryly, heading for the same cabinet that he did when Lorna was in the room, just far enough behind the sniper that he wasn't visible. "Anyway, she's not being very helpful. Offered to do all _sorts_ of favors for me in exchange for another hit, but, well," he walked back into view, flicking a half-full syringe and grinning mischievously down at Moran, "That's Lorna, for you."

His stomach turned to ice when he saw the syringe, but he gave a broad smile. "Yeah, she's got a mouth on her. Got a good strike in, looks like. Did she talk you into walking close? Or did your dick direct you?"

His grin became a little less mischievous and a little more cold. Setting the syringe down on the table nearby, he turned to grab a tourniquet. "That wasn't the time my dick 'directed' me, Mr. Moran," he said calmly, tying the tourniquet and picking up the syringe again. "I can see why she wouldn't say anything; you look like the _jealous_ type. Are you ready?" he asked, smirking, and then without waiting for an answer picked out a likely vein and injected Moran.

His nostrils flared, but other than that he didn't react. "So there was a time then? Do tell, story time," he said brightly, trying to keep his heart rate down, not that it would help much. He was pretty sure it was heroin and not, say, poison, but it never hurt to be cautious. He'd know soon anyway.

DeWitt set the syringe down and grabbed a chair from the corner to sit in front of Moran, smirking. "She was so _disgusted_ when I kissed her," he chuckled, folding his hands together in his lap, radiating an aura of smugness. "I couldn't help myself, Mr. Moran, I just _had_ to take advantage of that. I waited until she was in a low again, of course. No one cares what happens to them when they're high. You'll see. You've never had it before, have you?" he flicked his wrist up to check his watch. "I bet you'll feel it soon. Even with the hit I gave you. Didn't want to kill you on the first one, that's no _fun."_

He takes a slow breath, shrugging. "We'll see. I'm looking forward to seeing what Harrison's been whining about," he said coolly. "As for fucking Harrison, good on you. You've gained a special prize shared by only a third of the population." His voice was calm, but internally he was furious, and he wondered why Harrison hadn't mentioned it. He took a slow breath as an odd warm sensation started to drift over his limbs.

He shook his head, looking like he was barely holding back laughter. "Oh, I had that prize _first,_ Mr. Moran. She was so much more innocent when we met. I suppose she could thank _me_ for her career success," he smiled, standing up from his chair and moving to return it to his place near the wall. "I let the little birdie go under here, but I think she'll be more affected by it if she watches it happen to you, don't you?" He hummed, giving a slight wave to the two guards by the door. "Take him back. I have an appointment with the doctor I can't miss."

He wanted, very much, to kill the man. Feel his blood pulse out over his fingers, count the beats until he was empty. But instead he was brought to his rather unsteady feet by a couple of bored guards, and forced towards their cell. It was during the walk that he started to feel the drug affecting his mind, and the rage dwindled slowly away.

Lorna flinched as the door to the cell opened, briefly illuminating Moran before he was pushed into the room and they were in the dark again. "What did they do to you? Why are you back so soon?" she asked quietly, sitting up from where she'd been curled on her cot, nursing a bad headache.

"Got your hit, I think," he said, shaking his head and smiling, chuckling a bit. "It's funny..." He walked over to sit next to her, feeling around on the cot to make sure he didn't squash her before flopping back. "Totally understand now..."

She made a small noise of distress and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to take a deep breath. This meant that neither of them were going to be able to think clearly enough to get them out. Who knew how long they would remain in here? "Fuck," she whispered.

"It's fine, Lorna," he laughed. "Sure, it'll suck in between, but if we can get them to give us more than we'll- No, no that's not... Huh..." He trailed off, staring up at the ceiling and trying to remember why that wasn't a good idea.

"I'll remind you why this is bad when you've come down a little," she said quietly, leaning back against the wall next to him and staring into the darkness with a creeping feeling of desolation. The only upside to this was that she was unlikely to be taken into that room again, not today. She _hoped._

"You do that," he said, nodding and sighing as he leaned back next to her. "Christ... this is amazing..."

"I know," she said softly, clenching her hands into fists as she fought the urge to try and pat him down to see if he had any on him. She knew he didn't.

He looked over in her direction, trying to make her out in the darkness, before giving up and closing his eyes, resting against the wall and reveling in the euphoria.

* * *

He wasn't sure how long it had been (not long enough) when it started to wear off, but the descent was relatively sudden and incredibly unpleasant...

" _Fuck..._ " he breathed.

"Sorry," she whispered, shifting slightly as she resisted the urge to lean into him. "I know it's shitty. I'd give you a tip or something to help, but there isn't really anything. Take a drink of water."

He closed his eyes, taking slow breaths through his nose as nausea started to set in slowly. "We're fucked," he realized, voice hoarse, throat dry. "Fuck, are we fucked."

"I know," she swallowed, looking away despite the fact that he couldn't see her anyway. "I know. We're not going to get ourselves out of this one."

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment. Normally he would have stopped himself, but he didn't particularly care at the moment. "That was my bad, letting them get that far."

"What? I don't know what you're talking about," she sighed, drawing a knee up to her chest to rest her chin on.

"I should've made the call earlier," he muttered. "I'd been waiting for them to get complacent before I really pushed for us to work on an escape. I waited too long... Jesus..." He muttered something under his breath in Mandarin.

"What could we have done, Moran?" she shook her head, rubbing her eyes. "Either way, I don't see why you're sorry. If you think there was something you could have done, you only dicked yourself over. I was wrecked the first day we got here."

He sighed, but nodded. "I'm gonna go lay down," he muttered, standing and walking slowly over to his cot, trying to think. They needed to get out before they gave him another dose. "So how do we escape?" he sighed. "We've got to get out of here."

"This door has an actual solid lock, unlike the other one. Every time I've been out I've noticed more cameras in the hall. Closed circuit, I'd bet. I can't convince any of the guards to help us out, either," she muttered, a sharper edge coming to her voice. She fell silent for a few moments, biting her thumb hard enough to hurt. _Stop thinking about it._ "...I don't think we can do it, Moran. I think we're going to have to wait for Jim."

"Jim..." Right. Jim would get them out. He nodded, taking a breath. Jim would get them out. He needed to pull it together. He sat up again. "Right. Jim will get us out. Our job is to stay on top of things until then."

"Yeah, okay," she sighed, shifting and returning to the curled up ball she'd been in a few hours ago, before he'd been just as screwed as she was. She only hoped Jim got them out soon.

He sighed, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "How are you doing?" he asked after a few minutes. "Without your hit?"

"As well as can be expected, I guess. I feel like I'm dying," she muttered, trying and failing to turn it into a joke. She felt too worn to make jokes anymore.

He sighed, and stood quietly. Fuck it. He walked over and felt around on her cot until he found her, then shoved her over gently, laying down next to her and pulling her into his arms. "Alright, well. Die without complaining too much, alright?"

She stiffened slightly as he pulled her into him, her brain shorting out for a moment from sheer disbelief. What was he doing? Was he going to kill her after all? She thought she'd been doing rather well, considering, and now it just seemed a little late. She made herself relax in order not to put him on edge, clearing her throat slightly. "What's, um... this for?"

"You were over here being pathetic," he muttered. "Just shut up and go with it."

That did nothing to soothe her. "I've been over here being pathetic for as long as we've been here," she pointed out quietly, trying to sound a little less wired. A small part of her was very nervous about being this close to anyone. "Are you going to kill me? I would have thought it would have been a few days ago, if it was going to happen at all..."

"No, I'm not going to kill you. You know what?" he sighed. "Forget it. Never mind." He sat up and stood, walking back over to his cot and sitting down. He put his throbbing head in his hands. He didn't feel like himself.

She curled up tighter, trying to keep her breathing normal. Her face felt too hot. "I... Sorry," she whispered, swallowing hard. "I just... never mind. It's not important, just.. sorry."

"Don't apologize. I crossed a line. I'm not myself right now. Just leave it." He pressed his hands to his face.

She felt nauseous, guilt starting to raise its sleepy head in her chest. "No- Sebastian," she sat up, although she remaining in a vaguely spherical position. "No, it's... Normally I would have been _fine,_ I'm just..." she pressed a hand to her mouth, convinced for a second that she was actually going to hurl. "It's.. It's DeWitt," she breathed, worried that if she said it any louder it would become more real than it already was. "He..."

"Oh, fuck, Harrison," he breathed, looking up into the blackness. "Shit... I forgot. Fuck. Fuck me. I'm sorry. Lorna, really..." He fell silent for a moment, then turned drove his fist into the wall.

She was quiet for a long time, pressing her forehead into her knees and focusing on not forgetting to breathe. Then she swallowed, taking a deep breath. "I thought he might get around to telling you. I- I should have. I guess I just didn't want to talk about it," she murmured, lowering her foot and scuffing it against the floor. She hadn't had her shoes since then, but it had been too dark for Moran to notice. After a moment of silence she stood and moved across the room to his slab and felt for him in the dark, finding his shoulder and turning him slightly so she could crawl into his lap, completely silent.

He heard her coming, but didn't expect her to climb into his lap. He was surprised for a moment, then just sat back against the wall and wrapped his arms tightly around her, tucking her under his chin, trying not to scratch her with the scraggly beard that had begun to appear.

"You just surprised me. I'm.. expecting the worst from people, right now," she mumbled, listening to his heartbeat, which turned out be a surprisingly comforting sound. Perhaps that was what people went on about. "Just.. warn me or something, okay?"

"Yeah. Would have, just... wasn't thinking." He shifted a little until he was more comfortable. "Sorry. Not used to trying to not scare the shit out of people. It's not my strong point."

She smiled slightly. "Yeah, I know. It's not exactly easy to think right after heroin, anyways, not your fault." DeWitt's fault, on the other hand... She sighed, relaxing completely for the first time in what was almost certainly days.

He rubbed her back slowly, absently. "Are you going to kill him, too?" he asked quietly. "Or can I have a go?"

"Only if you kill him slow," she muttered, an edge to her voice. "Only if I get to watch."

"Very, very, very slowly. You could help, if you like," he said, a touch of brightness entering his voice. "You can do whatever you like to him."

"Oh, I will," she smirked, already running through a list of things she'd seen Dewitt do to others. "We're going to need meat hooks, though."

"You don't think I have meat hooks? Please," he scoffed. "You know, I've always wanted to try one of those banana slicers on a different kind of fruit. Think that could be entertaining?"

"I think I could die happy if you used that," she replied mildly, as if a savage thirst for vengeance hadn't just flared up in her chest. "You'd probably have to take a few hours off, too, cause I don't think I'd let you leave my sight. We're definitely doing that."

He laughed. "Excellent. I look forward to it." He reached up to brush his fingers through her hair, not minding that it was greasy. They were both filthy. "Oh, I've got all sorts of ideas now. I hope he's listening."

"Me too. I still don't think he has any idea who he crossed, doing this. If he'd ever met Jim, this would be a completely different story," she rolled her eyes, wrapping one arm around his neck and brushing her thumb over his collarbone. Idly, she wondered how much weight they were losing in here. They were fed, but infrequently, and not well. Honestly, she was relieved someone thought to give them water every day. "Do you think he has thermal cameras in here, or is he blind? I'm wondering if I can flick him off."

"Try anyway. No reason not to," he said with a smirk. "Did you hear that, DeWitt? Moriarty is going to tear you apart, and when he's finished, he's going to give what's left of your breathing carcass to us, and we're going to have our fun."

She raised her free hand and gave the room a good flipping off, chuckling when she dropped her arm again. It was strange, the kind of mood whiplash Moran could give her. She didn't feel good enough to examine that train of thought any further. "You got off easy, last time, Ryan. This time I promise I will leave with, at the very least, a kidney."

"Why settle for a kidney?" he asks, laughing. "Take everything he doesn't need to survive, which includes his cock and limbs, and sell them on the black market. Except for the cock. You should saute that and then send it to him in the hospital with a bow."

"What do you mean, send it to the hospital?" she grinned, shifting a little on his lap with excited energy. "He's not making it to a _hospital._ He'll die where ever they give him to me. I'll kill him in my own living room if that's where he is. Blood and guts everywhere."

"Oh, you've got to be more creative than that, darling," he laughed. "Let him live! Take his eyes and his tongue, and his legs and his arms. Leave him a blind, dumb little potato in chronic pain, let him live in misery. So much better than dying."

"Say that again," she laughed, half meaning the new pet name that she was almost certain was just a joke anyway, "Say 'dumb little potato' again, I'm begging you."

"Dumb little potato," he said, unable to help a chuckle. "Potential chips, little more." It was good to hear her laugh. She hadn't lately.

"Jesus Christ, you have no idea how hilarious it is hearing those words come out of your mouth," she laughed, reaching up to wipe at her eyes. For a moment she'd completely forgotten how utterly _awful_ she felt, how much she was craving another hit, how poor their chances of walking out of here were. For a split second she considered saying something ridiculously unadvised, and then her senses came back to her. "Oh boy, am I going to have fun mutilating that bastard. And I thought I hated _Mycroft."_

He sighed, nodding in agreement. "Meathooks... I wonder where those are? I haven't used them in a while... I really need to organize all my shit. We can go for the nostalgia tour, bring up all the old favorites."

"Did you store them down in the basement? That seems the most logical place. Some big tupperware container with 'If You Touch This I'll Take A Hand in Payment' written on the lid with magic marker," she hummed, tapping her thumb against his clavicle absently in thought, then shifting slightly, looking up at him in the dark. "Christ, I kinda forget you were shirtless this whole time. Haven't you been cold?"

He laughed, shrugging. "A bit. I've been a bit distracted with other things. But you're not bleeding to death, so that's important."

"Yeah," she agreed, patting her side. "It's healing fairly well, to be honest. No one has felt the need to use it against me. Which was unexpected. Better nutrition would probably help, though."

"Yeah, what's with that?" he snorted. "Hear that, DeWitt? Your cooking sucks balls! Send us something a bit better, why don't you?"

"Literally a protein bar would be an improvement," she snorted, rolling her eyes.

"Seriously. The last thing we ate tasted like shit. Might have actually been shit. Thoughts, Harrison?" he asked, smirking.

"I was going to go as far as to say bear shit," she played along, mock-seriously. "I don't know, though, I'm not an expert on shit. I like eating real _food."_

"Well, I suppose it's not terrible, could be worse," he sighed. "I'm sorry, DeWitt, really. I'm sure you're slaving all day in the kitchen over that shit."

She chuckled and then let the conversation die, losing the energy to threaten DeWitt as her brain reminded her what he was capable of doing while she was here. She was silent for a minute, just taking a break from speaking, then said, "You know, we're kind of an odd combination of people to keep ending up in these situations. You, you I can see. I'm just a dirtied-down spy. Well. Okay, I take it back, we're exactly the combination of people to end up here."

He nodded, eyes shut as he took a slow breath. "Of course we are. This is what we sign up for when we take this line of work. Doesn't make it suck any less."

"I wish you were wrong," she sighed, blinking her eyes to try and keep herself from drifting off. It was tempting. He was warm, and she was exhausted and sore and just ready for unconsciousness, but she thought it was bad manners to fall asleep in his lap without asking first.

"Sometimes so do I, too, you know?" He takes a slow breath, closing his eyes, though it made no difference in the darkness of the room. "But it's worth it, most of the time."

She gave a small sound of amusement to show that she was listening, stifling a yawn with some effort. She didn't want to have to get up. Besides the obvious fact that she wished she was just not in this awful place, she wished for a decent shower. The next yawn she didn't catch in time. "Okay, I should move off of you before I turn into a puddle," she mumbled, beginning to unfold herself with creaking joints.

"If you want," he said, shrugging. "I was enjoying the warmth. You did steal my shirt for bandages."

"You gave it to me," she yawned, ditching the plan of getting up and crossing the room and just becoming vertical instead, half across his lap like a cat. "M' not moving, then. Wake me up if you need your legs or somethin'."

"If you give me two seconds, I'll lay down too and we can both sleep," he suggested, voice dripping sarcasm.

"What, two? No deal, that's ridiculous," she snorted, although she curled up her legs so he was free to move. He would be warmer next to her than he'd be sitting up, after all. There were absolutely no other reasons for this. None.

He smirked, shifting and laying down next to her. The cot was narrow and he almost shoved her off by accident, so obviously the logical conclusion was to shift her partially on top of him so they both had room. Warmer that way, anyway. He wrapped his arms around her, and shut his eyes.

As usual, she fell asleep almost the instant he stopped adjusting her. Honestly, it was probably one of her most useful traits. He dropped off not far behind.

* * *

For three days after that, they got no food, just bowls full of actual fucking shit, from who knew how many sources. They learned to curse the ceiling more quietly and less creatively after that.

Things went downhill from there. They were both dosed regularly, but not nearly often enough, the time between doses getting longer and longer as the days went on. Or maybe they just felt that way.

They slept next to each other more and more often. Moran's concern only increased when he began to realize that he could count Harrison's ribs easily with his fingers.

* * *

Playlist: Lady Gaga - Monster

Chase Holfelder - All I Want For Christmas Is You (Minor Key)


	26. A Place That Smells Like Home

James Moriarty was not a patient man. When his people had fallen into Holmes' custody, he had expected their escape and contact within a few days, if not hours. Now, approaching two weeks later, he was furious and at the end of his rope. Finally, he picked up his phone, and began texting. It appeared he would have to take action himself.

* * *

This morning (that was what Lorna liked to call the period of time after a long sleep) she got up a little more slowly, her joints popping unhappily as she sat up, her back still pressed up against Sebastian's. There wasn't a lot of room on the cot, but it beat sleeping alone. It became more and more pressing as time went on, too, that she stayed close to him. She'd been low on body fat to begin with, and now there was a real danger of her just running out of energy to keep herself warm with. The physical comfort was a good bonus, though, she had to admit. This might have been the longest period in recent history that she could remember where she'd gone more than a few days without wanting to punch him for doing something insufferable. She had every intention of letting Sebastian sleep longer, until she heard unusually loud noises outside. Then she reached behind her to jostle him. "Wake up. Something's happening."

He groaned as he woke, sitting up slowly in the familiar blackness, feeling around for her so as to make sure he didn't accidentally shove her off. "What do you mean?" he muttered, reaching up to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"I hear voices. Loud voices. I can't make out whether or not it's an argument, or they're alarmed.." she trailed off, holding her breath to be extra quiet as the noises moved closer to their cell. Very abruptly, a few voices cut off. "I suspect a few people have just been shot, but I could be wrong. Also, I don't want to get my hopes up."

"Could also be the wrong people getting shot, you've no idea," he said, straightening up now, though, eyes alight with interest. _Jim... Christ, Jim, please..._

"I'm willing to bet we'll find out soon," she sighed, leaning against him wearily and settling herself down for a wait. They didn't have to wait long at all.

The door banged open what felt like a few minutes later, causing both the inhabitants to flinch against the sudden light, and make whoever was standing in the doorway nondescript and impossible to make out. "I've found them," someone with a smoker's voice said, their silhouette showing them raising a radio to their mouth. "Bring the van around. Moran, Harrison, can you walk?"

"Depends on who we're talking to," Moran said gruffly, shifting to shield Harrison from the door, still squinting at the light. "And where we're going."

"It's Fletcher, sir," the man said, stepping further into the room, seeming to realize that they couldn't see him well enough to recognize him. Harrison wouldn't, of course, it wasn't her department, but he worked under Moran. "We're taking you back to HQ. I'm afraid that's non-negotiable. Boss was... very clear about that."

"Fletcher!" Moran breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "No, HQ is good. No arguments. I think we're alright to walk... C'mon, Harrison." He stood, only a bit unsteady, and offered Lorna a hand up, before heading carefully towards the door.

She followed in a bit of a daze, finding it hard to believe that someone had come and gotten them. She hadn't really believed that could be a possibility, and now it had happened, now they were getting _out._

They encountered no resistance on the way out, although they did pass several bleeding corpses - all Mycroft's men - and then they were stepping out into an overcast, gray afternoon, and she was so shocked to see _outside_ she didn't remember getting into the van until she was already inside. "Let's get going, c'mon, floor it," Fletcher was saying up front, and turned to toss Moran a shirt. "Thought you might want to look a little more presentable before you see him. He wants to talk to you before you check in with the infirmary."

"Understood," Moran said, nodding his thanks and pulling the shirt on, starting to button it up. He looked over at Lorna, wincing at how pale and thin she looked in the light. Her pupils were overly large, and he imagined he didn't look much better. He finished buttoning up and reached out to touch her shoulder. "With us, Harrison?"

Her eyes kinda wandered over to him, taking a moment and focusing slightly before she gave a slight nod. "Yeah. Sorta. I'm a little dazed, I guess. And m' tired."

"Well, we'll have real beds tonight. And hot showers. And food. So keep your head up." His voice was, for once, encouraging, but quiet so as not to carry to the others.

She nodded again, putting a little effort into trying to look a bit more alert. It didn't matter that she wasn't, as long as she didn't look like a wreck to the others. Moran, of course, _knew_ she was a mess, but the others could be kept in the dark. The only person who really needed to know was Jim. Oh. Jim. She sighed, reaching up to rub her still-stinging eyes. "This meeting isn't going to be very much fun."

"Let me talk, alright?" he said firmly. "You're in enough hot water as it is."

* * *

He looked up as the van stopped in front of headquarters, and the place had never looked better. Or, at least, it would after this meeting. He pushed the van door open and climbed out, waiting for Harrison before heading inside. The smell of the place really drove home the fact that they were actually out. Out, and both alive. Not an ending he'd predicted. He reached up to rub at his eyes tiredly, and headed for the elevator, keeping his steps slow so as not to outpace Harrison.

She silently appreciated the fact that he kept it slow, working hard enough to keep herself from tripping to be able to worry about speed as well. She would have kept up with him, too, if Malcolm hadn't stepped into her path and caught her before she could run headlong into him.

Moran saw him coming out of the corner of his eye and was already turning when he approached. He grabbed Malcolm's arm in a firm grip, pulling him back. "Don't touch her. Not now," he said quietly, eyes boring into the other man's.

Malcolm looked like he was going to protest for a second and then he cleared his throat and stepped back, eyes on Lorna as she took hold of Moran's sleeve and got him moving again. In the elevator, she cleared her throat. "Thanks."

He shrugged. "We didn't have time for him being weepy. Moriarty's waiting," he said, eyes straight ahead as the elevator started to ascend.

"I know. Still," she replied calmly, catching sight of herself in the mirror and immediately wishing she hadn't, staring down at the floor intently as an alternative.

He glanced over at her, and sighed. "Come on. Look alive, or Jim will take you for dead and eat you." He straightened his back as the elevator doors opened, and headed out of them and down the hall to Jim's office door. He waited for Lorna to join him, then took a breath, and knocked.

Jim was sitting at his desk with a full glass of bourbon, turning over every possible thing that could have been done to his best-performing employees that would have prevented them from escaping. He let them stew for a minute at the door. "Come in," he said, finally, taking a sip of his drink.

He straightened the shirt one more time, before pushing the door open and stepping through, Harrison just behind him. He kept his chin up, unshaven or not, and didn't flinch under his employer's gaze. "You wanted to see us, sir."

"Yes, I did," Jim replied dryly, eyes sweeping down each of them. He didn't like what he saw, and he knew he wasn't even seeing it all. They had been in that place for two weeks, and what had happened early on, he couldn't say, but he was acutely aware of the heroin addiction they'd been given. He wasn't happy about that. "You both look like shit. Report, Moran." He didn't know if Harrison looked capable of speaking. Normally he would have pushed it, but starvation was just not flexible.

"We were kept in a zero-light situation for most of the time, sir, so my vision's off at the moment. I expect Harrison's is the same. We were force-injected with heroin and fed very little, and physically assaulted in a variety of ways." He kept his eyes straight ahead.

"Give me the list. You're both so thin I can't get a read off of you," Jim snorted, leaning back in his chair and setting both his feet on the table. "I hope you know how _disappointed_ I am I had to go and get you."

He grit his teeth, took a slow breath. "I was beaten and shot with a taser on regular intervals. Harrison... underwent similar treatment." He looked away for a moment, then back to Moriarty, eyes unwavering. "Our failure to escape- and to evade capture- falls on me, sir. I thought I could trust a contact, but she brought us to DeWitt, and that lead to our eventual capture by Holmes. I then waited too long for them to become complacent, and ended up being injected with heroin. From that point, focusing enough to plan an effective escape was difficult, though we were trying."

Jim caught his momentary pause, his gaze snapping over to Harrison once more, taking another sip of bourbon when understanding hit him. It was their fault that this had happened to them, but it didn't mean he was going to let whoever had done it get away with it. He smiled, looking back at Moran, eyes sharp. "I _see,"_ he murmured, trying to decide how angry he should be. "What did you give up?" he asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. He was surprised when Harrison cleared her throat.

"Nothing but our dignity, sir."

Moran nodded. "We didn't give them anything sir. That would have been the first thing I told you." He was glad Harrison had spoken. He had seen Jim's glance her way. She needed to assert that she was still stable. "Especially given Harrison's background, her conduct was exceptional. I don't say that lightly."

Jim nodded, tapping his fingers on the table, then gave a slight wave of his hand. "We'll be talking about this more in a few days, Moran. But you're useless to me until you're clean. Go to the infirmary. If they don't confine you there you're confined to your floor, understood? I'll have food sent wherever you end up. Get out of my sight."

"Yessir," he said without complaint, just glad that they were escaping Jim's wrath for the time being. He turned for the door, heading out at a quick but steady pace, waiting for Lorna to join him before shutting the door.

Her posture immediately sagged, bone-deep exhaustion dragging her down. "Let's go get prodded by people with too many needles," she sighed, raking a hand through her filthy hair and turning to head for the elevator.

He nodded in agreement, following after her quietly. "Jim didn't kill us," he pointed out once they were in the elevator. "That's a plus."

"Which I know I have you to thank for," she replied softly, leaning back against the elevator wall. Out of habit she had almost reached for him. She knew that whatever they had had in the dark didn't carry here. She wasn't happy about it, but she could live with it if she had to.

He shrugged. "If anything more came down on you, Jim would have shot you himself. I can afford to take a little heat." He reached up to rub at his eyes tiredly, then took a breath as the elevator dinged. "Come on, let's go swear at some poor nurse until they cry."

"Okay," she shook her head, following him out of the elevator.

* * *

The nurses did not like the state she was in. There was a lot of tutting when they took her weight, and even more when they saw the makeshift bandage on her side, which also exposed her frighteningly prominent ribs. They didn't have many tips for heroin withdrawal, which she'd already been through anyway, so, unable to find a reason to make her stay, they sent her off. She assumed that Sebastian was already gone. He looked in better shape than her.

He'd been given a run over and had a few scrapes cleaned up, but there wasn't really much they could do for him. So now he was sitting on the ground outside Harrison's apartment. He'd been in his own, but he wanted to see if they released her, and the room had felt too small, for some reason. So here he was, turning a knife over and over in his hands while he waited.

She was a little surprised when she stepped out of the lift and saw him in front of her door, but didn't say anything until she came to a halt in front of him, looking down at him. "I'm going to get a shower," she said, breaking the silence."You can come, if you want. I do need to get in there, though."

He looked down at himself for a moment, still wearing the same grungy, torn trousers he'd been wearing for weeks now. "I should shower, too," he said after a moment, standing slowly and then heading for his apartment. "Just wanted to make sure they actually released you."

"I wasn't going to exclude you from the shower, but I can see personal space being nice after all that," she shrugged, unlocking the door and stepping into the doorway. "Seeya, Moran."

He faltered as she said that, half turning, but stopped when she mentioned personal space. Right. _Space_. That used to be his favorite word. And still was, for the most part. But now that space included her, somehow. He shook off the urge to turn around and take her up on the offer, instead walking quickly into his apartment and shutting the door. His body was aching, the craving for another hit starting somewhere low in his gut. A shower would help.

She sighed as he practically slammed the door behind her, stepping inside and shutting hers quietly. She didn't want to admit that she'D miss him. She'd gotten used to his constant presence, to frequent physical affection in the dark. She rubbed at her eyes and headed for the bathroom, noting idly that someone had cleaned up the place while she was away. She couldn't bring herself to be that happy about it.

He took the longest shower he had in years, scrubbing the filth off and relaxing sore muscles. Then he got out, dried off, and started going about the process of shaving and cleaning his haircut up a bit. Finally he looked as close to presentable as he was going to get, and went out to pull on pajamas.

He's just sat down in the living room when there was a knock on the door, through which wafted the smell of food. Within five minutes he was halfway through a large plate of gnocchi, trying to remind himself not to eat too much.

She mirrored his movements across the hall almost exactly, aside from the haircut part, just pulling her finally clean hair up into a bun and sitting on the floor of the kitchen to eat whatever it was they gave her. It was gone fast enough that she never really noticed what it was, and paid for it by having to get up and stand over the sink while her stomach decided whether or not to reject her gift of food. She just felt so _weak._ She hated it, and she hated being alone again, but what else was there but to move forward? She sighed, and once she was pretty sure she wasn't going to lose her food, threw away the takeout box and crawled into her own bed, which felt too big and soft and cold, and she curled up in a ball to try and sleep. Whether it was the heroin in her system or the sudden lack of a warm body next to her, she couldn't.

* * *

 _87, 88, 89..._

He stared at the floor as it rose and fell beneath him with each shove of his arms. Normally he could knock out a couple hundred pushups easily, but he hadn't had the room to do a full one in the cell, and now he was breaking a sweat. He rolled onto his back, stretching his arms, eyes on the ceiling. He just wanted to sleep. That was all. That was the whole point of the pushups, to exhaust himself. But all the remaining energy in his body seemed focused on one thing.

 _Find a hit find a hit findahitfindahitfindahit..._

He didn't want to imagine how Harrison was doing.

Lorna had spent the last few days trying to gain weight, and with little success. She knew that it would take a little while, but she was impatient to stop the random pains that had begun springing up in her body. These, she knew, were not the heroin. The fever and the cold sweats, those were the heroin, but the other symptoms was just her body half-dying. The only _good_ thing about her thin state was that she knew that opiates lingered in fat, so it meant it would leave her body sooner. The thought made her sit up from where she'd been trying to sleep and pressing her hands into her eyes, taking a deep breath. Fuck, she wanted another hit. She wanted it so bad, but all she could do was sit here and feel like shit.

He stood, finally, doing the one thing he'd found actually helped. He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a syringe, removing the cap and tapping it a few times, examining the liquid before turning his arm over and pressing it into the center of the deep bruise on his arm. The saline did nothing, of course, but his body would get hopeful and generally shut up for a few minutes. It worked less every time, so he tried to use it sparingly.

He looked up as the intercom buzzed loudly and sighed, tossing the needle into the bin and walking over to answer it, clearing his throat before hitting the button. "Moran."

"Sorry to bother you, sir. Moriarty asked me to inform you of a new hire."

He tried not to sigh loudly enough to be picked up. "Yes, who is it?"

"An O'Hare, sir? Military record, special ope-"

He turned off the intercom so quickly he cracked the casing. He just sat there for a moment, staring at the wall, face pale.

 _No..._

Eventually, she could no longer sit there and pretend that she could go back to sleep, so she slid slowly and carefully out of bed and made herself some tea in the dark. She'd stopped turning on the lights when it got dark out. It felt easier on her eyes, and none of the shit she'd gone through in that place had been in the dark. It had all been where she could see perfectly well. She accidentally broke the first mug she got out from the cabinet by placing it too hard on the counter, her breath just a tad more labored. _Just forget it, Lorna. Just forget it._

He stood after a few minutes, unable to keep still, pacing the room back and forth, face in his hands, which shook, curling into fists and uncurling again, leaving red marks on his face from his nails.

The explosion of energy was sudden and left a trail of debris on the ground, dresser and cabinet spewing their contents all over his room. He was leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath, still shaking.

 _He could be downstairs. He could be downstairs right now... he might be here..._

She was cleaning up the shattered mug with shaking hands when she heard a muffled rattling noise from across the hall. She wasn't surprised, really. Anything could push you to breaking things when you felt this strung out. Still trying to quell the nauseating images that kept coming into her head, she threw away the broken mug and got another one, determined to have some tea. That would help.

 _Harrison._

The thought came out of nowhere, and he didn't know what it meant. Would she help him? Did he need to make sure she- what- hadn't fallen victim to O'Hare's total harmlessness?

 _Get a grip, Moran..._

But his hands were still shaking, and it took no thought to find the door and fumble through it to knock on hers.

She flinched despite herself as the sound came, and she just managed not to spill steaming water all down her sleeping shirt and bare legs. Just to be safe, she left the tea on the counter and went to answer the door empty-handed, pulling it open and looking up at Moran with instant concern. "What's wrong?" she frowned, stepping back to let him in.

He shook his head, stepping inside quickly and turning to shove the door shut, pressing his back against it, eyes scanning the room.

She reached out for him and then decided against it, dropping her hand before she touched him. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of him for, what had it been, three days, and now this? Whatever this was. "You have to give me something to go off of, here, Moran," she reminded, brows furrowed.

He nodded, taking a few slow breaths once it became clear that the room was empty. "He hired O'Hare," he finally managed," his voice unsteady.

"Oh. Hell," she sighed, shaking her head slightly and then turning, beckoning him with a twitch of her wrist. "Come on. I was just making tea."

He watched her go, muscling up into following her a second later, feeling like absolute shit.

She didn't speak again until she'd poured him out a cuppa and handed it to him carefully, making sure he had a good grip on it before she let go. "What are you going to do about this?" she asked quietly, picking her own mug and leaning against the counter to sip it. She would rather sit somewhere, but he looked like he wasn't ready to relax anywhere.

He shook his head, staring at the mug as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. "I... I don't know. What the fuck is he doing? He knows- _he knows_ \- fuck... This is retaliation... fuck fuckfuck _fuck_..."

Lorna had no idea how to comfort him. The only time he'd asked for help - for the same reason, to boot - he'd been drunk out of his mind, so she could get away with being a pushier caretaker, but now? "It doesn't sound like you can do anything about it, if Jim is doing it just to mess with you," she sighed, raising a hand to rub at her eyes. "So how can I help you? How can I help?"

"I-" he looked up, shaking his head. "I'm not here for... I don't know what I'm here for. I'm just here. I can.. I can go, I just wanted to make sure..." He looked around the room, and shrugged, eyes finally settling on his hands, seeming surprised by the mug of tea there and taking a hesitant sip after a moment of staring.

"You don't have to go," she replied quietly, clearing her throat and turning to dump her lukewarm tea down the sink. Suddenly she didn't want it anymore. "You're just... _very_ unpredictable with this kind of thing, that's all. You don't have to go."

"I'm not unpredictable! Fucking Moriarty is unpredictable! Pulling this shi- fucking Christ..." he muttered, setting the mug down before he broke or spilled it. "Sorry. Sorry, Harrison. How... How are you doing?"

She sighed, turning back to him and leaning against the counter again, gripping the edge with her bony hands. "I'm always uncomfortable, even on padded surfaces. Sometimes I start thinking about trying to find a hit and then it just brings me back there and I start _obsessing_ over.. what _happened,_ and I have to take a scalding shower just to remind myself I'm not there. Sleeping is hard. I don't know, Sebastian. Not great, I guess. You don't look much better."

He laughed slightly, reaching up to press at his eyes. "No. No I guess not." He took a slow breath, looking up at her and noting the dark circles under her eyes. "When was the last time you slept?"

She gave a mild shrug, shaking her head. "I don't know. Maybe 48 hours ago. That was after a few benedryl. I didn't want to start relying on that, though. I just... can't get used to being home, again. It doesn't help that Malcolm tried to get up to our floor yesterday," she rolled her eyes, then let out a long breath. "I need to stop standing. Can we sit?"

He nodded in agreement, motioning for her to lead the way. "Still interested in killing Malcolm? I really don't care if I piss Jim off at this point."

She led him into the living room, where she collapsed on the sofa with an exhausted huff. "I don't even care at this point. It's hard for me to get the energy to feel real strongly about something one way or another. If you want to, go for it. Pawn off the ring in his dresser for all I care."

He sat next to her with a sigh, shrugging. "Eh. Fuck that. He's yours. Not going to mess with him unless you want me to. I don't Bogart kills." He looked over at her. "Fucking hilarious, isn't it? Doesn't really feel like we're out."

"Yeah," she snorted, "I know. I'm only marginally less miserable than when we were in there. I think that probably says a lot about me as a person," she muttered, staring up at the ceiling. Like _hell_ she was going to admit she was disappointed he'd drawn away again, like he always did when he seemed to feel they'd gotten too close.

He nodded in agreement, lacing his fingers together and staring at them. He wanted to hold her. It was habit by now and if he hadn't locked his fingers he would have reached for her. But he couldn't do that now. That wasn't going to make this better, and they weren't in peril anymore.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to tamp down on those thoughts. It was getting increasingly hard recently, and she suspected it was only partially to do with being tortured with a heroin addiction. "You can stay here, tonight, if you want," she offered, trying to sound cool about it. She wasn't entirely sure she succeeded. "That's kinda our drill by now when something really shitty happens, isn't it?"

He let out a laugh, nodding a little, and looked at his hands. "That would probably be a good idea," he decided. If only so he didn't tear his apartment to shreds and break into the booze.

She nodded, taking a break from staring up at the ceiling to glance at him, trying to gauge his expression. As usual, when he wasn't angry or aroused, it was nearly impossible to tell. "Okay, well, with that out of the way I'm going to try and get some sleep before my internal organs start shutting down one by one," she snorted, standing with a crackle of joints. God, she hoped that stopped soon.

He nodded a little. "I'll... Should I take the couch, or...?" He didn't make any move to stand, but his hands clenched a bit tighter.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Look at you, you'd barely fit. I'm not cruel. I _am_ selfish. When you want to come to bed don't wake me up, okay, toaster?"

He smirked, but nodded a little. "I'm probably not going to be long... I'm tired and I also don't want to freak out and break your apartment."

"Yeah, don't do that. Only I'm allowed to do that," she joked, turning for the bedroom with a yawn and a slight wave of her fingers. She shouldn't feel so good to have him staying with her. This was just _asking_ for a good kick in the gut later.

He watched her go, finally relaxing his hands and taking a slow breath. After a moment he stood, walking over to throw the deadbolt on the door. He checked that it was firmly secured, before walking back to the couch, glancing towards the bedroom door.

 _What am I doing here?_

She crawled between the covers feeling significantly better about her chances of sleeping than she had the last time she'd tried. Why he was so comforting to her, she'd never know - for Christ's sake, he'd certainly taken advantage of it in the past - but if it meant she got some sleep under her belt, she wasn't going to argue. She'd deal with the emotional consequences as they came. She sighed, curling up, and stuffing a pillow under her head. If she'd ever felt about Malcolm the way she felt about Sebastian, she'd be a lot better off.

He lasted five minutes on the couch before he headed into her room and climbed into the free side of the bed. It was darker here than the rest of the apartment- the windows were well shaded- and for a moment it was almost like they were back in that fucking cell. There was one upside, however, which was that he didn't feel guilty reaching out to wrap an arm around her.

She was half asleep when he got in, but she was just asleep enough to roll into him further without any hesitation, and just awake enough to know that that was a bad idea. She mumbled something about being glad that he was there, and then she passed out, exhaustion overtaking her.

He wrapped his arms around her as soon as she moved, and did his best not to regret it. She mumbled something that he didn't quite catch, but he didn't care, just glad that she was finally asleep. He tucked the blanket up around her a little better, before returning his gaze to the room.

* * *

She woke up a few hours later pleasantly warm. That was what tipped her off to the events of the previous night; she was never warm by herself anymore. She stretched out her toes slightly but otherwise didn't move, content to just bask in his body heat for a few minutes before he noticed she was awake.

He noticed her breathing change after a bit, and looked down at her, just able to make out her face in the dawn light that was filtering in. "Hey," he grunted quietly, shifting a bit but not moving away.

"Hey. You sleep okay?" she mumbled, making no move to disentangle them. _What does it matter anyway,_ some part of her said, _Fuck it._

"Didn't feel like sleeping," he shrugged. "You seemed like you were out okay." He glanced around the room again, then returned his attention to her.

"Yeah. I feel a lot better," she nodded, reaching to rub the circles under her eyes. They probably wouldn't go away until she had a real sleep schedule again. "Do you want breakfast, or do you not feel like moving either?"

He laughed a little. "Food has been my best motivation the last few days," he sighed, sitting up slowly. "Breakfast sounds great."

She chuckled and scooted out of bed with a slight stumble, heading for the door with a yawn and a combing of a hand through her hair, in which the red was finally starting to fade a little. "What do you want?" she asked over her shoulder, stopping in the door frame. "I think I got eggs."

"I don't care," he sighed. "Everything sounds good lately." He climbed out of bed with a groan, stretching, and headed after her, glancing at the door to make sure it was still bolted.

She noticed his check but pretended not to, just stepping into the small kitchen to pull the eggs out of the fridge and started cooking them over the stove. She was, as usual, terrified of saying something that would set him off and corrode whatever they'd shabbily built up. "What have you been up these past few days? Besides eating, I mean. And shaving. You look a lot better in that respect."

He smirked a bit, reaching up to rub at his chin. "Trying to trick my body out of withdrawal and catching up with work, mostly." He pulled a carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator and poured a couple of glasses, sliding one her way.

"Let me tell you something," she shook her head, pausing to take a sip with a nod of gratitude. "Tricking your body out of withdrawal doesn't work, in the long run. Heroin addiction isn't all mental, it's not cocaine. That's the trouble with opiates. Your body punishes you for stopping them."

"I'm aware of the science. But it's partly mental, and that part shuts up for a few minutes if I inject saline," he muttered into his juice.

"I've heard about that one. Never done it myself. I'm more the 'locks themselves in a small room' kind of person. I'm not very healthy, though, so I wouldn't take any tips from me," she smirked, taking the eggs off the stove and pushing a plate of scrambled eggs across the counter a moment later. "I wish I could drink. That's how I numbed the worst of it last time. It's also why I don't remember much of it. I can't remember whether or not I had fevers last time," she sighed.

He winced slightly, nodding his thanks for the eggs and grabbing a couple of forks from the drawer, tossing them on the counter. "Is there anything you can take to get it down?"

"A couple ibuprofen is the best I can do for it, besides sitting in a cold shower, which I'm not going to do. It's not really my biggest concern, anyways," she muttered, busying herself eating for a moment so she wouldn't have to continue that train of thought. She didn't want to talk about it, but she was going to have say something to someone eventually. Unless it was nothing. But she wasn't willing to take that chance. "This is... probably nothing really. I'm malnourished, and I've been under a lot of stress and drugs so really it's probably nothing at all, but I'm a little.. overdue. Withdrawal can sit it's ass down and wait."

He glanced up, mouthful of egg, following the train of thought, before piecing together what she was saying. "Ah... well... Stress and drugs, definitely probably throwing things for a whack," he agreed around the food, though the implications of what she was saying were chilling.

"Yeah," she muttered into her orange juice, trying not to think too hard about it. "I'd go down to the infirmary but they wouldn't be able to give me an answer yet anyway. In a week, if things haven't... righted themselves, I'll go," she said quietly, making herself eat another bite of eggs and then relenting to her suddenly upset stomach and tossing the rest in the rubbish bin. "I don't know if I'll have the self control not to kill him."

He finished his own plate in silence, wondering which 'him' she was referring to and deciding that wasn't the best question to ask at the moment. "Alright... Well... For the moment just try to forget about it."

"I would if I could, believe me," she replied quietly, turning away from him with the excuse of washing her dish. Every time it came creeping back on her she could feel a muted panic struggling in her chest, as if she could do something now to stop it from happening then. She'd been free of nightmares so far, but she'd also been so tired that sleeping was like entering a coma. "This... isn't the first time he's done that to me," she sighed, resting her sudsy hands on the edge of the sink. "It's worse, somehow, this time. Maybe it's because I wasn't drugged out of my mind this time."

DeWitt, then. He stood, bringing his plate over and setting it beside the sink, before putting a hand out and pulling her gently to face him. "Lorna..." he sighed, ducking his head a bit to meet her gaze. What was he doing? Comforting? He didn't do comforting. But there she was, and here he was. What the hell got into him around her?

"Come on. Leave that for now."

She swallowed hard, looking down at their feet and giving a slight nod. "I'm trying," she breathed, the sound shuddering a bit. "My first instinct is to just obsess over it, you know? Like there's something I can do to change it or some shit. I know it doesn't help. Just like I know I haven't been dependent on heroin for years and there's no reason to start now," she said, a little more wryly, though when she looked back up at him it was with tired eyes. Sometimes sleep wasn't enough.

He stared at her for a long moment, before sighing and pulling her into his arms firmly. "Dammit, Harrison," he sighed. "I can count on one hand the number of times I've willingly hugged someone."

She got out a bit of a choked laugh, holding back tears with all the will she possessed, and leaned into him further, fingers clutching at his shirt. "Sorry," she said muffled into his chest. Oh god, this was going to end so poorly for her.

"Just shut up and cry already, will you? We both know you're going to," he sighed, picking her up and heading for the couch.

"Don't rush me," she retorted weakly, and then gave in, finally bursting into tears, sobs wracking her too-thin frame. She'd hadn't let herself cry in that place, hadn't wanted to give DeWitt the satisfaction, but crying in front of Moran was.. fine. It was okay.

He sat on the couch and pulled her into his lap, not saying anything as he let her cry. Normally it would have bothered him, but it was Harrison, and god knew she had a reason.

* * *

Playlist: Florence + The Machine - Landscape

The Killers - Be Still

The link for the entire playlist is on my profile page!


	27. Implosion, Part Three

It took a long time for her to wind down, longer than she was really proud of, but now that she was letting herself unwind (or rather, he'd given her permission to) the fear and the anger and helplessness just took her over for a while. When her tears finally abated, she was immensely glad he was there. If he hadn't been, she'd have come out of it feeling like she hadn't accomplished anything, feeling worthless and discarded and irredeemable. She had no idea why he was doing it. She had no clue. He had nothing to gain from it, and she knew how he felt about any kind of emotional spillage. Lorna took a deep breath, trying to keep herself in the calm that followed a real blowout of a cry like the one he'd just sat through. "Thanks," she said hoarsely, listening to his heartbeat just because she remembered it being calming. Her memories held up.

"You owe me a new shirt. This one's all cried on," he said gruffly, though he didn't release his hold on her.

He hadn't let go the whole time she was crying, and he didn't know why. Why he cared about her when anyone else he likely would have shot for acting like this. Why he risked his reputation with Moriarty for her life, why he wanted her safe. Why she kept him sane. He had far too many questions and didn't want the answer to any of them, so instead he held her close and ignored them.

She managed a weak laugh. "You've ruined enough of my shirts, I think it's only fair," she joked quietly, deciding that for the moment she didn't need to prod him and try to see why he made so many exceptions for her. She didn't want to alienate him again.

He sighed. "I suppose that's fair enough. Though between this one and your makeshift bandage, we're even, I think."

"I don't think we are numbers-wise, but you probably saved me from bleeding to death, so I'll give you a pass," she smiled, raising a hand to wipe the remaining wetness from her cheeks.

"Excellent. So does that mean you're done leaking bodily fluids all over my shirts?" he asks with a smirk.

"I mean, I'm not planning on it, but who knows what the future holds," she rolled her eyes, managing a straight expression for a moment before the corner of her lips lifted.

He kept his deadpan firmly in place, though he reached up to flick her nose lightly. "What's on your schedule for today?" he asked, wondering if he should get out of her hair.

"Nothing big. I have to look over a few documents later, but otherwise I have Kelly running things. He was doing fine while we were gone, and it won't be good if too many people see me like this. I might have to kill one of them to show them I'm still in charge," she sighed, frowning slightly at the thought of returning to work.

"You'll be fine," he said, patting her back with a smirk. "Just kill Malcolm. Two birds with one stone."

"My desire to kill Malcolm is much less than it was," she chuckled, fiddling with the hem of his shirt absently. "Poor bloke just wants me to love him so _bad._ Too bad it doesn't work like that," she snorted, shaking her head. "But I swear to god, if he tries to get up here again I'll kill him anyway."

"I don't know what he was thinking, with that ring... Jim's intolerant as it is of inter-office fucking. Imagine how he'd handle a marriage. I think the wedding present would probably be a time bomb or a bottle of poisoned wine."

She shrugged indifferently. "I don't know either. But I do wonder about that. He can't care about all of them, right? He doesn't even know all their faces. I think he probably only cares about the higher ups. I mean, Malcolm would still be royally screwing himself by asking me, but I think if he tried it with someone in say, cleaning, Jim wouldn't care so much. They're not as high risk."

He shrugged. "Either way, asking you is a shitty idea," he muttered. "Having Jim pissed at you is a sure way to get dead."

"I just can't believe how oblivious he is. Whatever. If I try to fuck him again please remind me I'm not that desperate," she snorted, making a face at herself.

"Gladly," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Why you ever fucked him in the first place is beyond me."

His head snapped up as someone knocked on the door, and he stiffened slightly. Any of his people would have just texted him if he didn't answer his intercom, and any of Lorna's would have done the same. "Expecting someone?" he asked quietly.

She frowned, glancing up at the clock on the wall. "No. Even if it had been Kelly, he would have just emailed me what I needed," she shook her head, beginning to uncurl from her spot on his lap and suddenly wishing she had actual pajama bottoms. Normally she wouldn't care, but she was a little sensitive about this sort of thing at the moment. "Just wait there, I'll see if I can't make whoever it is go away," she said quietly, rounding the couch and walking over to open the door.

He stood as soon as she did, walking behind to the corner and staying there out of sight. If something was wrong, he wanted to be close by.

She slid back the deadbolt - that must have been Sebastian's doing - and swung open the door, immediately coming face to face with the most scarred man she'd ever seen in her entire life. Luckily for both of them, she'd been through too much in the last two weeks to really be shocked by anything, so she just raised an eyebrow. "If you need a cup of sugar I'm afraid I've been out for the last six months and I still haven't gotten more. What do you want?"

O'Hare gave her a smile, which looked nothing short of demented on the twisted face. "Sorry... Mr. Moriarty just said to let you know I was moving in next door for security reasons. Didn't want you concerned." He hefted a hand that shook slightly. "Name's O'Hare."

Moran froze as soon as he heard the voice, mouth going dry, heart pounding, and slid slowly into a crouch on the floor, fists curling shut so tight his palms bled.

Lorna kept her smile cordial as she shook his hand, though she was starting to get angry. Not at O'Hare, not really. It wasn't O'Hare's fault that he was like this, that he was _here,_ because no one said no to Jim and got away with it. But she was angry with Jim. Doing this to somebody coming off of heroin, for Christ's sake... "Harrison," she smiled, as if nothing was wrong. "This is probably because the last guy who lived in that flat was a mole. I don't remember if we got him or not.. It doesn't matter," she shook her head, then took a step back, making it clear she was going to shut the door. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm not exactly dressed, and I've got shit to do. It was nice meeting you, though."

He nodded. "Of course. Nice meeting you, Harrison." He touched his forehead as if tipping a hat, then headed back down the hall.

She shut the door behind him and slid the deadbolt home, immediately turning and walking to the corner Sebastian was crouched in, kneeling down in front of him and gently prying his hands out of their fists, turning them palm up and sighing at the cuts there. She'd have to get him to wash those out before they got infected. "Are you okay?"

He flinched when she touched him, pressing his elbows against the wall to still the instinct to attack, his eyes shut. "Fine," he spat, jaw tense.

She knew that was a big fat lie, but what could she do, call him out on it? He wouldn't appreciate that. So she just sighed and shifted her grip to his wrists, tugging. "Come on. We should wash those out. I hear infections aren't fun."

He wanted to argue, to stay where he was, where he was safe. But that would have been both petulant and cowardly and he was neither. So he stood slowly, kept his eyes on the room as they walked, and headed for the bathroom.

Once she got him into the bathroom she elbowed the hot water tap on and rolled up his sleeves in silence, and ignored his sound of protest as she washed out his cuts. It was only when she was handing him a hand towel she'd gotten blood on many times before that she spoke, and even then it was carefully. "I don't think I should leave you alone for a while. It'd be difficult for you to get out of the building, but I don't doubt you could do it. If you relapse Jim's going to have your head."

He looked up from where he was drying his hands, and was making a face before she even finished speaking. "Fuck off, Harrison. I don't need a babysitter. I know how to behave."

She rolled her eyes before she could stop herself, too exasperated and strung out for self-control. "Relapsing has nothing to do with _knowing_ what you should do," she retorted, shaking the water from her hands into the sink and turning for the bathroom door. "The last time you saw this guy you got so drunk you asked me for _help._ You weren't even addicted to any substances then. Excuse me if I'm a little worried that you'll try to do the same this time, but with the thing you _really_ want."

"You're talking like I have no control over myself," he snarled. "You think one man living down the hall is going to send me into a fucking spiral? If that's the case just fucking shoot me now, because I'm useless," he snarled, teeth bared.

 _She's right, though..._

 _No. She isn't. Shut up._

She whirled back on him, her hands going to her hair, pure frustration on her face. "Why do you always _do_ this, Sebastian? What do you think I'm going to fucking do to you, at this point? _Christ,_ you just keep saving my life and keeping me from falling into a thousand little pieces - I _know_ you should have killed me in there, but you didn't! Why do you keep giving me these free passes if you won't even let me _reciprocate_ a little?" she shouted, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes and bending over a moment just to groan down at the floor. "For _Chris'sake,_ Moran, what do you _want_ from me? I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to call in some favor, and you never do. I _have_ to goddamn pay you back, okay? I can't just- sit here in suspense. Literally _all_ I'm goddamn saying is that you shouldn't be by your own fucking self. Heroin isn't a fucking joke."

He froze as she started yelling, muscles tensed for action, fists clenching again, nails breaking open the cuts again. His expression didn't change, but adrenaline was racing through his system. This wasn't right. If Jim was listening right now he'd probably be dead by morning, for the first thing. He didn't hesitate, just drew back a fist, and drove it into the center of her chest, sending her stumbling back.

 _You held that blow_.

 _Shut. Up._

He walked forward, grabbing onto her throat. "I don't know who you think you are," he hissed, his face inches from hers as he pressed her back against the wall. "But I don't need to explain myself to you. It's my job to ensure that those under my command are alive and functioning. I don't need to be _coddled_ by you, or anyone else. That means an early grave in my line of work. If you think that we have something _special_ , then think again. You're my employee. That's it, end of story. _Got it?!"_

 _Liar liar..._

She gritted her teeth, digging her nails into his wrist and resisting the urge to knee him in the crotch. She was just so _done_ with his goddamn shit. "Fuck _off!"_ she snapped, heart hammering in her chest and asking feverishly what she thought she was doing. "And fuck _you,_ Moran, go to _hell._ I'm not a fucking idiot, I think we're both relatively aware of that fact, despite how fucking _THICK_ you can be, oh my _god,_ stop fucking _bullshitting me._ I'm not _CODDLING_ you, you piece of shit, I'm covering your fucking ass because I have been there. Because I am almost there myself. Do you _know_ how scared I am?" she demanded, her face a light shade of pink she was so angry, her eyes flicking across his face for an answer. "Considering my luck, there's a _very_ good chance I am pregnant with my fucking rapist's child. You think that doesn't make me want to fight and claw my way out of here and get high in some alley?"

She kicked his shin just because she couldn't stand being so still, pressed up against the wall hard enough that it was hurting her starved back, and she laughed, a harsh, bitter noise. "Fuck you. Christ. You've gone above and beyond your fucking _job_ just so I'll see another goddamn day. If it's just your _job_ you might as well kill me now," she challenged, a muscle jumping in her jaw as she stared up at him. "I won't be able to work right for months. I know I won't. I _can't do it._ Kelly is competent, with a little training he'd be just as good as me. I'm a grifter who's started having panic attacks whenever I think of going back out again. I'm a _ruin._ Kill me, if you're just doing your job. Do it. _DO IT!"_

" _Fine!"_

He let out a roar of anger and lifted her by her throat, slamming her head back hard against the wall, free hand just behind with a sharp blow to the temple. He dropped her, watched as she slumped to the floor, lax, consciousness knocked through the wall to the next room and taking its time dusting up the place before it returned. The knife that sat always in his belt was out before he even had to think, and he knelt, pressing it to the side of her throat, ready to slide it behind her jugular and tear outwards, watch the geyser of blood as her arteries vomited up their holdings.

He pressed harder, watched the blood well around the point, then changed tactics, pulling her off the wall and against his chest, the side of the blade pressed high and tight, ready to split the soft meat of her throat, expose it to light for the first time, watch vibrant blood stain her pale, starved skin. Already it was surging against his knife, the split started, red dripping down her clavicle as the dark of his blade teased her skin in a hairs-breadth line. The flow danced with her heartbeat, with his breaths, his hand trembling slightly. He shifted his hand on the knife.

One minute.

Two.

The clatter of the knife dropping startled him, but he set her down with apparent calm, standing slowly and looking down at her, throat painted in blood. Almost like he'd done it.

Why hadn't he?

 _Because you're a ruin_.

Her words, but good ones. He looked down at his hands- _snipers hands_ \- which trembled slightly. The need was frothing in him now, something to calm that spasm, to give him his tranquility back.

He turned for the door with a new calm, leaving his knife behind. The calm stayed as he walked to his apartment, got a coat and as much cash as he felt comfortable carrying, his wallet, and a gun. Within ten minutes, he was downstairs and out on the street, scars pale in the afternoon light.

 _Time to disappear._

* * *

Playlist: Florence + The Machine - I'm Not Calling You A Liar

Sia - Straight For The Knife


	28. You're Not Better Than Heroin, But

When Lorna awoke again, her first thought was one of surprise. She hadn't expected to wake up again, not after she'd felt the terrifying sensation of being lifted off of her toes by her throat. Her second thought was of pain, and the third was a small part of her brain being very, very disgusted in the amount of blood she was covered in, albeit hers. She lay there for a long time after opening her eyes, trying to get the ceiling fixture into one cohesive image. When she did get up, she nearly fell right back to the floor as her bare feet slipped in the small pool of blood she'd left behind. When she saw what he'd done to her neck in the mirror, she visibly paled.

Hours later, after she'd patched herself up with a first aid kit and left Malcolm's corpse in the lift with Sebastian's knife in his chest, she returned to the bathroom and considered the blood on the floor. It was starting to dry now, and it looked like someone had been murdered. Surprisingly, she was angry about this. Angry he'd left her alive. He'd chosen the least helpful solution to her, the most cowardly for him. She hated him for that, if she was being honest.

* * *

Sebastian Moran loved dive bars.

Well, he hated them, really. If he was being honest. They stunk, there was something sticky no matter where you touched, the floors grabbing at your shoes like some fucking mythological trap for lonely souls. Or fly paper for bar flies. Take your pick. The alcohol would be better served as a fire starter or a blinding agent, every horizontal surface doubled as a spittoon. But the smokey, rancid air and the dim, flickering lighting was the perfect place to get smashed in peace, and if you could choke down the first few shots, the taste stopped mattering quite so much. The important thing was that everyone was either too drunk to remember anything, or knew better than to say they did. So a tall, muscled man with Aryan looks and facial scars could pass as unnoticed as the bundle of fetid clothing and waste on their twentieth round in the corner booth. So, for the moment, he loved dive bars.

He stared down the bottle of questionable booze on the table in front of him. The label had been blatantly peeled off of a bottle of much better booze and pasted on this one, but he didn't give a flying fuck. It was high proof, and it was working quickly. That was the extent to which he cared. He poured another shot, let it clear his sinuses for a moment, then tossed it back to join the first four. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Eventually she stopped staring at the blood on the floor and went about the unappealing process of cleaning it up, scrubbing the floor until the complaint of her bony knees was too much to ignore any longer, and then she got in the shower with her clothes on, deciding it was better to just deal with the mess now than later. Sitting under the steaming water, she briefly considered crying. She was a little surprised when she realized she didn't really need to. She'd gambled, pushing him like that, and.. hell, it wasn't even clear whether or not she'd won. He hadn't killed her. Judging by the depth of the cuts on her neck, he'd obviously intended to, and then changed his mind. Whatever had made him change it was lost on her. She certainly wasn't going to ask him. Going by the amount of work they were filtering through to her, she wouldn't even have to talk to him for at least a week, and she thought that maybe she could secure a blank exterior before then.

She stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, and a little after, and when she got out she was shivering and miserable, and her fresh bandages were ruined. She changed them with numb fingers and tossed her soaked shirt and underwear into the tub with a wet smack, shutting the light off behind her and putting on some warmer, dryer clothes before deciding that the best thing to do would be to sleep this away. Sleep was the closest thing to heroin she could afford.

* * *

O'Hare made his expected appearance around the seventh or eighth shot. By that point his fingers were cold but the rest of him was warm and relaxed, and he ordered up a second shot glass and kept it full across the table with hands that had lost their tremble but gained no dexterity as the night had ground on.

They talked about a lot of things. O'Hare would occasionally be being tortured one way or another, but Moran was too shit-faced to care, and the other man never screamed, never cried out, never did anything but talk about the good old days. It was remarkably peaceful.

"Remember that time Marley shot up? Man, you went to town on his ass..."

"Don't talk about that, fucker. I'm trying to keep a straight head here."

"Why? It's fucking easy. You've seen that slicker in the corner doling out wraps all night like they're candy. I've seen you counting the bills. What's twenty quid? The fat wad in your pocket'll go a lot farther than that."

"I said shut the hell up, O'Hare, you ponce. You're going to get me killed."

"Not like you don't deserve it."

His eyes slid to the man in the corner for the dozenth time that night, and this time the man looked back, and smiled. Moran fingered the cash in his pocket, the nausea unhelped by the alcohol, the burning in his muscles begging him to just walk over. Just catch a little whiff, a taste...

He stood up.

The man in the corner smiled wider as Moran approached, knowing he'd caught another customer. Anyone who approached bought. No one changed their mind this close to another hit. "What can I do you for?"

The hand in his pocket was clenched tight, but his expression was one of calm.

 _Yes. Yesss... go, go go! A little farther... Just one hit. Just to get your head straightened out, then go back to Jim's and forget all about Harrison and this whole fucking thing._

"Just a wrap, please," he said calmly, quietly. "A needle if you have them."

The man had a little brown bag held out for him before he'd even finished speaking, a knowing smile on the seller's face. "Everything you need's in there. I assume you have money."

He didn't hesitate, pulling out his wallet. "How much?"

A minute later he had his hit, wrapped up like a fucking school lunch, but he had it. The dive bar's alley was convenient (and cleaner than the bathroom) and he wasted no time finding a flat surface to work on.

The dealer hadn't been quite right, he had to bum a lighter off of an apathetic smoker, but everything else was there. The smell as it heated was enough to send his heart pounding, and as he wiped down the syringe and waited for it to cool, his hands were shaking again, this time with desire.

It took his stumbling, drunken fingers a few tries to get the tourniquet tied, but that was the most difficult step. Safely inside ten minutes, the needle sank into his arm.

Safely inside eleven minutes, he was in paradise.

* * *

Ironically, it was a nightmare trying to get to sleep. Even though the four, five hours she'd had with Moran - fuck him, by the way - hadn't been enough, her mind refused to shut down. First, it threw Dewitt at her, then heroin, then Moran, and then a combination of the three that her throwing back the covers and sitting up, clutching her head. It just wasn't _fair._ Not many things in life, were, she knew that, but coming to rely on someone so fucking _far_ up their own ass just was grossly unfair. The situation hadn't been helped by her desperation for some sort of comfort, some reassurance that not all people were really godawful evil. _Fuck_ Moran.

* * *

Moriarty was seldom ruffled. He took pride in that fact. There were few times in his life that he had ever not been in control. Now, however, was not one of those times. He stared at the pictures for several more moments, before jamming a finger against the intercom.

" _Harrison."_

Lorna flinched. She'd practically forgotten she had an intercom in her room. And the Boss did not sound happy. She hurried over to reply, holding down the button. "Yes, sir?"

"My office. _Now_ ," he snarled, before releasing the button and picking up his phone again, shooting off another text.

 _Moran, you had better be dead, because if you aren't, you will be. RESPOND._

He slammed the phone back onto his desk, seething and counting the seconds that it would take Harrison to get to his office.

Lorna was relieved she'd gotten into some normal clothes, only pausing to jam on a pair of shoes before she was headed for Moriarty's office. Three minutes later, she was slowing down her breathing outside the door before knocking.

"Come in," he snapped, standing again. Moran still hadn't responded. This was becoming ridiculous. He turned, snarling, on his victim, before coming up short at the bandage on her neck. The bruise handprint peeking past was all he needed to piece together the attacker. "Explain to me," he said, quietly, the energy of his fury rolling off him in waves, "Why there is a dead chauffeur in my elevator, why Moran has attacked you, and, for that matter, where the _hell he is!"_

The phone cracked in his grip.

She paled slightly. He didn't know where Moran was? That didn't bode well. She decided to start at the beginning. "He kept trying to access the floor me and Moran, and now O'Hare, too, live on. After the third time I killed him. Moran attacked me because we..." she trailed off for a moment, not sure how to put it. "We had a mild disagreement over how much the heroin addiction would affect him. I.. I don't have a clue where he is, sir. I'm sorry."

His nostrils flared, but he seemed to calm, placing the cracked phone down on his desk slowly. "In the future, before murdering one of my employees, I would be grateful if you would kindly check in and request permission. Moran has those liberties- had- because he is, or was, chief of staff. Until such a title is conferred on you, you do not." He reached out to spin the phone slowly on his desk. "I can count on my hand the number of times Moran has failed to respond to my inquiries. All of them involved his capture or incarceration of some sort. To your knowledge, has dear Sebby fallen prey to anyone?"

"Understood, sir. And no, sir, I don't know why he isn't responding." She suspected it had something to do with the drugs, though. Half of her took savage victory in that, knowing she was right. The other half wasn't up to talking. "Would you like me to put people out to look for him?"

He shook his head. "No. He has a few days to show his face and give a really fucking _incredible_ explanation. Then you put people out to look for him, with instructions to bring him back dead," he said, eyes black. "I'll inform you when to proceed to that step. Dismissed." He waved her away, turning to look out the window.

"Yes, sir," she replied, immediately turning and slipping back out of the door. Moran had truly fucked up this time. After a moment of deep breathing in the hallway she headed back for her room.

* * *

He chose a quiet hour to sneak in. Midnight, ironically, was generally pretty silent. The night shift was on lunch break and everyone else was sleeping. Still, he was jumpy, and he almost turned around a half dozen times before he made it to the elevator and pushed the button. He took slow breaths as it rose to the appropriate floor, examining himself in the reflection presented by the mirrored walls. He looked like hell. He was unshaven, his face sallow and thin, and there were deep bruises under his eyes. His clothes were the same he'd left in four days ago, rumpled from sleeping on the street to avoid detection from whatever goons Moriarty might have sent out after him. His arm was tightly bandaged and sore. The cheerful _ding_ of the elevator sounded oddly out of place in the quiet.

He stepped out, walking down the hallway to the door of the only person in the world he could trust to see him like this. He took a breath, raised a hand-

-dropped it, took another breath-

and knocked.

Lorna had been up only because she was going to the infirmary tomorrow and she couldn't stop worrying about it. Every time she tried to sleep the acrid fear just crawled up her throat again. The stress she'd been under the past few days weren't helping. She'd taken on practically all of Moran's duties without shirking any of her own, and it was beginning to wear on her. She was in bad shape to begin with. When she heard the knock, she assumed it was O'Hare. Sometimes they exchanged a word in the hall, so it could be he had a question for her about the building. Sighing, she got off the couch and walked around to open up the door, her expression immediately going cold at the sight of him. "What the fuck do you want from me, Moran? _Help?"_

He stared at her for a long moment, feeling smaller despite his drastic height advantage.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, trying not to duck his head and shuffling his feet instead. "Fuck... Harrison. I am. I'm sorry. My head doesn't make sense right now."

"Is it making enough sense for you to admit I was goddamn right?" she snorted, considering slamming the door in his face and realizing that she just couldn't make herself do it.

 _You're sick, you know that?_

 _I have nothing left to lose. And he looks so sad._

She huffed and stepped back, jerking the door with her and waving him in with a grand, sarcastic motion. "If you give me any shit, so help me god, Moran..."

He nodded meekly, stepping through the door after a moment's hesitation and not going far past it, one hand reaching up to rub at the spot where his shoulder holster usually sat. He hadn't felt this nervous and off in a long time.

She closed the door behind him with a tired sigh, and then walked past him to collapse onto her sofa, battling down some self-anger that had arisen because she'd let him in. "Why are you even here, Sebastian?" she shook her head, resting it on the back of the couch and staring up at the ceiling. "I thought you made it pretty clear you didn't want anything from me. Sit, by the way, don't just hover by the door, god."

He hesitated, then sat on the floor across from the couch, back to the wall. "I couldn't kill you," he said after a moment. "I tried. You know that, never mind... just... I couldn't, Lorna. I sat there for two fucking minutes and I couldn't do it."

She raised a hand to rub at her eyes, wishing she could have a drink, wishing she could have a hit. Something to just stop thinking for a little while. "Sometimes I think I love you, you know. I hate you a lot more often, though. You're just _so_ difficult," she groaned, throwing an arm over her face to cover her eyes completely. _You IDIOT, what the hell did you say that for? YOU'RE SOBER!_ "All I wanted was to help, Sebastian. I still don't know why you're here. Do you want me to? Just.. just tell me what you want, clearly, for once."

He didn't have the energy to react to the admittance, just filed it away for later panicking. He rested his head against his knees for a few moments, trying to figure out what the hell it was he _did_ want. In the end, he was too tired to object any further.

"I want you to help me. Please."

"Okay," she said after a moment, relieved that he hadn't said anything, and hoping that he was too out of it to have really paid attention to it. She got slowly back off the couch and waved her hand idly towards the door. "Go to your flat. I don't have clothes for you here. I'll be over in a minute, I just need to fire off a text to Jim saying you're here. If you'd waited until tomorrow you would be dead."

"I figured," he muttered, standing. "That's his usual grace period. Gave me time to decide." He didn't bother clarifying, just wandered out the door over to his flat, keying in and then heading for the shower at a slow plod.

She did as she said she would and then followed him over, slipping through his open door and shutting it behind her. Frankly, she wasn't completely sure how to help Sebastian. She couldn't fix him, she knew that, only time would, but she could keep him from deteriorating. And god knew he could use a little kindness, if only he'd accept it. She followed him into the bathroom and waited in the doorway. "Give me anything you're wearing that has pockets. It's not that I don't trust you, it's that I don't trust addiction."

He did his best not to glare, but took a breath and handed over his trousers and jacket, and a moment later his shirt. "There's nothing in them," he said gruffly. "I wouldn't do that to you. I'm not stupid."

"No, you're not, but I'm running a little thin on faith right now," she sighed, taking the clothes and tucking them under her arm without checking the pockets. She'd do it before she threw them in the wash. "I'm going to raid your pantry for something to make you. Did you eat at all while you were gone?"

He reached up to rub at his eyes. "Booze count?" he asked, attempting a smirk but failing. "Some chips I think. Bar nuts." He glanced at her with as close to a sheepish look as had ever graced his face, before turning to finish undressing and get into the shower.

"If booze counted I would have been morbidly obese a long time ago," she muttered to herself, turning and leaving the bathroom. His pantry was sparse, but he had a few cans of chicken noodle soup, and that would be a good start.

He forced himself to leave the warm solitude of the shower a few minutes later, after he'd washed the off smell of stale beer and piss, and pulled on clean clothes. Then he padded into the kitchen, still fighting himself over asking Harrison for help. But if she wasn't here, he knew he'd be back out as soon as things got bad, and he'd take Jim's hit gladly. So here he was.

"Sit," Lorna said as he walked in, placing a steaming bowl of soup on the table and handing him a spoon before she sat across from the bowl, leaning back in her chair and looking extremely tired. "I kinda thought after the shower you'd look a little better, but you still look like a wreck."

"Thanks, you look nice today, too," he deadpanned, pulling the soup closer and sighing. "Thanks," he muttered, taking a bite and savoring a moment before tearing in ravenously.

She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched him eat. "I'm perfectly aware I look like walking death. You didn't help, by the way. You can't really see them with the bandages on, but you left some pretty astonishing bruises on my neck. Not the fun kind, either," she rolled her eyes. She wasn't digging at him, but pretending it hadn't happened was just stupid. "You're lucky I was awake worrying when you knocked."

"To be fair, you did ask me to," he muttered around a spoonful of soup. It wasn't really an argument, and he didn't present it as much of one, more just mumbled it and ate on.

"It was a little more of a dare," she smirked, watching him eat in silence for a few moments. "Do you want anything else to eat?"

He shook his head a little. "No... Should take it slow. Don't have a very easy stomach right now." He sat back after making it through about half the bowl, giving everything a chance to settle.

She nodded, not arguing. She got a sensitive stomach after drugs, but not everyone else did. "You know I can't fix you, right?" she asked suddenly, her voice quiet. "Because no one can do that. It's just a waiting game. All I can do is help you not relapse. If I could fix you I'd have fixed myself."

"I'm not looking for magic wand shit, Harrison," he said, looking up at her with clarity in his eyes for the first time that night. "Just... need you to make sure I don't go out and get another hit, or... off myself or anything stupid like that. And I need someone who doesn't hallucinate to let me know if O'Hare _actually_ shows up."

"Yeah, I can do that," she sighed, itching at the mostly-healed cut above her hip. "I'll sleep on your couch or something, in case you start seeing shit. Withdrawal does that, sometimes. And it's somehow always worse when you're trying to sleep."

"I'm taking the couch, you have the bed," he muttered. "I'm not... asking for your help and making you sleep on the couch. Don't be a ponce." He decided that was going the be it for the soup, and stood slowly, bringing it over to the counter to cover and shove in the fridge. "Do you want something to eat?"

"No," she shook her head. She hadn't been hungry all day, which she attributed to nerves. She'd been keeping herself hydrated, but eating was just too much to ask of herself. Sleeping in his bed was almost too much to ask of herself. There were a lot of mixed feelings there. "Anyway, I rather take the couch. I don't like sleeping in y- other people's beds without them in it. It's uncomfortable for me. And it might be a good idea for something to be between you and the door, if you start to feel real shitty."

He turned around and leveled a glare at her that had withered interrogation subjects in their seats. But then he sighed and softened again and murmured a 'whatever you say'. He leaned against the fridge, reaching up to rub at his eyes and letting his heels slide across the linoleum until he was sitting on the floor. "Jim is going to shoot me."

"No, I think he would have if you hadn't come home tonight. I think he's just going to make your life a living hell," she murmured, sliding her chair out from the table and running a hand through her hair, taking a long breath. She shouldn't be helping him. She shouldn't have even spoken to him again. It would have been better for her if she hadn't let him in. She was having these thoughts because she'd caught herself thinking about sleeping pressed up against him again. "I need some sleep. You know where I'll be."

"In the bed," he called out half-heartedly, sighing. "Dammit, Harrison. It's my bed. You've slept there before. Just sleep where it's fucking comfortable, will you?" He didn't want to think about Jim right now. What more could he do? O'Hare was a fucking tumor in his chest that plagued him at all hours, and didn't look to be going away anytime soon. So would could the great James Moriarty do to him that was worse than that?

He had no interest in finding out.

She made a frustrated noise. "Then we're _sharing._ I hate taking beds away from people. It's an over-active conscience thing," she muttered, waving a hand at him flippantly and disappearing out of the kitchen, a tired tilt to her shoulders.

He sighed, glad that she was at least listening to him in that. He'd given up trying to give her a tough exterior. He was useless in that department, clearly. He wondered if he should just hand Jim his resignation, let him take the shot. He felt low enough. He was useless at his trade, he had a list of weaknesses a mile long...

He stayed there on the floor for a long time, considering the possibility. It was about an hour later that the first aching for another hit came up, and he rose quickly to bolt the door and shove the couch in front of it, one more barrier to slow him down. Then, with nothing else to do, he headed for bed, climbing in on the side that Harrison had left him.

She fallen in a shallow sleep that she'd woken out of twice by the time he slid into bed beside her, her anxiety acting up too much to let her get any real rest. "I heard furniture moving," she mumbled, half into the pillow. "Y' good?"

"Good now, may not be later, blocked the door," he murmured back, curling up slightly to attempt to relieve some nausea. "Incidentally, if there's a fire, give me a bit of lead time."

She snorted and rolled over, drawing the covers up to her nose. She hadn't bothered to bring pajamas over, so in her usual compromise of just getting rid of her trousers, she was a little cold. His apartment was always colder, she could swear on it. "M'kay," was all she said in response, and then very quickly zonked out again, some of her anxiety - about whether or not he'd try to leave - assuaged.

He watched as she fell asleep, and tried to do the same, but despite being physically and mentally exhausted, he couldn't keep his eyes shut. He reached up to trace fingers over his arm- the bandages had come off with the shower- pressing against the bruised skin there, breathing slowly, relishing the feel. Then he withdrew his hand quickly. _No. Stop thinking about that._

He rolled onto his back- careful not to take any blanket away from his evidently cold bed-mate - and knotted his hands in the sheets. _Stay there._

Slow breaths. Try to sleep.

She jolted upwards ten minutes later, sucking in one harsh breath and holding it. _Not real, not real, it's not real._ So she'd gotten enough sleep to start the nightmares. She sighed, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her forehead on them as she let go of the air in her lungs. God, her brain was a real asshole sometimes.

He started out of his imaginary calm at her movement, and relaxed his tense muscles slowly, glancing over at her. He felt like shit, but she didn't look much better. "What's wrong?"

"Just the usual playbacks my brain throws at me after things get scary," she said quietly, not lifting her head. It didn't surprise her that he wasn't asleep. Hell, _she_ probably hadn't been asleep that long.

He sat up, grateful for the distraction, and touched her shoulder, letting her see his hand before he made contact so as not to startle her. "I fucking hate that. Not much worse than your brain turning traitor."

She appreciated that'd he'd consciously gone out of his way not to scare her; she knew he could move like a wraith when he truly wanted to. And, as much as she hated, _hated_ to admit it, he was physically comforting to her. "Yeah. Not looking forward to this particular batch, either," she whispered, bracing her chin on her knees and staring out into the darkness that was not quite as deep as the cell's. "I'd almost prefer the beetles."

"Almost," he said, shifting his arm loosely around her shoulders, keeping his touch light, careful not to make her feel trapped. "It's odd to think about... I've let a few people walk after I've played with them, let them live knowing it would be worse that way, but... it seems so much more real this way 'round."

Lorna made a halfhearted sound of amusement. "It's hard to make something pretend when it's happening right in front of you. Or to you," she murmured, sitting there a bit stiffly for a moment on principle and then leaning into him slightly, hating herself for it. "I don't know that I could do this to someone."

He relaxes slightly when she leans into him, still jumpy, but it's easier with her here. "We have though... Watson, especially. The state we left him in... This is how the game's played, Harrison... It's fucking terrible, but it's the game. And we're losing."

"Yeah, you're right," she sighed. She _had_ done this to people, more or less scarring notwithstanding. "You know, I've never been _afraid_ of losing. Dying, I guess. I don't want to, obviously, but if it happens it happens. No one can do shit to me once I'm dead. I just wish I could be that cavalier about everything else."

He snorted in agreement, shifting a little so that he could lean back against the head of the bed. "I thought I was more invincible than this," he admitted quietly. It was easy in the dark. "I thought I was hard enough for everything to just bounce off. I used to be, too. All of this..." He closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath, then shrugged.

"You do okay at faking it now, if it makes you feel any better. And I've been telling people what happened to my neck was from in that place. No one in the infirmary will say anything differently. I wouldn't let the next one live, though," she muttered, a tint of amusement to her voice. Then she grew a little more serious. "It was always going to happen to you. You're not Moriarty. You're still human. But there's nothing that says you can't harden up again, if you want to."

"I can't," he said quietly, shaking his head. "I've got.. weak spots. O'Hare, obviously. And you. Now heroin. Those aren't places that are ever going to scar over, and I can't perform my job properly with them there. I'm half tempted to resign."

"You know you can't resign," she replied wearily, stuffing down the voice in her head prompting her to try and get something clearer out of him. "No one resigns from our jobs. And, eventually, the heroin will begin to scar. Years, though. I was good enough to say no when Dewitt first got me hooked again. Your memory of how good it is fades. That will get better, I promise."

"I absolutely can resign," he said, smirking a little. "Jim would kill me, but that's sort of the point. As for the heroin... it'll get _less_ weak, yes, but it'll still be a pressure point."

She elbowed him, frowning up at his dim form. "Hey, shut the fuck up. Don't get yourself killed. If you're allowed to completely ignore logic and not kill me _twice,_ I'm allowed to say that this is stupid and there's no point. You're a sniper, and you're chief of staff. If you play it right you never have to get near those weaknesses. That's what being a sniper is all about, right? Keeping away from people, doing it from afar. Just.. don't put yourself in those situations, as much as you can avoid it. Don't fuckin' get killed."

He smirked just a little, but then it faded. "I liked being a sick bastard," he mutters gruffly. "I find it irksome that I've developed something anywhere close to a conscience. It's like a novelist having writer's block. But deadlier."

"You're still kinda a sick bastard, I wouldn't worry too much about it," she teased lightly, then shrugged. "I've always had an annoyingly loud conscience. It's easier to do the work when you learn how to ignore. Sometimes you can't, though, and that's when you learn to justify. Self-preservation is good justification."

He nodded just a little, turning the advice over. He wanted to ask what she was doing tucked into his side and reassuring him when she was so fucking pissed at him, but he definitely didn't want to ruin the situation, so he kept his mouth shut.

She rested her head on his shoulder, accepting the silence for a few minutes. Then she sighed. "Just so you know, we're even. I'm not holding that shit with my mother against you. I did kill my own brother, I can't really continue being that upset. Anyway.. look, I have a lot that I owe you for. So I guess we're not really even, you kinda have one over on me. But what's new, right?"

That was out of nowhere. He turned it over for a few seconds before shrugging. "I don't know... I figured you were still pissed as hell at me for pseudo-murdering you so I was leaning more towards you having the one over, but we could probably just call it even if you like."

She snorted. "Yeah, okay, I'm still pretty pissed about that one. Way to take the easy way out. _God._ Okay, okay, sorry, I'm fine," she let out a long breath, rubbing her eyes. "I don't want to worry about that shit. I just kinda want to pretend it never happened. I already released a lot of anger constructively, anyway. Left Malcolm in the lift with your knife in him. Felt a little better after that."

He let out a surprised laugh. "You're kidding- did you really? Jim must have been fucking pissed. Not saying the little cunt didn't deserve it, though. Fucking hell..." He shook his head, reaching up to rub at his eyes. After a moment, he said "I'm fine with pretending it never happened, if you are. All of it. It's fucking annoying when you're pissed at me."

"Oh, god, can't have anything being _annoying_ to you, can we?" she rolled her eyes, though she was smiling slightly. "But yes, Jim had something to say on that. Speaking of which, I'm _not_ doing your job tomorrow. I punched Johnson in the throat today because he made a comment on my appearance. I'm going to go gray."

"Johnson deserved to be punched in the throat, I'm sure," he said, nodding firmly. "And if you go grey, you can always dye it red again," he added with an actual smile, flicking her shoulder.

" _Someone's_ partial to redheads," she chuckled, giving a mild twitch of her shoulders. "I don't know, maybe. Only if I go grey, though, I happen to like my hair as it is."

"With good reason," he snorted, smiling before tapping her shoulder. "You should get some sleep. You still have bruises under your eyes and I've been gone half a week."

"As if I haven't been trying," she groaned, sitting up from leaning on him and flopping onto her side. "Every single night of my life I've been able to sleep on command, _except_ the ones when I actually need it. Fuck everything."

He sighed, shifting back down into the bed, considering her, and his options. Finally, he ventured "You looked like you were cold. That can't be helping."

"Yeah, because you keep your flat fucking _frigid,"_ she grumbled, facing away from him. "And it's not like your bed magically transfers your freakishly high body heat to me. What a world that would be."

"I get too hot otherwise," he grumbles, glancing over at her, and then back at the ceiling. "I could go try to hunt down another blanket if you want."

She muttered something that sounded an awful lot like 'Fuck it' and rolled over to press up against him, making a huffy sound. "We both know where that was going," she grouched. "I hate you," she added, though there wasn't any bite to it. She didn't. She hated herself for _falling_ for it.

He hid a grin and wrapped his arms around her, pulling the blanket up around her a little more snuggly. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he muttered, tone smug as he tucked her head under his chin. "Now shut up and sleep."

"You shut up and sleep," she retorted unconvincingly, punctuating the sentence with a long yawn.

Then, because for some awful reason he was like NyQuil to her, she drifted off, still feeling vaguely bitter.

He watched her sleep, using her as a distraction for the desperate cravings that were running over and over in the back of his mind. He wanted to join her, get some rest (he'd had very little in the past weeks) but that wasn't going to happen any time soon, so he just dug his teeth into his lip, resolving to wait it out.

* * *

Two hours later, he had to wake her up before he went crazy.

"Harrison," he hissed, shaking her shoulder just a little, eyes closed tight.

"Wha?" she mumbled, cracking her eyes open to look at him, groaning. When she saw his expression, she woke up a little. "Seb, you okay?"

He shook his head just slightly, teeth clenched and one hand tight in the sheet, the other asleep underneath her. "O'Hare here?" he asked quietly, voice strained but as calm as he could make it.

"No," she replied softly, sitting up slightly and resting her hand on his shoulder, brushing her thumb across his skin. "No, he's not here. Can I do anything?"

He nodded just slightly. "Thought he wasn't," he muttered. "Barricaded the door, after all, but..." He took a slow breath through his nose. "Distraction would be nice. Any sort."

She looked down for a moment, just worried about him. Distraction? Wasn't that kind of her job description? Christ. _No better way to get back on the wagon._ She leaned down and kissed him.

As far as distractions went, that was an excellent one. Firstly, it was totally unexpected. Secondly, she was an excellent kisser, and thirdly... He'd missed kissing her quite a bit. He took a moment to be appropriately startled, before he was kissing her back enthusiastically.

She had a moment of relief. For just a second she'd been worried he wouldn't want this. Then he was reciprocating and she could breathe again, shifting herself from twisting awkwardly to straddling his waist. She'd almost forgotten how much she thoroughly enjoyed kissing him.

He sat up, hands finding her hips and then sliding around her waist and over the small of her back as his tongue traced her lips, teeth catching for just a moment. So what if he shouldn't. It was better than going out to find a hit, by a long shot.

She wrapped an arm around his neck, fingers sliding into his hair and tugging lightly. She was secretly pleased that it'd grown out a little again - it gave her something to manhandle him with. She kissed him a little harder, a little more excited. God, it felt nice to be touched and not feel scared shitless.

He let out a quiet moan against her lips as she tugged his hair, his tongue pushing past her lips gently to find hers, hands sliding up her back beneath her shirt, relearning the once-familiar geography.

Lorna was suddenly very glad that she'd gotten rid of her trousers before she'd got into bed. She didn't want a single inch between them, and clothes need to be the first to go. She slipped her hands under the hem of his shirt, pulling away from his lips to kiss down his jawline. "You better have a goddamn condom in this room," she muttered, sucking at his pulse point.

He laughed, his throat vibrating against her lips as he slid his hands back down to play with the waist of her panties. "What sort of man do you take me for?" he muttered with a smirk. "Don't even have to move." He left one hand where it was, the other reaching out to fumble around in the bedside table drawer.

"Always good to be cautious," she chuckled, leaning with him a little so he wasn't pinned with her weight, scant as it was, and busying herself trying to distract him as much as she possibly could, teeth dragging across his skin and hips rolling down into his. There were few people that made it so damn satisfying to do.

"Fuck, Harrison," he muttered, grinning as he finally found what he was looking for and slapped it on the top of the bedside table, before suddenly rolling back and over, and flopping her carefully onto the mattress beside him, leaning over to kiss her again, careful of the bandages on her neck, hands wandering to her hair instead.

She laughed as he rolled her over and was cut off as he kissed her, though she thought it was a pretty fair trade. He was going to have to hold back on the whole gripping her by the neck tonight, though, if he wanted this to end in any kind of good way. Returning to the moment, she started pushing his shirt up, trying to get to more of him.

He smiled against her mouth, sitting back a moment later to pull his shirt the rest of the way off, nodding to her to do the same.

She was already on the same page, lifting herself up just enough to pull the offending article off and toss it to the floor, a smirk appearing on her face. "You managed not to rip my shit this time. I'm so proud," she chuckled, reaching to grab his wrist and pull him back to her.

"Well, I figured I'd better not get on your bad side," he tossed back, grinning, his hands finding her waist and getting a solid grip on her sides as he kissed her again, fingers tracing her skin.

She made an amused noise, sucking on his lower lip for a moment while she dragged blunt nails down his chest, letting out a quiet moan of approval. God, even when he was a wreck his body was to die for. A lot of people had told her she looked like sin, but she thought it was better represented by him.

He took a slow breath as she traced his skin, one hand staying at her side, the other, reaching up to push the cup of her bra aside, fingers curling over her breast.

She arched into his touch, lifting a hand back to his hair, scraping her nails on his scalp. It was a struggle not to be rough with him, which was in their usual bag of tricks. Neither of them was really up for it. "Any dare you want to use up?" she grinned, leaning up to tug at his ear with her teeth.

"You keep bringing those up, it's almost like you _want_ me to use them," he says with a smirk, eyes sparking with amusement in the dim room. He reached down with his free hand to push down his pajama trousers.

"The faster they're gone, the sooner I don't have to worry about them anymore," she hummed, reaching behind herself to undo her bra and fling it in the general direction of her shirt before her hands were back on him, skimming just above the waistband of his pants.

"I don't want to waste them though," he sighed, abdomen jumping just slightly under her touch, eyes slipping shut for just a moment before he opened them again, bending to press his lips to her breast, tongue just barely tracing the velvet skin.

She shivered, the skin under his touch hot, on fire, and sending a zap down her spine. "What the hell you planning on using those for, at this point?" she chuckled, just a little bit huskier than normal.

"That is an excellent question," he smirked. "But no point in using them for things that are already happening," he chuckled, smiling and brushing his lips up across her clavicle and back down to her other breast, giving it similar treatment.

She just made a sound of agreement, a little too busy appreciating the things he was doing with his mouth to really care about giving a snappy reply, one hand curling into his hair and the other in the sheets.

He smiled, a hand sliding down her side to her hip, fingers slipping under the waistband of her knickers to brush over her hip. "What was that?"

"I'm agreeing with you, for god's sake," she growled, the hand in his hair pulling his head back enough that she could lean up and kiss down the column of his throat. "You're always so _difficult."_

He laughed, though his breath caught slightly as her lips brushed a sensitive spot. "That's the fun part," he muttered, reaching to push her underwear down her hips.

She rolled her eyes, lifting herself up for a moment to help him along, with the added benefit of being able to press up against him just enough to tease him. "I would hope that's _not_ the fun part, to be honest. I'm insulted," she added, palming him through his underwear and tracing her tongue across his clavicle.

"O-okay, how about _one_ of the fun parts?" he asks, still smiling and tossing her panties off to the side, his hips pressing forward against her hand with a sighed moan, hand sliding back up her hip and shifting under her to get a grip on her ass.

"That's better," she smirked, acting rather successfully like he hadn't just sent a bolt of heat up her spine, and taking her hand from him just so she could push down his pants.

He shifted up, drawing up a leg to kick his pants off, before sighing and rolling off to the side to grab the condom, ripping the package open with his teeth and tossing it aside, rolling the condom on quickly before returning his attention to Lorna, rolling back over and kissing her hungrily.

She returned to snogging him with pleasure, so, so glad it was him, that she wasn't back in that hellhole. She didn't know that she could have trusted anyone else to do this with so soon. And then, because she really didn't like where that thought was going, hitched a leg over his hip and coaxed him down far enough that she could grind up against him, her breath catching slightly.

He groaned against her mouth as she suddenly pressed against him, hot and tantalizing. He rolled his hips against hers slowly, eager to be in her, but he was cognizant of what she'd been through, and so let her lead, enjoying everything as it came.

She curled her nails into the sheets as he responded, a quiet gasp escaping her. Now she was starting to feel that familiar impatience, that needy feeling that was fun enough by itself, but once she got what she _wanted.._ She bit his lip, pulling away for a split second. "Fuck me, okay?"

That was all the encouragement he needed. He reached down to lift her hips slightly, shifting around a bit until he could push slowly into her, letting out and approving groan. "Fuck, I missed this," he muttered as he started to move almost immediately, forehead pressed against hers.

"W-what, dive bar chicks not good enough for you?" she gasped, arching up against him, a hand going to his hair, a shudder going up her spine. He always felt so overwhelming. She'd missed this too.

He didn't answer, just kissed her firmly to shut her up, his teeth playing with her bottom lip, his hips rocking against hers slowly, rhythmically at first. It felt odd to take his time, to move carefully, slowly, instead of the rough possessive sex he was used too. But he didn't feel like staking a claim right now. He wanted to enjoy this.

For once, she didn't feel like trying to continue sassing him, too caught up in the delicious friction he was giving her, and a little busy trying to keep herself from getting a little out of hand and biting him hard enough to draw blood. She was fiercely grateful that he was going easy on her, too, letting her ease into it, the slow burn different from what they usually did, though it was still good enough to make her toes curl.

One hand was holding himself up, but the other traced down her side to her hip, grabbing her arse again and pulling her leg up around his hip, letting himself increase pace and force just slightly as he did that, the shift allowing him to move deeper within her.

" _Fuck,_ Sebastian," she moaned, rolling her hips up to chase his, dragging her fingertips down his back and having just enough presence of mind not to leave marks, not to ruin the mood.

He smiled, but his teeth were clenched tight, his body pressed against hers, chest brushing hers gently as they moved. He wasn't sure why they'd stopped doing this. He could be at his absolute lowest- was, actually- and he would, and did, feel infinitely better when he was with her like this.

She pressed her forehead into his shoulder, her breath slightly labored. She getting closer, little by little, just a slow-building fire heating her up, her cheeks flushed a light pink, a hand gripping his bicep. If he stopped she was convinced she would burst into tears.

He shifted the hand on her hip up to her side, wrapping around her back and holding her close to him, a hand spreading across her shoulder blade. He was moving more quickly now, unable to help it, but it wasn't a fervor, still controlled and rhythmic, his breaths coming a bit short. "Lorna..." he groaned as she grabbed his arm, his back arching just slightly into her.

She kissed him hard as soon as he said her name, suddenly desperate to, the urge to get closer to him irresistible, shifting her hand from the sheets to the nape of his neck, fingers sliding into his hair. She was _so_ close, just teetering on the edge, and shifted the pace to just a little faster, a thoroughly debauched sound rising up her throat.

The sound traveled through him, and swore under his breath, tugging against her grip on his hair. " _Fuck_ , Lorna..." he panted, moving with her and gritting his teeth, warmth starting to flood his body as he got close, fingers gripping her back tightly.

She lived for the sounds he was making. She clung to him tighter in return as he tensed, wrapping an arm around his neck and scraping her nails through his hair, her breath hitching. _So close, so close, so-_ and then she tipped over the edge, the slow build finally culminating with less of a bang and more of a quiet moan, fingers dragging against his skin.

He felt her tighten and pulse around him, but it was her voice in his ear that brought him over, biting his lip as he held her close, body tense. He relaxed a moment later, shifting to the side with a sigh as he flopped beside her, arm still around her.

"Mm. I missed that," she mumbled, half into the crook of her arm, her voice sleepy. She felt like a cat who'd found a good, warm patch of sun. "God, you're so much better than Malcolm. Not to speak ill of the dead."

"That's not much of a compliment," he said with a smirked, poking her side lazily. He felt for the first time that night like he could actually sleep, and pulled off the condom to toss into the wastebasket so he didn't accidentally sleep with it on.

She wriggled away from him with a sound of complaint, though she was smiling slightly. "Take what you can get, huh?"

"Fiiiineee..." he sighed, smiling and pulling her closer again, shifting a little until he was comfortable with her tucked against his chest.

She yawned, happily nestling into him. As much as it was bad for her, she liked being close to him. Clothes or not. "Okay, sleep now," she commanded in a mumble, slinging an arm over his side.

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered sarcastically, but he didn't manage to say much else in retort, eyes slipping shut as he drifted off, thoroughly exhausted.

For once, she actually fell asleep after him, feeling at peace for the first time in days.

* * *

Playlist: KONGOS - Take Me Back

Marina and the Diamonds - Radioactive (Acoustic)

Marina and the Diamonds - Lies (Acoustic)


	29. Ultimatum

Playlist: Fall Out Boy - The Kids Aren't Alright

* * *

When she woke up, she had an instant of deep regret which passed quickly, calming herself down and rolling onto her back with a sigh, glancing over at the little clock on the nightstand. Christ. In a few hours she had her little appointment at the clinic. She dragged a hand over her face and rolled back into him, trying to find that zen feeling again.

He woke slowly, smiling as he realized she was still in his arms and holding her a bit closer, still not completely awake. "Morning..." he mumbled.

"Mornin'," she sighed, a little surprised and a little pleased he didn't pull away now that he'd woken. Maybe, after all the shit they'd been through, he would stop doing that. "You get decent sleep?"

He nodded. He was still tired, it was going to take more than a night to catch up on what he'd lost, but he'd certainly slept better than he had in a long time. He woke more fully and instinct told him to roll over, but he was lazy and comfortable, so he stayed put. "You?"

"Yeah," she murmured, leaning away from him just enough that she could bring her hand up from between them and rub her eyes. "Better than the last few days, probably. Got more than three hours, for sure," she yawned.

He glanced at the clock, and tried not to laugh. "Eleven, to be exact," he muttered. "Holy fuck."

"Yeah," she chuckled. She'd checked, after all. God forbid she somehow miss that appointment. "It's probably why I don't feel so much like death. Maybe I'm like, a quarter dead, not half dead."

"Hurray for being less dead," he sighed, closing his eyes again, before letting out a soft groan. "I need to report to Jim... Fuck..."

"That's not going to be fun," she muttered, grimacing. "I don't _think_ he'll attack you with glassware again, though. What are the odds?"

"With Jim? Astronomical," he muttered wryly. He didn't want to let go of her. He was happy with her there, in his arms. _Let's just stay here, let everything else go for a while._

She snorted. "Well, you know where I live if you need me to stitch you up again. Not that that wasn't fun last time, but let's not do that again. For one, I don't have alcohol anymore and I don't exactly carry prescription painkillers with me," she shrugged slightly. She didn't want to move enough to jostle him into moving away. "I should go change clothes. Eventually. I don't have anywhere to be for..." she twisted a little to glance at the clock. "Two hours."

"I'm probably just going to relax for a while and delay the inevitable. You're welcome to stay if you like. Gives me more of an excuse." He smirked.

"Well, I'm almost certain that your shower is better than mine, so I'm certainly not leaving before I've stepped in there," she grinned, shifting away from him enough to stretch, ignoring her body's various fading aches and pains. She was healing. She could be patient.

He laughed a bit at that. "First my room is colder, now my shower is better? Our rooms are essentially identical, Lorna. You're just paranoid."

"Bullshit. This room has a better view, it's only logical for it to be reserved for someone higher than the one across the hall. So better utilities, a more sensitive thermostat, probably paint that _isn't_ lead-based," she smirked, serious up until the last part.

He laughed. "Fine, fine, you got me. Complain all you like. It's not like you don't have practically unlimited access to it anyway."

"Your door is locked with a print scanner," she retorted, amused, "Anyway, I haven't showered in here in months, it's hardly unlimited. You just have to stop digging yourself deeper into this hole of you being wrong."

"Oh shut up," he muttered, rolling his eyes. But some part of him was already considering ways to add her prints to the scanner.

 _Why the hell for?_

 _Practicality._

 _Oh, no. No. This is not becoming a regular thing again._

 _Yes... yes it is. If I can help it. Shut up._

"Who, me? Never going to happen," she snorted, rolling over and burying her face in his pillow. She was just not ready for committing on getting up. Either way, that would mean breaking this little bubble of relative happiness they were in, and she was loathe to do so. She had to take good moments with him where she could.

He smirked at her response, and as she curled back up closer. They stayed like that for a long time, and despite the growing hunger for a hit, he felt relaxed. Finally, though, he knew he couldn't put it off any longer. "If I don't go now, He'll put a hit out on me anyway," he sighed.

"Mm. Okay. Good luck. I'm going to use your shower and then go do the things I have to do," she sighed back, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face. Good, it looked like he didn't remember what she'd said last night. "I'll lock up on my way out."

He nodded, sitting up. "I've got to shower first, but then you're welcome to it," he grunted, vaulting out of bed and heading for the bathroom.

"Okay," she agreed, sliding out of bed and starting to gather her things from where she'd tossed them the night before. Normally, she'd probably just don a shirt and head back to her flat, but she wanted to spare herself the awkwardness of meeting O'Hare in the hall while she was half-naked.

He stepped into the shower with a sigh, washing off quickly. He was nervous now, about what Jim was going to do to him. He didn't spend long in the water, drying off and pulling on a fresh change of clothes. He glanced in the mirror, taking a breath, and deciding he was looking about as good as he was going to and heading for the door. "Wish me luck..." he sighed.

"Good luck. Hope you don't die," she called after him, already halfway through the door to the bathroom. She didn't need to watch him go. Worrying about this wouldn't help anything.

He headed out the door to the elevator, and hit the button to call it, taking a slow breath. He stepped in as soon as it arrived, eyes closing in meditation as the car rose, working to quell the hit-starved tremors in his hands. Finally the elevator dinged, and taking a final breath he walked out, down the hall, and knocked.

Jim, as always, knew who it was. He'd been waiting, in fact, pacing in front of his desk and doing his best to stem the boiling anger trying to take over. It was always better, in the long run, to think clearly around Moran. He wasn't an average employee, wasn't easily cowed with harsh words, and he certainly didn't learn his lesson that way. No, it would be so much more fun if he kept a lid on this. So as soon as he was finished knocking, Jim opened the door in a brisk, sharp motion, immediately turning and heading for his desk. "Sit."

He was startled when the door opened for him. That hadn't happened in the entirety of his time working for Moriarty, and he was immediately on edge. He entered carefully, heading for the chair and sitting slowly, senses heightened by adrenaline.

Jim sat down behind his desk, already staring the sniper down. He looked like shit. He was _almost_ surprised. He hadn't expected Moran to be the one of the two of them who broke first. Well. Maybe he had. O'Hare had been hired for a reason, after all. And yet... he didn't look as awful as he could have. He suspected Harrison's influence. It was obvious they'd fucked again, but he wasn't psychic, he didn't know how precisely the woman had kept Moran from melting in his chair. "What the _fuck_ were you thinking, Moran?"

He sighed, set his teeth. "I was thinking I wanted a hit, sir. Nothing complicated about." There was a lot complicated about it, but very little he wanted to admit to his employer. "Once I got my head back, I realized I was being an idiot and came back."

Moriarty made a snide, generally frustrated sound. "Tell me, then, how I can properly motivate you to stay confined to your _fucking_ floor, the next time I ask. Mr. _O'Hare_ obviously didn't do the _trick._ And for God's sake, keep control of Harrison. She's starting to take on your trait of violently punishing the next person to get in her way. Get cleaned up. Do you understand me?"

"Understood, sir. That was already on the agenda." He straightened his back a little. "I'll admit, O'Hare took me by surprise. But I have everything under control."

"Prove it," he snapped, beginning to drum his fingers impatiently on the desk. He had to take a moment to remind himself that he was trying to be calm about this. "If you... _break out_ again, there will be no grace period."

"How would you like me to prove it, sir?" he asked, trying to keep his voice passive. "I haven't done anything like this in the past. I would suggest it was a reaction to extreme circumstances."

"However you damn please," he sneered, a look of disgust on his face. "I don't care what you have to do. Show me you're not going to crumble into a billion little pieces the next time I toss some obstacle in your path. If you don't, well... I'm sure you'll regret it. Dismissed."

He wanted to retort, angrily, tell him that he should go through what they had and walk away fine, and then he could talk. But that wasn't his place or his job, and he didn't get where he was by being an idiot. He stood. "I won't disappoint you, sir," he said calmly.

"I should hope not," he snorted, turning his attention to his desktop without further ado, and starting up work again. He'd had a little more in the past few days; he knew he couldn't give everything Moran did to Harrison, not if he wanted it done right.

He exited quickly. Part of him was relieved that he's alive, the other part wished that Jim would just kill him and get it over with. He hadn't exactly made it clear if Sebastian was back on duty, but he assumed he was, and headed back to his apartment to begin catching himself up on what he'd missed.

* * *

Lorna was back in her flat, sitting on the floor of her kitchen with her back against the cabinets, staring up at the ceiling. Fucking _positive._ Of all the luck. They'd given her something for it, of course - something that would make her miserable for about a day - but that didn't change the revulsion she felt. _Positive._ She was going to string DeWitt up in the middle of the lobby and field gut him.

He was going to head towards his apartment, but decided to stop at Lorna's for a moment. He knocked, and called in "Just letting you know, not dead."

"That's a pleasant surprise," she called back, aiming for cheerful and falling a bit flat. God, but this was a hard thing to just pretend was okay.

He smiled a moment, though it was hesitant. She sounded off... "You alright?" he called after a moment. He'd been low last night, almost lost himself in the withdrawal, and he knew she still had her bad points.

"No," she laughed, raising a hand to rub her eyes. _I haven't been fine in weeks, anyway._ "I'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

"Right... I'll just leave you to it, then," he said, nodding a little, shifting from where he was leaning against the door. "If you want to be not fine at my place, door's unlocked. I'll be reading several thousand emails." He didn't wait for her reply, just headed across the hall and scanned in, disengaging the lock as he passed.

She didn't move for a few minutes, unable to find the will to get up and follow him. After a good ten minutes she finally got herself up and crossed the hall to his flat, slipping inside and immediately walking to collapse on his sofa. She didn't say anything, but she didn't doubt that he'd heard her enter.

He gave her a few minutes before he looked up from where he was seated in the armchair with his laptop, raising an eyebrow. "Want to tell me what's wrong, or should I fuck off?" he asked casually.

She just pulled a mostly empty pill bottle from her pocket and tossed them to him, the rattle indicating that there weren't more than two or three pills in the container. "Guess what those are for."

He caught it easily, glancing at the label, and winced, eyes tightening just slightly. "Don't have to, I know my drugs..." He tossed them back her way. "How're you doing?"

"Kinda shitty," she replied honestly, catching them one-handed and slipping them back into her pocket. "I hoped I was wrong. I'm only proving the consistency through which my hoping doesn't work."

He sighed and nodded, setting his laptop to the side for the time being. "We'll find him," he said quietly, firmly. "We'll find him and you can go to town."

"Yeah, we will. I'm not hoping, either, that's just going to make it impossible," she snorted, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm going to make him pay for this. That's a fact."

He nodded firmly. "Jim did request that I ask you to stop killing people for using the elevator, though," he said, smirking just a little.

"I'm sure 'request' is one word for it," she snorted, though not completely without amusement. A month ago he wouldn't have softened that any. A month ago she might not have cared. "I didn't have anyone else on my list, though. Don't sweat it."

He smirked just slightly. "Of course. Nothing to worry about. How silly of me," he sighed, leaning back, and grabbed his laptop again, getting back to work, though he kept an eye on Harrison as he did so.

She let him work in silence, eventually rolling over a half hour later and burying her face in the cushions to try and catch up on some more rest. Unconsciousness might help her forget.

He worked for a few more hours, smiling a bit as Harrison dropped off. It was oddly... relaxing... to have her here, even just sleeping. He gave up on work when the withdrawal started to hit again, and headed into the kitchen to start cooking up some greasy food. It worked for hangovers, might as well try it now. And judging from the lump on his couch, enough for two was in order.

She woke up when the smell of something frying reached her nose, sitting up blearily, with a couple lines across her cheek from the cushions. "What am I smelling?"

"Garlic bacon, probably," he called back, dishing a few thick slices out onto a waiting plate and adding some more. "Either that or hashbrowns. It seemed like a breakfast food sort of evening."

She pushed herself up off the couch and shuffled into the kitchen, stifling a yawn into the back of her hand. "I can be on board with that. I mean, I assume you're sharing, not just dangling the carrot in front of me," she chuckled quietly, leaning against the counter out of his way.

"Plenty to go around," he snorted, nodding to the toaster. "Put some bread in there, will you? This needs accompaniment."

She nodded, turning to his breadbox to do as he asked, careful not to burn her tired, clumsy fingers. "How's the return to work, going? Got a backlog that will last a century?"

"Oh, at least," he snorted, flipping the bacon slices over and tossing in a little more garlic in with the potatoes. "But I'll plod through."

"I'd offer to help, but I've had just about all I can take from your job," Lorna rolled her eyes, thinking idly that it was nice to have breakfast made for her, at the usual time or not. "God, I'll be so pissed if you die and it becomes _my_ job. Don't do that to me."

He laughed. "It's not all that bad once you've gotten a pattern going," he smirked. "A lot of it can be delegated or ignored." He plated the rest of the bacon and potatoes, picking up the butter and sliding it over to Lorna for the toast.

She gingerly retrieved the bread from the toaster and started scraping on a liberal amount of butter. "True. I guess it's easier once you're used to it. Plus, I could kill anybody I wanted and I wouldn't get a slap on the wrist for it."

"Chief of staff does have its upsides. Just be glad all you got was a wrist slap. It could have been a lot worse, you do realize. You have incredible luck." He took a piece of toast and grabbed a plate. "C'mon. I'm hungry."

"My luck is up for debate," she rolled her eyes, grabbing her own and loading it up with bacon and hashbrowns. "Perhaps I have incredible luck with Jim. That I might concede to. I have escaped unscathed an extraordinary amount of times."

"Maybe he likes you," he snorts, sitting at his table and starting to dig into the potatoes, using the toast as a utensil.

She smirked, sitting across from him and eating the bacon with her hands. "Uh huh, sure. I'll believe that when he sends me a Christmas card with, in his handwriting, and printed neatly on the bottom, 'I like you, Harrison,' inscribed in it."

"At this point, I wouldn't be too terribly shocked," he grunted, rolling his eyes. "You're like the fucking miracle child over here. It's startling what shit you get away with."

She shook her head with a smirk, digging into her hashbrowns. "I have a relatively clean service record, for the most part. That helps."

"So do I. But fucking Christ, I go on a bit of shore-leave and he's up in arms," he muttered, deadpan.

She raised her eyebrows, pausing with her fork halfway to her plate. "I wouldn't call sneaking out of the building to get high in an alley for a few days 'shore leave' but I guess that's none of my business."

He looked up, kept the deadpan for a few moments, before snorting with laughter. "Your face," he muttered, returning his attention to the potatoes. "You almost looked like you were trying to be the responsible adult for a moment. It was adorable."

Lorna smirked, returning to eating. "Almost? Damn. I guess I didn't quite manage it," she chuckled, shrugging lightly. " Oh well. You'll just have to continue to be the adult."

"Oh, christ, _I'm_ the adult. We're fucking screwed," he chuckled, running out of toast for the potatoes and moving on to the bacon.

"If it's not you or me, god knows who is. Jim, maybe? That's probably bad for our health," she snorted, pushing her plate forward a little, full. He could have whatever was left.

He glanced up at her for a moment, but didn't argue, taking the plate and dumping the contents onto his plate and working to down the rest. The food was helping his stomach, at least. "How're you feeling?"

"Physically?" she sighed, leaning back in her chair, one arm slung over the back. "I don't know. Probably better than you. I'm putting on a little weight again, so just sitting on something wooden doesn't make my ass hurt quite as much. But I don't trust myself to leave the building. I don't want to start feeling bad out there and go looking for a solution."

He nodded in agreement, standing to toss the empty plates in the sink. "Glad your ass is better," he said, smirking a little. "That's the important part."

"Well, considering you benefit from it, I should hope you think it's important," she snorted, running a hand through her hair to try and tame it a little from her cat nap. "Anyway, it's nice not being in constant pain. I don't want to starve again."

"Agreed. Starving is never fun. I've been doing my best to undo the damage, but we're both still scrawny." He started rinsing of the dishes, glancing over his shoulder at her. "At least we both got some decent sleep."

"Yeah," she agreed, rubbing her forehead. "That was a nice change. I wish I was the kind of person who could sleep deeply alone after something shitty happens to me. Unfortunately for both of us, that's not the case," she shrugged, keeping her tone neutral. She didn't mind being closer to him, but it probably grated on his nerves.

He shrugged, setting the plates in the rack to dry, debating his response. He should just shrug it off, crack a joke, end this here.

"I slept better, too. I'm used to hearing you snore at this point, and it's too quiet otherwise." Smirk, pass it off. Not quite a shrug, but close enough.

"I _do not_ snore," Lorna retorted with exaggerated shock, placing a hand on her chest and putting on her best offended look. "I'm _completely_ silent when I sleep, thank you very much."

"Mhm," he said, nodding. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," he retorted, grinning at his own pun.

"Fuck off, I see what you just did there," she scoffed, smirking against her best intentions. How easily they'd fallen back into their old banter. Four, five days ago he'd nearly killed her (she admitted that she'd pushed him to it, but still) and now they were friendly again, sleeping in the same bed again. Christ, he was like a frighteningly untested roller coaster. "If I snored, it wouldn't be light, cute snoring. It'd be like a goddamn yeti. You would never sleep, you're such a light sleeper. You look pretty well rested to me."

"I'm a light sleeper, but I can tune things out as well," he smirked. "Otherwise I'd never have been able to sleep in that cell. You're like a congested moose." She was smiling, and it made him happy. He was an idiot for admitting it, even to himself, but it did. That smile was the only goddamned thing that made him feel better right now, at least the only thing that wasn't heroin or a gun to his head. So he chased it.

"Unbelievable. You're stooping to comparing me to hoofed mammals, now? God, that's the last time I get captured and tortured with you," she laughed, deciding it was no longer worth it to pretend she was anything other than purely amused. "I wish I could complain about some noise you make, but you're like a cotton ball. You are incapable of making sound."

He scoffed. "At least moose are dangerous. A cotton ball? I think that is the least dangerous thing I have ever been compared to. I'm fucking insulted." He flicked sudsy water her direction with a mock glare.

She grinned, shrugging. "I thought it was a good way to poke you back. Fucking moose. I'm better than a moose."

"Better than a moose, check. Sound like one when snoring? Also check." He dried his hands off.

"How intimately familiar are you with moose if you know what they sound like when they snore?" she teased, reaching out with her legs under the table and propping her feet up on his chair.

He walked over, examining his chair with a sigh, before picking up her feet and sitting down, dropping them back on his lap. "I'm using my imagination."

"Mhmm. If that's what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night," she smirked, tossing his words back at him. Christ, why was this so easy?

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, very clever. That was blatant plagiarizing, that was. I thought you were supposed to be the witty, well-spoken one?"

"References to earlier bits of the conversation is an art, Moran," she grinned, smug. "I'm still the witty one, no worries there. I don't know about well-spoken, though."

"Cheeky," he grumbled, sighing and leaning back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. His hands found one of her feet, rubbing absently.

She briefly thought about telling him he was lucky she didn't have ticklish feet, but reminded herself that pointing things out to him always went bad, and she kept quiet about it. "How are you feeling? Any better?"

He shrugged. "A bit. I'm jonesing something terrible, but I know better than to go after anything. And I'm just not thinking about everything else. As best as I can, anyway." He looked over at her. "You?"

"I want a hit. It's not as bad as it was last time, though. Maybe because I know I've already done this before?" she shook her head. "Whatever. As long as I don't break and go get it..."

"A course of action I do not recommend," he snorted. He looked over at her. "What are you up to tonight?"

She gave a noncommittal shrug. "I don't know. I was figuring I'd just take it easy. Watch a movie or something. What about you? Catching up on work or trying to.. heal, I guess?"

He shrugged. "Probably turn something on on the television and delete a couple dozen emails at a time," he sighed. "Try to keep myself sane. Nothing thrilling."

She nodded, falling back into silence for a moment, wondering how long this period of calm would last before one of them said something the other couldn't ignore. Hell, the fact that she'd gotten away with last night - last night's comment, in particular - was shocking. She reached up a rubbed her forehead, sighing. "Shit, you might as well count me down and out for tomorrow. Apparently the pill they gave me makes you just _absolutely_ miserable."

"Sounds like fun," he said, glancing at her. "You going to be level enough not to go hit-hunting?"

"Yeah. I expect that I'll be on my sofa all day, not moving," she sighed, dragging a hand down her face. "If I do get it into my head to go out, though, I'll text you. Just. Lock me in my room."

He shrugged. "Could just stay here again. We can keep an eye on each other and I can tell you not to be stupid and make sure you eat something every once in awhile."

Lorna hesitated for a moment, automatically looking for the catch. She had to force herself to stop being so suspicious. _Overall,_ he'd looked out for her well-being. "Okay," she agreed, rubbing the back of her neck a little self-consciously. "If I'm not going to be in your way."

"Worst case scenario I can lock you in the closet," he said dryly, shoving her feet off his lap and standing, heading for the living room.

She put her feet right back where they had been, feeling too lazy to move. Anyway, if he had work to do she'd probably be less distracting in the kitchen.

He flopped down in his chair, returning to his laptop. He wasn't sure why he'd asked her to stay. It was a dangerous move. They were both dancing around the inevitable and they knew it.

Lorna remained where she was, wondering when they'd blow up at each other again. Not that she wanted it to happen, she didn't. But it was bound to happen, eventually, in some way or another. It was a depressing thought.

* * *

A few hours later she emerged from the kitchen, a little stiff from sitting in the same place for so long, but she hadn't wanted to come out and disturb him. "So.." she hedged, from the doorway, "I figure if I'm going to stay overnight I should get some actual clothes for my awful day tomorrow..?"

He glanced over at her, and smirked. "That might be a wise move, yes. I mean, _I'm_ fine with you wearing nothing but pants, but you might get annoyed with me ogling your ass constantly." It was crude, but necessary to relieve a little of the tension.

She snorted, rolling her eyes and turning towards the door. "I'm hardly ever annoyed with you 'ogling my ass', but tomorrow may be a special circumstance, you're right," she replied, resisting the urge to let out a relieved sigh that he hadn't tried to pick at that, as he was wont to do at unexpected times.

He rolled his eyes and returned to his work.

* * *

He was expecting the explosion at any moment, they both were. But moments turned into hours, and then days, and by the fifth morning of waking up with her in his arms, he was beginning to question his judgment. Not because so much time had passed, but because the tension, slowly but surely, was fading.

It was unnerving.

Lorna got up on the sixth day feeling... good. Finally. Not shitty, or tired, or achy. Good. There was still a quiet part of her that was nagging her that she could feel _better,_ if only she got a hold of a needle, but she was doing her best to ignore that voice. She rolled onto her back, shifting away from Moran, who she was fairly certain was still out, but it was hard to tell with him. She didn't know how this had become such a regular routine. The first couple days they'd had good reasons, but as the week wore on their excuses had kept getting weaker. Last night, they hadn't even bothered to come up with one. She sat up, running a hand through her hair. What to make of the situation, she didn't know, but she sure as hell wasn't about to bring it up first.

Moran woke to the insistent buzzing of the intercom, and grunted slightly, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes, before motioning for Lorna to be quiet. Not that she needed reminding.

"Hello, sir."

"Moran. My office, ten minutes," came the clipped reply.

"Understood, sir." He stood up, heading quickly for the shower, thinking over what reason Moriarty would have for calling him. Perhaps there was a mission that needed his attention.

Lorna moved a little more slowly, giving him a good lead before she started to get ready for her day. Getting in his way when the boss was waiting was just asking for trouble, from both of them. So she just got out of bed and meandered into the kitchen to make coffee.

He blew past her eight minutes later, showered, shaved and dressed. "Talk to you later," he called, tucking his gun into his holster and straightening his jacket as he headed out of the apartment towards the elevator.

She said goodbye into her cup of coffee and then he was out the door, and she was left to ponder about this alone.

Jim was in his office, eating a rare breakfast. Normally he didn't bother, but he was starting to see signs of wear on himself, and that was a good motivator to start trying to be a little _healthier._ Ugh. The sound of it made him want to gag. But he wasn't going to end up burnt out in his late thirties. He counted the minutes until Moran arrived, because Moran was always precisely on time, despite numerous other failings. When he judged it to be ten minutes, he cleared his throat, tossed the remnants of his breakfast, and called, "Come in."

He'd just raised his hand to knock, but didn't bother, opening the door and stepping inside. "Good morning, Sir," he said formally, coming to parade rest a few feet from the desk.

"Good morning, Moran," Jim said back, dryly. "Take a seat, why don't you. It's time for a little performance review."

He didn't argue, just walked over to sit across from his employer. He disliked that, the sitting. He'd never been asked to do it before everything had happened, and the change was inconsequential, but irksome. He didn't speak, just waited for Jim to continue.

"Your work leaves something to be desired of late, Moran," he started, his voice cool, calm. "You haven't exactly sprung back to your old self. What do I have to do to fix that? What's going to _motivate you?_ I might have an idea."

He took a slow breath. "I apologize that I haven't been up to your standards, sir. I've been attempting to recover as quickly as possible." He tried to gauge how best to proceed, and finally just went for polite diplomacy. "I'm eager to hear any suggestions you may have, sir."

Jim's face split into an icy, cruel grin. "Oh, _are_ you? I don't think you'll like it very much. Not like you like _her._ Don't think I haven't noticed. You've become _attached,_ you poor thing. Here's my suggestion, Moran. You clean up your act. The longer it takes, the more danger I throw her into. Does that sound fair?"

He stiffened just slightly, but didn't do either of them the disservice of pretending he didn't know who Jim was talking about. "I think _attached_ is a bit of an overstatement, sir... We've been keeping each other from going hit-hunting. Which is fulfilling your request that I clean up."

"Don't lie to me, Moran," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "This isn't up for debate. I'm telling you what's going to happen. You're going to comply, or something nasty might happen to our dear Harrison. Understood?"

His jaw stiffened, and for a moment he considered telling Moriarty to do it, then. Why the hell did he care? She was replaceable.

His own silence surprised and unnerved him. He stood.

"I understand, sir. Will that be all?"

"Yes, that will be all. I do hope it will be good enough motivation, I'd hate to waste Harrison's talent on something so trivial. Clean up your act. Dismissed," he waved off, the grin dropping from his face like a mask. He just didn't care enough.

He exited quickly, waiting until he was in the elevator to let his expression change, let his body move. At which point he landed several denting punches in the flimsy metal walls, letting out a roar of confused anger and frustration. When the elevator opened again, he was calm, and when he entered his apartment, it was with caution of the woman he might find still there.


	30. Get Fucked, Siobhan

Lorna was still there, although she'd showered and dressed and cleaned out the mug she'd used for coffee, and she was on her own laptop, on his couch, sending a bit of an angry email to Kelly for something he'd botched rather spectacularly. She looked up when he came in. "Sorry, I was just about to leave. Got distracted being angry with Kelly. God, he's stupid sometimes."

He nodded a little, walking over to sit down, trying to act normal, to think. What the _hell_ did Moriarty think he was doing? He'd never known the boss to mistake a call like this. Or... was it a mistake? Either way, it was infinitely frustrating.

"Did he say something typically Jim-ish?" she asked as she shut her laptop and stood, tucking it under her arm. "You look like you're considering violence against something that probably wasn't what annoyed you in the first place."

"He thinks you're my weak point," he said blandly, no inflection, as he considered the far wall, unseeing. "You're my motivation, now. If I don't straighten out..."

She went very still, unable to completely process that for a moment. The first thought to her head was: _This is bad._ And _This is the implosion, isn't it,_ shortly followed. She said neither of those things. In fact, she didn't speak for a good minute. "I..." she started, weakly, and decided to begin again. "Christ. I'd make a joke about appreciating it if you could keep my alive, here, but I don't think that would be very well received."

"I might shoot you, actually," he said, nodding just a little, eyes still on the wall. Then "The worst part is that he isn't wrong. The smug motherfucking bastard. He isn't wrong."

If it was even possible, she became even stiller, a quick, nervous jolt of fear flitting through her chest and making an exit just as rapidly. How was she supposed to respond to this? What was the right thing to say here? Any direction she took could lead her right to a landmine. She swallowed, adjusting her grip on her laptop slightly, fingers sticking just a little with sweat. "You're mine, too, if it makes you feel any better," she said finally, her voice quiet, like somehow it would keep him from getting angry. "But then, I guess it's not quite the same. I'm.. I'm sorry."

He shook his head just a little. "Don't apologize," he said, finally looking over at her and shrugging. "I have weaknesses... I'm beginning to accept that. As long as I don't fuck up, it shouldn't be a problem."

She nodded, rubbed the back of her neck, unsure what to say next. She really did feel like she had to apologize, but if he didn't want her to, she wouldn't. "Okay," she said finally. She didn't know what else to say. What _could_ she say?

He nodded just a little, staring at her for a moment longer, debating.

 _Fuck it_.

"He is right, though. About how I am with you. And you've tried to point it out as well."

She tried and failed to keep her face from getting a little hot, feeling rather like she'd been dunked into the middle of the Baltic Sea and told to swim for shore. "I.. I don't know what I can say, here," she said, almost in a whisper, swallowing hard. "I'll be as honest as you let me, but I can't... I don't want to fuck this up again, you know?"

He shook his head, shifting forward and putting his elbows on his knees. "Cards on the table," he said evenly. His heart was pounding, mind screaming at him to shut up, but he _wanted_ this. Honesty, for once.

She adjusted and readjusted her grip on her laptop, fighting the urge to just drop it and sit so she wouldn't just collapse like a frightened housewife. "I don't know anyone I'd take a bullet for, besides you. I don't.. I've never _cared_ this much about someone. Everyone else I've been with, I just..." she shook her head. "I don't get invested in people anymore, not since I was a kid. I don't give a shit what people think about me, and then there's _you,_ and I go miles out of my way to try and.. I don't know if impress is the right word, but it's close. What we have going right now.. I don't want it to stop."

He nodded a little, a smirk tilting the corner of his mouth. "Neither do I," he said quietly, wishing she'd stop looking quite so eager to bolt but not in a position to do much about it. "I care about you, too. Far more than is healthy in this business. You know how unusual that is for me, I don't think I have to explain."

"No, you don't," she agreed softly, giving in now that she knew he wasn't rejecting her, wasn't telling her to stop, and sat down on the sofa next to him, setting her laptop down by her feet. "I kinda thought this would end worse."

"Well, it always has in the past, so that wasn't a bad assumption. Last time I tried to kill you," he pointed out quietly, looking down at his hands as he turned the situation over. "But hell, if Jim's going to use it against me anyway, I might as well enjoy what I can of it."

"That's not how I would have wanted it," she sighed, "The Jim, thing, I mean. He never exactly lets you make an easy adjustment. Still... I guess now I don't have to worry so much."

"It's not my job to make easy adjustments, to be fair," he sighed. "It's my job to not be affected by things." He pushed a hand through his hair, before looking over at her. "Are you pissed?"

She blinked, honestly surprised. "What? No, why would I be pissed?" she shook her head, trying to look vaguely reassuring. She could almost understand where he was coming from, after all. So much of her time was spent carefully calculating what would or wouldn't piss him off.

"Because Jim's threatening you in order to get me in line," he said with a smirk. "Or did you not pick that up?"

Lorna shrugged, leaning back against the sofa with a sigh. "What's there to be pissed about, really? Being angry about it isn't going to help anything; it might even make it worse. It could be worse. Granted, I'm saying that with an awful lot of perspective about the last month," she snorted. "Maybe I'll feel differently about it in a few weeks."

He laughed, shaking his head a little. "Christ... fuck this. Fuck all of this. This is ridiculous. Six months ago I was the top of the food chain. Now look at me," he muttered, still smiling, but rubbing at his face, chuckling in frustration.

"You'll get back up there. Maybe it won't be the same, but you'll get there. Anyway, it's not as if you're less deadly than you were before. You can still kill more creatively than any of your underlings, I'd bet a hand on it," she smirked, then frowned slightly. "If I'm wrong don't actually take a hand from me, okay? I need those."

"Really, you needed to clarify that?" he asked, leveling a dry glare in her direction. "I've risked my ass to save you how many times in the last few months?"

"Yeah, but that was me in my _entirety,_ who _knows_ how you feel about one measly old hand," she smirked, giving a light shrug. "And I've lost count, anyway. So definitely more than three times. Thanks. Seriously."

He shook his head. "You know I couldn't have done any differently," he smirked. "I've gone soft, remember?"

"You know if I started to take it for granted you'd get annoyed, don't lie," she chuckled. "I _try_ not to be a big risk-taker. Sometimes I manage it okay."

"Sometimes I just manage it okay," he mimicked under his breath. "You're an excellent manager, I'll give you that."

"If I was as reckless as I could be, you'd never be able to keep me alive," she laughed, standing and tucking her laptop under her arm again. "Okay, I really have to go make sure no one's started a fire in my department. Kelly is making a mess of things as it is without an inferno added to the mix."

"I honestly don't understand how on earth your department sets so many fucking fires. You're grifters for christ's sake. I understand the occasional one, but three in the past six months seems excessive." He sighed.

"It's because most of them are cheap fuckers who never learned how to sew properly, or how to iron their goddamn clothes. I'm banning hot glue guns. The irons, I can do less about," she shook her head with a disgusted look and turned for the door. "I'll see you later. Good luck keeping me alive."

He rolled his eyes, but called after her before she left. "Harrison. Stay sharp, alright? On your toes. I'll try to give you advance warning if I fuck up too badly."

She paused half out the door, turning with her hand on the knob and nodding. "I will. I'll keep my phone loud. If you need me to stop you from doing something stupid, you have my number. Text me if you want to do Indian tonight, I'm going to be in that part of town anyway. Ciao," she smiled, then turned and stepped out, shutting the door behind her. That had gone... _well,_ shockingly enough.

He was surprised by the dinner offer. It was so blatantly casual that it was stunning. He decided to ignore it for the time being and think it over later, picking up his laptop and starting to work on emails. He should go out and about, interact with the troops as it were, but he needed a bit of time to process Jim's threat and figure out how to work best."

* * *

Lorna spent a good part of the rest of the day too busy resisting the urge to kill her coworkers to be too worried about her comment about dinner. Either way, they'd both made it fairly clear that this - whatever this was - was _happening,_ so she figured she couldn't have done too much damage. And if he hadn't liked it, he was always free to ignore it. She was careful to leave that open as an option to him at all times.

He worked hard for the rest of the day, doing his best to stay in control and focused, and for the most part succeeding. The work helped to distract him from the starving ache in his arm.

At half past six he pulled out his cell phone, stared at it for a bit, the texted a single word.

 _Dinner?_

Lorna was honestly surprised that he'd gotten back to her on that. She was _shocked_ that he'd responded positively.

 _I'm a block from that really good restaurant. Want me to get takeout? Btw, learned something interesting today. Might have to do with Jim. LH_

He raised an eyebrow.

 _Sure. Get whatever, you know what I hate. And tell me when you get here. SM_

Whatever it was, there was no reason to risk phones.

She snorted, slipping her phone back into her pocket. Yes, she did know what he hated. Weird, how many of his tastes she knew.

* * *

She was knocking on the door of his flat a half hour with a plastic bag of takeout containing curry goat and chana masala, figuring that it would be ill-advised to attempt to waltz in like she owned the place, even if it wasn't locked.

He opened the door a minute later. "Come on in. You want something to drink?" He closed the door behind her, heading for the kitchen. "Christ, that smells good."

"Water's fine, thanks," she said, following him in to place the bag on the table with a rustle. "And yeah, it does. I thought the cabby was going to ask for a bite on the way here. I was tempted to just grab a bite in the car myself," she chuckled, pulling the takeout from the bag and setting the styrofoam containers down on the table.

He grabbed a couple of forks from the drying rack and tossed them her way, coming over a moment later with two glasses of water. "So. What's this about Jim?"

She sat down at her usual place at the table, prying open the takeout container with a grimace at the sound it made. "Ever since we've been back - and I've been in good enough condition to work - I've been having a list sent to me every few days of people leaving and entering the country. After DeWitt, I thought it would be a good idea to keep track of any of my old... problems. Anyway, I put those people through a filter and go through the remaining names manually. I put Moriarty on the filter just.. because, really. And it's not exactly an unusual name... but pictures come with those names. This old woman who came in through Heathrow a few days ago looks the spitting image of our boss."

His head snapped up from where he'd been pulling some of the curried goat onto a plate. "First name?" he asked immediately, eyes wide and eager.

"Siobhan. Like the most stereotypically Irish name ever," she rolled her eyes, giving herself a generous serving of food. There was still some weight she could stand to catch up on. "You're a little more excited about this than I expected, I'll admit."

"I need everything you have on her," he said, setting his food aside without much thought and running into the next room to grab his laptop, already opening as he headed back. "When exactly did she come in? Do you know the flight?"

"Not off the top of my head, but I can forward the list to you. Today's was pretty short, she's only like four down," she shrugged, leaning back in her chair so she could shimmy her phone out of her pocket, falling silent for a moment as she sent him the email. "There you go."

"Thank you," he muttered, absently taking a bite of food, eyes on the screen as he opened her email, immediately putting the picture into a tracking software plugged into the CCTV and their own systems. "I just hope she's still here..."

"The list is a day old, at most. She hasn't had much time to leave," she shrugged, beginning to dig into her food with relish, feeling like she'd earned it. It was always a pleasant surprise when she managed to do something 100% right.

"As I'm sure you've picked up, that's Jim's mother," Sebastian said distractedly through a mouthful. "He took out his father years ago, but he got his brain from her for the most part, and she's been evading him for years. She's outsmarted him on multiple occasions, so, as you can imagine, he loathes her."

"Damn," she said, around a mouthful of goat, "I didn't expect to be right. What are you planning on doing about this? You seem very suddenly busy."

"I'm going to bring her in," he said plainly, taking another bite of food, hardly tasting it, his focus entirely on tracking this woman down.

"Okay, well, let me know if you want help or something," she hummed, returning her full attention to her dinner. Her filters were turning out more useful than she'd ever thought they would.

He hummed his acknowledgment, taking a bite from a fork he didn't notice was mostly empty. "If I can bring her to Jim... I'll be back in his good books. Maybe I can get this damn schedule he's got for you canceled..." He glanced up. "By the way, you're going on a grand tour of your greatest hits next month. He's got you grifting in all sorts of old haunts. It's like he's trying to run you into someone you know. Which I think he is."

She groaned, setting down her fork and rubbing her eyes. "Shit. Great. What's that, then... Mostly Italy, maybe some Moscow, maybe a little France? Christ, I'm going to get recognized _somewhere._ Do you know if they're solo jobs?"

"About half of them. The other he's got goons on you. Outside men, I haven't cleared them, which is unprecedented and I despise it," he snapped, before taking a breath and returning his attention to his screen.

"Fuck, that's just outright _mean,"_ she hissed, grimacing down at her plate like it had personally done her wrong. "It looks like I'm going to have to make it clear to them that I can and will kill them. I'm not putting up with anyone's shit if they're outside the network. I'm not responsible for them."

He nodded in agreement, shoving his plate away and turning his attention in full to his work. "I've got CCTV of her leaving the airport... I'm trying to follow the car now."

She finished up her plate and then leaned back in her chair, figuring that if she got up to go hover over his shoulder he might not appreciate it. "I wonder what she does for a living. If it's anything like Jim's work, it can't be legal."

"Obviously," he snorted, eyes flicking back and forth across the screen. "I don't suppose you'd be up to grabbing your laptop and giving me a hand? The faster we find her, the better."

"Yeah, sure," she nodded, pushing back her chair and standing. "It's in my flat, let me go grab it."

He nodded, not looking up, still intent on his work. "Right, okay..."

She was gone and back in less than a minute, setting her laptop up on the table across from him, pushing her scraped-clean plate away. "Okay. You using the usual server?"

"No," he said, shoving a scrap of paper her way with scribbled instructions. "Go here. I don't want Jim knowing about this. Not until we succeed."

"Okay," she nodded, glancing over the paper once and following the directions. She'd never been on this server before, and she had to wonder where he'd gotten it. "Okay," she said again, when she was in. "What do you want me to look for?"

"I'm trying to trace her through CCTV right now. I want you to take a look at Heathrow, see if you can find any information regarding her departure. I want to know how much time we're working with..."

"Will do," she nodded, getting down to work and being vaguely glad she had bothered to learn computer skills when she'd first joined the network. It only took her about ten minutes to find the woman's departure flight. "She leaves in two and a half weeks. To Tangiers. Somehow not surprised that's where she lives. If she even lives there, I suppose."

"Two and a half weeks," he murmured, relieved. "That gives us time, then. Assuming she doesn't move the time up... We should still hurry..." He was speaking more to himself than anyone else. "Normally I'd be able to run an op like this without Jim asking, but with him looking over my fucking shoulder all the time I'm not sure."

She was silent for a moment, thinking. "I don't know if you can do it in the normal channels. Or with anybody else's help. Someone might say something, let something slip. I think you're going to have to solo it. I mean, I'll help of course, but I'm hardly a one-man army."

He nodded slightly in agreement. "I can do it solo, that isn't a concern. Just keeping in mind what my options are. Though I would definitely appreciate your help."

Lorna nodded, shutting her laptop and getting up to put the remaining takeout in the fridge before she grabbed their plates and took them to the sink to get washing. "Alright, well, you know where I live," she snorted. "I don't know how _helpful_ I'll be, but I guess we'll see."

"I may need you to keep an eye on cameras, or drive a van, or grift someone, lots of things," he said, nodding. "This... This could make everything better, Lorna."

She shook her hands free of sudsy water and turned to lean against the counter. "Christ, I hope so. For both our sake's."

He nodded in agreement. "We need to make this work. Or he's going to get you killed."

"That's as good a motivation as any," she snorted, rubbing her forehead with her wrist in lieu of getting her face all wet. "God, he's such a sadist."

"He has his masochistic side, but for the most part, yes," he said absently.

"I couldn't care less about his masochistic side unless he's planning on throwing _himself_ into life-threatening danger," she muttered bitterly, drying her hands off on a towel and moving to sit again in her chair, huffing. "I feel like we've had a shitty enough month as it is."

"I couldn't agree more, personally," he sighed, then leaned forward. "Hold up... I think I've got her." He clicked a few times and smiled. "I do. I've got her. Staying at the Milestone Hotel, looks like. She arrived there and her luggage was brought in. Now it's just a matter of finding her room."

"She flew coach, so I wouldn't bother with any of the more expensive rooms. If you can afford the penthouse you're damn certain you're not going to pass up first class," she shrugged slightly, with the air of someone who had flown on semi-public airplanes enough times to get sick of being crammed in the small space provided. "Good work, though. How long did that take you, fifteen, twenty minutes? No wonder you're paid so much."

He smirked a little. "Thank God for the good ol' CCTV. Five million cameras in London alone, on the low end of the estimate."

"I can't believe so few of them are even the slightest bit protected, too. And people wonder how crime keeps such a tight hold," she rolled her eyes. It didn't need to be said how atrocious the police were, either. "What are you planning to do with this woman, anyways, abduct her from her hotel?"

"About the gist of it, yes," he said, nodding and looking over at her. "Bring her in to Jim wrapped up with a bow."

She chuckled. "Alright, then. Simple enough. I doubt it will be our hardest job. I'd say the most challenging thing will be doing it without manpower. Also, by the way, when we do bring her in... feel free not to mention my involvement. I really don't need any more attention from Jim."

He glanced over at her. "This would be good attention, you know," he pointed out. "I'm expecting this to go over very, _very_ well..."

She sighed, thumbing at a scratch on the table that looked a lot like it had been made with a hunting knife. "I know. But still... I rather just fly under the radar. Anyway, if he only thinks it's you he can't try to give the credit to someone else. If he's happy with me I still have to deal with his issues with you," she shook her head, making a face. "I rather you just got the boost. Then it's uncomplicated."

"That's fair, I suppose," he said with a nod, sitting back for a moment and rubbing a hand over his face. "I think I'm going to walk over. Do a little recon."

"Okay," she shrugged, "Try not to look too shady. If you want me to cover up your scars for you, let me know. We have a pretty impressive range of concealers in this building."

"I'm just going to be observing from the building across the street. If I can do anything, Harrison, it's scope a place out." He rolled his eyes, smirking.

She chuckled. "Yeah, alright, point taken. I'm going to grab a shower, I'm fairly certain I have smoke in my clothes. Don't ask."

"Did they set another fucking thing on fire?" he asked, closing the laptop and standing, heading for his room to change clothes and grab his rifle and scope.

She groaned, leaning back in her chair. "Yeah," she called after him. "I didn't even ask _how._ I gave Kane a few stitches though. Five thousand pounds worth of damage. You don't fuck around with designer clothes. _Idiot."_

"You know, you complain that you would never want my job, but fuck if I'd go anywhere _near_ yours," he called as he changed.

"You're not cut out for my line of work, anyway," she laughed, pushing back her chair and standing to stretch, back cracking. "You have a decent sense of style but you could never do all the sucking up."

"Very true," he snorted, walking back into the room in blackouts, with a backpack over his shoulder and a green jacket that he would remove once he arrive, to make him look less suspicious on the walk over.

She gave him a cursory glance of appreciation - how could she not - and rolled her shoulders, trying to get a knot out, which she strongly suspected was caused by the ever-growing concern of fucking _fires_ in the damn building. "Have a fun time sitting on a roof. Maybe bring gloves, it's a bit nippy outside."

"Yes mum," he said, rolling his eyes, though he pulled a pair out of his back pocket, waving them and shoving them back. "I'll be back in a few hours, probably. If you want to stay."

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek and managing not to look surprised, or apprehensive, or like she was certain an anvil was going to spontaneously poof into existence just above her head. "Okay. I probably will, I mean, I don't really have a reason to go back to my place," she shrugged, somewhat casually.

"Right. See you then, then," he said, adjusting the backpack and heading for the door. Ten minutes later he was on the street, heading for the tube.

She probably stood there for another five minutes, wondering how the hell this had ever happened. God, they were becoming _domestic._ And she didn't even care.

* * *

He didn't get back until well past midnight, but when he did, he was victorious. He pushed into the apartment, closing the door behind him, and heading immediately for his laptop. "Harrison, I've fucking got her."

She'd been brushing her teeth in the bathroom, and with her flinch she'd nearly taken an eye out, but she appeared in the living room a moment later looking no worse for wear in her pajamas. "Found her, then? Good. Does she look capable of putting up a fight when you inevitably stuff her into the back of a van?"

"Hardly," he snorted. "She's not exactly chipper. I'd imagine she's sharp as a knife mentally but Jim seems to get his lack of healthy bodily regard from her. She's tiny and practically skeletal. I won't have any problems."

"She _can't_ be very tall if she's anything like Jim. God, though, don't ever tell him I said that," she winced, walking over to the sofa and falling back into the cushions gracelessly. "Anyway, I'm exhausted and I was just about to turn in before you came back."

"Right, fine. Go ahead, I'll be there soon," he said absently, waving her off as he continued typing rapidly. "I'm just going to finish this."

"Alright," she yawned, getting up again, although with a little less momentum, quietly pondering how easy this suddenly was for them, and within a minute she was crawling into her usual side of the bed.

 _How long is this going to last before he pulls back again?_

 _Christ, just keep your fucking mouth shut, it'll be fine. Literally just don't bring it up. I mean it._

* * *

He worked far longer than he expected, not heading to bed for several hours. Finally, however, he couldn't plan any further and pulled his laptop shut, heading for his bedroom, rubbing at his eyes. He pulled off his blackouts, not bothering to get into pajamas, just climbing into bed in his pants and curling up next to Harrison.

She only woke up enough to register that he was there and a good source of warmth to cuddle up with before passing back out, having decided hours ago that she would just enjoy this for as long as he let her.

* * *

Despite going to bed late, he woke early. He had work to do today, a lot of it, and he wanted to finish early enough to scope out the hotel again tonight, try to gain a sense of schedule. He left Lorna sleeping and rolled out of bed, heading for the shower.

The sound of the water running woke her up, and despite the fact she'd nabbed several more hours of sleep than him, she was far groggier. She shuffled out of bed and into the living room, collapsing in an armchair with her laptop. Oh, joy, the schedule for her upcoming dangerous missions was in her inbox.

He stepped out a few minutes later, looking crisper than he had recently. Not that he hadn't been cleaned and shaved to military precision before, but now there was something in his expression that had been missing, and he gave her a grin as he tied his tie. "Time to give them hell."

"Maybe after a cup of coffee," she muttered, rubbing her eyes as she looked down at the list that was probably foreshadowing her early death. She glanced back up at him. "You look lively. Try n' hold onto that."

"I don't plan on losing it," he said, grinning. "I feel back on my game for the first time in months." He pulled on his shoulder holster, than his jacket.

She smiled slightly, despite her sinking mood at the proof of her impending doom in front of her. It was nice seeing him honestly happy for once. "You're welcome," she smirked, shutting her laptop because she didn't really want to soak in that much fear at once. "I expect a lot of brownie points for this."

"So many brownie points, Harrison. You've no idea. I might actually make you fucking brownies," he smirked. "Alright. I've got to go. Talk to you later." And he was out the door, not bothering to ask himself why he was so free to act however he liked around her. The moment he stepped outside, his smile dropped, and he was all business again, on high alert as he passed O'Hare's door and headed into the elevator to go down and walk among the troops.

Lorna sagged as he left, letting out a long breath. It wasn't that she didn't believe in him, but there wasn't much he could do to keep her alive in most of these situations. She was going to fuck up, or one of the goons assigned to her was. So she spent the better part of her morning arranging her affairs.

* * *

He made it through most of the morning before the lack of sleep caught up to him like a train, and he had little choice but to head back to his apartment for some coffee before he dozed off on his feet. He was used to lack of sleep, but that didn't mean that caffeine didn't help. He keyed in, noticing Harrison's laptop out and playing music, and the bathroom door shut. He headed for the kitchen, pouring himself a mug and sighing, leaning back against the counter and taking a sip. He glared out of the corner of his eye as the song on the laptop changed to something loud and at odds with his headache, and headed over to shut it up for the time being, or at least change to something more tolerable. "Harrison, you've got bloody poor taste in music," he called towards the bathroom, sitting down and trying to find what window was playing music. The search was forgotten a moment later, however, and he frowned, reading.

"Only when you're not around," she snorted, walking out of the bathroom drying her hands on her shirt and only making it a few steps into the living room before stopping, taking a bit of a quick breath. "Uh. That's not an invasion of privacy or anything. How about we just.. give that right on back to me."

"No such thing as privacy. I'm your employer, this is a company laptop." He looked up at her, expression unreadable. "Care to explain all of this?"

"I've got a lot of stuff, believe it or not, and some of it is worth a sizable amount of money," she sighed, keeping her voice tactful and polite, worried about stepping on some landmine. "As much as I trust you - with my life, I'd add - I'm not great on the whole blind faith thing. If the boss really wants to hurt you through me, he's going to succeed. I thought it was better not to... leave it to chance, I guess. Anyways, if that bastard does end up getting me killed, I'm not letting all my shit go to the network by default. I'm a little spiteful, sue me."

He turned his attention back to the laptop, nodding just a little. His jaw was tight, nostrils flared a little, but he shouldn't be angry and he knew it. It made sense. He had his affairs in order, had for years. They didn't lead easy lives. So the fact that this was bothering him so much was pathetic. He stood, then, picking up his coffee and heading for the door. "You'd better leave me something good," he snorted, before pulling the door shut behind him a bit louder than necessary.

She flinched despite herself, and walked a bit tensely back to the couch to pull her laptop back into her lap, feeling just the slightest bit nauseous. He hadn't looked happy with that. Ironically enough, with his last statement, she'd already been planning to leave most of her estate to him. Who else? She didn't have any family left, and no real friends to speak of. There was just... no one else.

He spent the rest of the day in an odd mixture of anticipation and fury. It was incredibly motivating. He didn't go back to his flat for dinner, instead picking up a sandwich on his way to watch the hotel. He didn't want to come across Harrison until he'd had time to sort his head out.

He used the few hours on the cold roof- (he'd forgotten his gloves and took pleasure blaming Lorna for it, even if it was nowhere close to her fault)- to settle his mind and figure out what the hell was going on. By the time he headed back for the flat, cold and tired, he'd decided he wouldn't bring it up unless she did.

* * *

When she'd decided for certain that he wasn't going to eat with her - and she goddamn wasn't going to text him and ask - she'd eaten a rather disappointing dinner in the staff lounge and then headed back to his flat - and also, when he'd added her into the electronic key, she had no clue - and finished up her task for the day before setting the laptop on the table in plain view and heading for bed. If he wanted to look, he was welcome to, but she wasn't all that keen on trying to bring it up. She was terrified of shattering this peace they were in. She was curled up in bed in the dark, just quietly thinking over the situation when she heard him come in again, and she remained silent. No point in saying anything. Nonverbal communication was always easier with him, anyways.

He saw the laptop sitting out, and stared at it for a moment, before walking over to close it. He stared at the lid for a long time, hands clasped, before he pulled a piece of paper off of the end table and a pen out of his pocket.

 _Not my business. Sorry for before. Was dissatisfied with the prospect and frustrated by the situation._

Then he stared at that for a long time, too, trying to decide whether or not to leave it there. But eventually he was cold and tired, and didn't care anymore. He stood, pulling his clothes off as he walked into his room and turned out the lights behind him. He pulled on pajamas and crawled into bed, curling up against Harrison's warm body.

She turned and wrapped herself around him as much as she was able when he was so much damn taller than she was, going for quiet reassurance and being pretty sure she'd nailed it. She fell asleep a few minutes later not even bothering to try and deny the warm feeling in her chest. He cared, and that was all that really mattered right now.

He was surprised at the sudden hug, but relaxed after a moment, his arms wrapping around her tightly. He could relax when she was here, in his arms, where he knew he could protect them both if need be. He fell asleep quickly.

* * *

A week and a half later, she was making eggs in the kitchen at the ass crack of dawn, Sebastian pouring himself a mug of coffee to her side. He was functioning, as usual, and she was not. Christ, she hated mornings. But it would have been impolite at the least to be grouchy towards him, considering that even with passing time, he'd hardly _ever_ been an ass. It was shocking, but it was worth silently rewarding. Hell, it was pleasant to just be around him, instead of the normal painful-but-inevitable way she followed him around. "You say something about a plan last night? I was exhausted, I'm not sure if I made it up or not."

"Yes," he said, nodding and taking a long sip of the black coffee. "I'm doing it tonight. She's ordered a private car to take her to dinner, and she's dining alone. Her security is laughable. It's going to be easy."

She shook her head, leaving the egg's in God's hands and sitting down tiredly at the table, rubbing at the circles under her eyes. She was starting to strongly suspect she had an iron deficiency, although she'd gained most of her previous weight back. It would explain her constant feeling of a lack of sleep. Unless she had mono. "What does that woman even do for a living? Obviously she makes enough money to be able to hire these people, but.." she shook her head, sighing. "I just hope we're not going to be pissing off a bigger corporation. I've looked, but I can't trace her to anything. I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

"I assure you that Jim will be happy to help in tying up any loose ends once we've got her. The trick is getting her," he said, sighing as she abandoned the eggs and walking over to keep an eye on them. "She's clever. I think she's just off-guard. Jim's supposedly dead, after all."

"True," she yawned, shrugging mildly. "And I suppose Jim doesn't have any siblings. Or, if he did, they're dead now, so she doesn't exactly have to worry about them. If Jim was a bird he would totally have pushed the other chicks out of the nest."

He nodded in agreement. "I've been getting almost everything I need to do today done earlier this week, so I'll be leaving around 2 pm. I should be back before midnight."

"Text me if you need help or something. But I'm probably going to be making Kelly eat spiderwebs in the basement as punishment, so if you don't really need help I'm just going to enjoy my day," she snorted, a little vindictively. She'd come up with a list of creative punishments for accidents in her department. How else were they going to learn to be more careful?

"Thanks," he said, nodding and pulling on his coat. "If I'm not back by midnight maybe be a bit concerned."

"I'll probably come looking for you. We'll see how I feel," she teased, standing and getting herself a plate of partially burned eggs. "But you'll probably be good. You get caught a lot less often when I'm not there."

"Unfortunately, I think that's true," he smirked, eating quickly. "Alright, I'll see you later," he said, heading for the door.

"Bye. Don't let her cut you. I like your face with its current amount of scars," she hummed, lifting a hand to wave after him and leaning in her chair to snag the newspaper off the counter. She never got too worked up about him going off alone. He was a fucking wraith, for god's sake.

He finished the last few administrative duties quickly, and informed his underlings of his departure just before lunch. Then it was just a matter of a quick walk to his office to get his backpack, and then he was down to the garage, the new chauffeur groveling appropriately as he led Moran to one of the black limos and handed him the keys. By quarter of two, he was on the road.

She spent her day as planned - handing out a few lowly assignments and forcing Kelly to eat any and all spiderwebs he came across in the basement, inhabited or not. She checked, too. She followed him. Morale was significantly lowered, but the fearful tiptoeing had tripled, so she thought it might be an even trade.

* * *

He pulled up in front of the hotel at precisely eight o'clock in the company rental car. The uniform had been a bit difficult, but luckily enough the driver had had fairly broad shoulders, so he'd managed to get the coat on at least, and the hat was no problem. The rest wasn't as necessary. His own bloodied clothes were stuffed in the boot of his limo a few streets down, along with the driver's body, wrapped in a garbage bag, awaiting disposal.

He exited the car smoothly, walking around to open the door for Mrs. Moriarty with a polite "Ma'am," and a nod. Her security looked him over suspiciously, but he kept his head bowed and they didn't pause, sitting into the car beside her. He shut the door, walking around and climbing in, shifting into gear and starting to drive.

The car had tinted windows, and it had been an easy thing to cut down the door lock pins so that when he locked the doors, there was nothing to do in the back to unlock them. The driver shield had been closed and caulked. Two minutes into the drive, the gas canister in the back released, and after some furious banging, all fell silent.

He smiled and made the turn towards his vehicle, white gloves pale against the dark leather of the steering wheel.

* * *

Jim got the message about an hour after eating dinner. It had, of course, been a little late, but he knew it was better than no dinner at all, so he didn't feel too unhealthy about it. Any negative feelings he _might_ have had, were, of course, completely eradicated as he was told who was being held in one of the basement rooms. He may or may not have jogged to the lift.

Sebastian was waiting at parade rest just outside the lift, and started walking with his employer immediately as he exited.

"She's sedated at the moment, sir, but I can bring her up as soon as you would like."

"Excellent. I have no idea how you pulled this off, but I'm _very_ pleased, Moran. For fuck's sake, _I'd_ stopped looking for her. I think both of us can assume I got my brains from her, considering how many years ago I offed my father," he smirked, looking the picture of nonchalance, despite the fact he felt like Christmas had come around eleven months early. "You can bring her out of it. There's nothing we can do to her while she's under that will bother her in the slightest."

He nodded in agreement, standing tall and proud but accepting the praise with silent nods. There was no need to push it. He entered the cell where the woman was strapped down, two of his best men in the room guarding her. He pulled a capped syringe from where it had been waiting in his pocket and prepared it as he walked over, sinking it with expert hands into her forearm and watching as, a few moments later, she started stumbling into awareness.

Jim stood directly above her, making sure that the first thing she saw when she came to would be him. Really, he was the most frightening thing he could think of. "Hello, _Mother,"_ he grinned snidely, " _Surprise."_

Her eyes focused slowly on her son, but didn't widen or turn away, taking him in with the interest she might lend to an ugly spot on an old sweater. "James," she said, her accent far thicker than her son's. "So you did fake your death then. I suspected. It wasn't a completely idiotic plan, however dull and unoriginal."

"It's hard to convince the police to believe you're dead if you, didn't, oh, _fake your own death,"_ he rolled his eyes, turning to Moran and gesturing down at his mother like 'do you see what I have to do with?' and then brightening up again. "Honestly, it doesn't matter to me what you think. It hasn't for a very, very long time. Maybe when I was six. I don't remember the exact date I decided to kill the both of you, either. I guess that plan is coming to fruition, isn't it? _Honestly,_ you got _sloppy,_ didn't you? Coming to _my_ city? What on earth were you _thinking?"_

She gave a cold smile. "If you're going to kill me James, then do it. All of this blustering on is far from impressive. If you don't care what I think, then why the theatrics?"

He shrugged, still smiling. "I care what _I_ think, silly. I can't waste this. Father died relatively slow, you know. I _assume_ you do, I never checked to see if they identified his body when it washed up. He didn't really look like how he does in his driver's license when I was through. But _you,"_ he tapped her on the nose, _"You're_ not quite the brute he was. I don't think we'll go that path with you. Moran, I assume you know where the language center is in the brain. Get rid of hers. She won't need it," he grinned down at her, winking once. He knew what his mother feared. Of course he did. He would chip away at her bit by bit until she didn't remember who she was, and _then_ he'd kill her.

"Of course, sir," he said, nodding and smiling. "Any preferred method? I was thinking a drill and a hot scalpel."

The woman did not flinch, but her face drew just a bit tighter, as did her grip on the arm of the chair.

"Oooh, I like the sound of that," he chuckled, turning to Moran and clapping his hands together once in excitement before dramatically gesturing to the woman. "Have at it. Do try not to sneeze, I can't have her infected before the fun really begins."

"Of course, sir. Though, as long as we keep the infection in check, it could add an element of fun, boss," Moran pointed out with a smile, walking over to pick up a head clamp from the table in back to hold Jim's mother's head in place as he worked. "I've always been a fan of fever-induced hallucinations."

"Tempting, but I think we'll save that for a few steps down the road. If she dies before I get to have my fun, I'll be pissed, and I don't think anyone here really wants that," Jim replied casually, watching with hawk-like intensity as his mother's head was secured to the table. Oh, he'd waited so long for this. And to think he'd just, _given up._ That would teach him.

Moran secured the woman's head to the side, picking up a knife and cutting away the hair over where he wanted to enter, shaving the skin mostly clean and using the knife to cut away around the area where he would drill through. Siobhan drew in a sharp breath, teeth grit, but otherwise didn't make any sound, which the sniper found amusing. He liked it even better when she did let out a soft moan of pain as he cauterized the wound with a scalpel heated over his lighter.

Jim just stood there, hands resting in his pockets, his face a mask of polite interest. He'd been planning on killing his parents by the time he was ten, but the means had been a little beyond his reach at that point in time. So he'd waited, and he'd bided his time, and finally he would be able to scrape this last remnant of his past out of the gutter and utterly _destroy it._

Moran wasted no time in marking his incisions and preparing the drill, getting a final nod from Jim before he turned the device on, heading back over to the woman. She glanced at Jim for a moment, and there was a flash of uncertainty. "James... I'm sure I can be of use somehow. Why don't we work out a deal."

"Oh, mother," he laughed, shaking his head. "No, there's nothing you can give me. There's nothing I want from you. All I want is to see you lose your head, bit by bit, inch by inch. When you're no longer the woman who neglected and tortured a young child, then I'll kill you. But you will spend the rest of your life in this room, and there's nothing you can do to stop that."

She sighed. "Very well. Though I'm surprised you let it bother you that much. I always thought you were too smart to let emotions affect you. Disapp-"

She was cut off by her own teeth clamping together as Sebastian began drilling into her skull. A moment later a scream of pain worked its way through her pursed lips, face contorted in agony as she pulled against her restraints, neck tense.

"I wouldn't try to move too much," Jim advised calmly, just loud enough to be heard over the drill. "You don't want to him to hit something else, do you? Moran, if you do, I won't hold you responsible. This is too much _fun."_

"Thank you, sir," he said with a smirk, not minding at all the splatter of blood and bone shards that was peppering his suit. He cut through the skull and started moving sideways, outlining a plate of bone to remove to do his work. The woman screamed fully now, but ceased struggling quite so much, body trembling.

Jim lifted his arm, twitching his sleeve back from his wrist. "Hm. This isn't a fast process. Come and get me when she looks alert again, considering she won't be _speaking._ Do what you will in the meantime."

"Will do, sir," he said, nodding but not glancing up, concentration on not killing the woman under his drill. "Let me know if you need me for anything in the meantime."

"I always do," was all that he said in return, already stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind him, the sound of the drill becoming more a muffled drone than an insisting whine. What a truly fantastic day this was turning out to be.

* * *

It took another half hour to finish drilling into the bone, with him taking breaks every time the woman got close to passing out to ensure that she remained conscious. He kept her aware for as long as he could while removing her Bracus region, but there was only so much you could do to prevent someone from passing out while you dug around in their brain with a red-hot scalpel.

An hour later he texted the boss. _It's done and she's starting to wake back up. - SM_

He didn't reply. If he was going to be anywhere in less than ten minutes, he never did. He was down in seven. "How's my dear mother doing?" he gushed, walking over to the table with a insincere smile. There was quite a lot more blood and brain matter on the premises than there had been when he'd left. "Are you ready for the next step?"

* * *

The next few days weren't fun. For his mother, that was. It was so satisfying to watch that bitch slip away each time they tapped into her skull. Three days later, and they'd gone through pretty much anything that made a person a person and not a living, breathing husk of flesh. He'd saved long-term memory for last. It was the majority of who she was, after all. He was almost disappointed to come back and find her so suddenly gone, and regretted not staying to watch. He stood over the breathing corpse with a glass of bourbon in hand, contemplating. "Okay. Shoot her. Nothing left to torture now." He smiled slightly. "Distribute her into the Thames in pieces, if you would, Moran. This is a good first step, Sebastian. Don't blow it."

He nodded, pulling his pistol out and raising it, before glancing over at Moriarty. "Do you want to do the honors, sir?" he asked, offering the gun in his employer's direction.

He shrugged. "Why not?" he hummed, handing his glass to Moran in exchange for the gun, leveling it carefully at Siobhan Moriarty's head, and squeezed the trigger, no nonsense necessary. "Thank you, Sebastian, this was _sooo_ fun. I'll be in my office the rest of the day, if you require me," he grinned, trading the glass and the gun again and raising it in the sniper's direction as he headed for the door. "Cheers!" 

He nodded as Jim walked out the door, and set to work cleaning up.

* * *

Three hours later he'd disposed of the body the way Moriarty had requested, and had cleanup dealing with the cell. It was getting late anyway, so he headed for the apartment, exhausted but happy.

Lorna was on the couch with her laptop balanced on her knees, wearily working through a list of all the different mafia's she'd been in contact with, and trying to remember which ones would be pissed to see her again, when he came in. "If you're covered in brains again please wash your hands before even coming within five feet of me. You know how I feel about brains. Eeuugh." She shuddered.

"I cleaned up," he sighed, walking over to sit next to her. "It's finished. She's done with. Jim's thrilled."

"Oh, good," she hummed, giving up on her project for the moment and shutting the laptop lid. "I kinda thought he'd draw it out more than this. Oh well, just means I don't have the urge to jump up onto the furniture like I've seen a spider when you come back," she chuckled, leaning back into the cushions and massaging her forehead.

He nods a little, glancing over at her. "I'm going to ask him tomorrow to change your itinerary. I don't know if he'll do it, but I'm going to ask."

She tried not to wince, and only partially succeeded. "I don't know if that's such a good idea. I already noticed that a particularly high risk job's just gone... _missing,_ I don't really want to risk it reappearing," she sighed, shrugging a little. "Thank you, though. Really."

He growled in frustration. "That's all this is worth? I bring in his mother and he takes you off one damned job? This is fucking ridiculous."

"To be fair, that was the job that prompted the whole 'time to make a will' thing. I was _pretty_ certain that one was going to kill me. Waaayy too many people there who want me dead. Not to mention, Vatican Fucking City. That place is just so much bad luck for me," she muttered, scrunching up her nose at the memories. "Probably all the sinning..."

"I don't care. I did something he'd given up on. James _fucking_ Moriarty had given up and _I_ did it!" He put his head in his hands, gripping at his hair and taking a few slow breaths, gritting his teeth before trying to calm. "Fine..." he sighed finally. " _Fine_. I just keep at it, then."

She shifted until she was leaned against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Now that they seemed to have a tacit agreement about... well, _living together,_ she felt she could be a little less shy with the physical affection. Only in the flat, of course. She wasn't stupid enough to try and hold his hand or some shit in the middle of the lobby, despite her deliberations on whether or not an appearance of a united front would make them more or less threatening to their coworkers. "I don't know what can top this," she sighed, frowning slightly. "Oh, _Christ._ What's the one thing guaranteed to grab Jim's attention for months on end? We better start trying to find some dirt on Holmes. It's going to take a while, though."

"Fuck Holmes," he growled, reaching up to rub at his eyes, before sighing. "No, no, it's a good idea, just... frustrated. I was so sure this was going to work." He shifted a little, wrapping an arm around her to be more comfortable.

"Jim's got an enormous stick up his ass, it's not as if you haven't been trying," she scoffed, and then considered crossing herself just in case he somehow found out she said that. "Things will get better. It's not as if, recent circumstances notwithstanding, they can get all that worse."

He tried not to laugh at the stick-up-the-ass comment, and groaned slightly at the knock on the door, half tempted to ignore it. "Who the hell is it?" he grumbled, standing up and heading to the door, yanking it open. Kelly was standing there, looking very uncomfortable and holding a bottle of scotch. "This is from the boss, sir," he said, holding it out. Moran raised an eyebrow and took the large, sealed bottle of, he could now see, _very_ nice liqueur, and glanced at the tag covered in Jim's tight handwriting.

 _Enjoy with Harrison. Ban lifted. Don't make me regret it._

"Thanks, Kelly," he said absently, closing the door without looking up and heading over to Harrison. "Check out what the boss sent."

Lorna seriously had to stop herself from shouting something biting about spiderwebs from her place on the couch as she recognized Kelly's voice, and then he was back and trying to hand her a bottle of scotch, and she seriously had to stop herself from smacking the bottle out of his hand. "What the _hell-_ Oh. Christ. Really? Oh my god, I'm getting glasses," she squeaked, practically teleporting into the kitchen she moved with such vigor.

He laughed. "Hold on, hold on, bring a spare glass and don't drink any yet," he called, heading into his room and returning with a small black kit, sitting down and opening the bottle. When she returned he poured a half a finger into one of the glasses, and opened the kit, starting to drip various liquids into the scotch, watching for color changes or other reactions. After a few moments, he nodded. "Not poisoned. Drink away."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, not that I don't admire your caution, I _do,_ but why would he poison us?" she sighed, filling her glass up a quarter of the way and then pushing it towards him, not sure how much he wanted. She was going to have to start slow, despite what her body was telling her. _Don't be an idiot, you've been completely dry for months, you have less tolerance now._ "Unless you mean Kelly, in which case I find it more believable. I don't think he's forgiven the spiderweb thing. Well I haven't forgiven the five _thousand_ pounds and the ruined fucking _Gucci,_ so he can eat a dick."

He laughs. "The day I'm not cautious is the day I die," he snorted. Then "Oh, Christ, I sound like a fucking fortune cookie." He rolled his eyes, picking up the glass and considering it for a moment before taking a long, slow sip. He almost let out a groan of pleasure. "Fuck, this is good stuff. Not that I would care, but _fuck_ , this is good stuff."

Now she had to taste hers, if he was going to endorse it so strongly. So she did, and immediately found herself agreeing with him. "God, what a way to get back on the wagon. This must have cost a _fortune,"_ she whistled, sinking back into the couch and giving in to that urge to groan, raising up her glass to look at the warm amber liquid through the light. "Even if it _was_ poisoned, I wouldn't even care. I can die happy."

He laughed, enjoying the drink, taking his time. "Christ... not what I was hoping for, but at least he's in a good mood," he sighed. He took a slow sip.

"I'm so relieved I don't have to be dry anymore. It's so much easier to forget a worse vice when you have a smaller one to comfort you," she chuckled, leaning against the arm of the couch and settling in for a good drinking session. If she was _really_ lucky, she wouldn't even say anything she'd regret.

He smirked, poking her with his foot. "Avoiding me all of a sudden now that your friend the booze is back?" he muttered, rolling his eyes and finishing off his glass, leaning over to pour another.

"You know we're going to end up in the same bed," she snorted, throwing back the rest of hers with a slight hiss and waiting her turn to pour herself a new one. "But if you really can't stand being so far from my crazy awesome body, I'll go back over there. Only once I get more booze, though, I'm still thinking about the brains. Blleegghgh!"

"Oh shut up," he muttered. "Wimp. There weren't even that many brains today. Just a bit. And I've showered." He sat back now that he had a glass in him, sighing as the warmth of it started to melt into his system.

"I'm good with almost everything splatter-able the human body has to offer, but not brains. I don't like the idea of somebody's personality flecked all over me," she smirked, sipping at her significantly more full glass, deciding to throw caution to the wind. She stretched out slightly, resting her feet in his lap. "I'm just kidding, anyway. We both know I've fucked you under much worse circumstances. Really don't want to talk about that job, though, actually, so forget I brought it up."

He almost snorted scotch, laughter catching him by surprise. "I'll endeavor to, but now all I'm thinking about is your tits and they're very difficult to get off the mind..." he teased.

She laughed. "As long as we don't have to talk about that fiasco, you can think about my tits all you like. I don't blame you, they're pretty unforgettable. What would my job success rate be without them? Thirty percent lower? More? Too bad that accountant we had was a mole, I could ask him and then watch him struggle to keep his eyes on my face."

"Are you asking him shirtless, or not?" he asked, observing her over his glass. "I feel like that would tilt the outcome."

"I was thinking more like, a catsuit. Not that I have one, but I'm thinking maybe I should get on that. I think I could pull off a catsuit," she hummed, looking honestly thoughtful for a minute before shrugging and chugging half her drink.

"Catsuit, definitely. Definitely behind the catsuit. Physically behind you in the catsuit, admiring your arse. And if you're just looking to get shit-faced, stop drinking the good stuff once it doesn't matter, will you? There's decent stuff in my safe I can retrieve."

She chuckled, giving a one-armed shrug so she didn't have to lift her glass from where it was resting on her half-horizontal chest. "Eh, stop me before I get shit-faced. My liver can't handle the shock, I really should ease into it. I'll settle for mildly drunk."

He nodded in agreement, smirking a little and taking another sip. "So it's not a mission cancellation, but it's progress."

"I'll take progress. I'll take pretty much anything at this point," she shrugged good-naturedly, working on her glass a little more slowly. "I should probably keep a journal or something. A month from now I'll think I have it bad, and then I can read up on how much shit I went through."

He laughed at that, nodding and pulling his feet up onto the couch, sitting cross-legged. "We've been through hell. Everything after this will be sunshine and daisies in comparison," he grunted.

"Sh sh shh, don't jinx it, the sunshine will give us melanoma and the daisies will turn out to be carnivorous," she grinned, amused by the way he loosened up once he had a few drinks in him. Hardly ever did he look _comfortable._

"Oh, there it is, she's gone cynical, it's all over now," he said with a grin, half-toasting her with his glass. "The walls have crumbled."

"Please, if I was optimistic you would get _so_ irritated," she laughed into her scotch, of which the fumes were strong enough to knock out a large, hoofed mammal. "I'm _just_ the right amount of realism and sass. Not to mention some spectacular genes, but I digress."

"Sorry, was that g-e-n-e or j-e-a-n? Because I've never seen you in the latter but I can imagine, and I think I'd have to agree on both, whichever you meant." He smirked.

"Ha ha, you're a real comedian when you have hard liquor in front of you, you know that?" she rolled her eyes and making a sound of amusement into her glass. "And I only wear the latter on very special occasions. Ask nicely and I'll break them out sometime. _Only_ if you don't cut them off. I feel like that's something you would do."

"Pretty please?" he asks with a smirk, batting his eyes mockingly. "I promise not to tear them to shreds, or even rip them a little."

"You're a big fat liar," she snorted, lips curled up with amusement as she leaned over to top off her beverage. "But I suppose I can make an exception. When's your birthday? Or is that classified?"

"Definitely classified," he said with a nod. "But if I'm following your line of thinking, it's tomorrow," he added with a wink.

She laughed, prodding his side with her toes. "Yeah, right. Even if it was, you're going to be too hungover tomorrow to appreciate it anyway. Hey, do you know when Jim's birthday is? I wonder how close you got with his mother."

"I don't know," he smirked, shrugging. "Boss never told me. Fuck, though, lucky bastard. If you can get my father in for my birthday I'll be impressed."

"Why, your dad a right bastard too?" she hummed, making herself a bit more comfortable with her feet pressed against his warm side. She herself had had a rocky relationship with her father. Or maybe, an almost absent relationship. She didn't remember him very well, but from what her mother told her, he'd been a hit man. Lorna hadn't a clue whether or not he was still alive, and she had no urge to find out either way. She'd killed most of her family, accidental or not, anyway.

He shrugged a bit. "He was just never around," he said, taking a long drink of the scotch. "My mom left when I was a kid and from the point that I was old enough to... I don't know, walk, maybe? He just left me alone. When I was way younger he used to lock me in a room with some toys and water and a plate or two of food. Didn't like the idea of paying for a nanny when I could 'take care of myself'." He made airquotes with his free hand, nose wrinkled.

"Christ, what the fuck was he thinking? Doing that to a child," she frowned, looking mildly disgusted. "I mean, my parents weren't the best in the world, but doing _that?_ Makes me angry just thinking about it," she muttered, seriously fighting the urge to get up and try to hug him. "What an arsehole."

He glanced at her, amused at her indignation. "That's politics for you. But thanks to him I'm here and I'm self-sufficient, and he can go fuck himself," he sighed. "Just saying I wouldn't mind taking out a bit of my expertise on him. Seen his belt plenty, I'd be thrilled to show him mine."

She had to take a drink so she wouldn't be angry. Already she wanted to go out and find the man and put him in a hospital. "Politics? If it got out he did that to his own son he'd be in even more trouble than he already is. Actually, did he ever get convicted on the bomb thing?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. Why would he?" He examined his scotch, noting that he was saying much more than he should. "He's a fucking politician. He can get anything swept under the rug."

She sighed with lingering irritation, trying not to feel so violently about this. Literally violent, too. Moran was a bit like a dog in the way that she had to keep herself calm around him, or else he'd sense her fear or anger or whatever, and get defensive. "That's utter shite. You know, sometimes I think I joined the wrong class of criminals, just for job purposes. But fuck, do I love robbing those bastards blind. God, I hate them."

He laughed, looking at her over the rim of his glass. "Look'it you. You'd have steam coming out your ears if this was a cartoon." Then he sighed, tilting his head back smile fading just a bit. "Not going to say I don't hate 'im. I do. But I hate a lot of people. I went into the army just to piss him off, you know? Just had spearheaded a bill lowering support for the armed forces so I signed up the next day..." He laughed.

She raised her eyebrows at him, and finished off the rest of her scotch before responding, as if somehow it would give her a _clearer_ head. "I can't imagine what you would'a turned out to be if he wasn't such a colos- colossal fuckwit," she snorted, setting the glass down a little heavily on the coffee table. Maybe this was why he was so contrary.

He laughed, face a touch redder than usual from the scotch. "Christ, can you imagine? I might've gone into politics, been one of those white collared, baby-face fuckers trying to increase welfare..."

"You would have been _miserable,"_ she snickered, half-reaching for her glass again and reminding herself that she should take it easy. For once in her life, she listened to that little voice that told her when she was ahead. "You would have been sweeping so much under the rug, oh my god."

He shrugged. "Eh... I probably would have been average... Whores, liquor, and the occasional murder. No worse than anyone else." He smirked.

"I was going to say something about strangled hookers in hotel rooms, but I guess I didn't have to," she joked, stretching out and arching off the couch just enough to crack her back. This was the best zone of drunk - the warm, comfortable happy one. It wouldn't last long, but it was nice.

He reached out to poke her exposed stomach, amused when she flinched. "How does it feel to drink once more?" he asked with a smirk.

"So fucking great," she hummed, wiggling her toes against his side on the off chance he was ticklish. "Christ, but I missed drinking. I remember the last few months _far_ too clearly."

He rolls his eyes, grabbing one of her toes between his fingers and leveling a glare her way. "Do you like this toe?"

"Okay, so you are ticklish, I was wondering," she laughed, pulling her foot out of his grasp. "Either way, I've already broken a toe in the past, it's not that bad. Arms are so much worse I can hardly believe it."

He rolled his eyes, setting his empty glass to the side, deciding that he was probably done as well, at least for now. "You've grown complacent. I used to scare the shit out of you. Now where are we?" he sighed, mockingly mournful.

"You still strike plenty of fear into me, I'm just A) better at hiding it and B) have made my peace with it. You hold my life in your hands like a tiny, fragile little bird that left a bird-shaped imprint on your window. What happens to me happens," she shrugged, completely unbothered.

He sighs, rolling his eyes. "Apathy is so boring, but I suppose I'll have to live with it," he muttered, reaching out to tickle her side in revenge.

She let out a very embarrassing, completely undignified squeak and rolled off the sofa to escape, landing with a thump on her elbows, suddenly relieved he had a rug. "You see?" she said, partially into the carpet, since it took her a moment to flip over again in the confined space between the couch and the coffee table. "This is just another reason to be afraid of you. What you just heard leave my mouth never leaves this flat, deal?... Please?"

He leans over the edge of the couch, a shit-eating grin splitting his expression. "Hmmm... I'll have to think about it," he says, chuckling.

"Moran, c'mon, be cool," she groaned, sitting up and flopping back onto the couch, this time a little less horizontal and a little less within his reach. "Share anything else but that.. _the noise,_ okay?"

He laughs. "No, no, I think I'll keep that one in the blackmail folder for now," he smirks, leaning back again.

"Christ, first the dares, now blackmail? You're basically going to own me for the rest of my life," she laughed, rubbing her reddened cheeks. "I'm gathering you're not big on the mercy, either."

"You're just picking that up?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Besides. You're the one who proposed poker."

"There is no need to remind me of my folly, I know what I did," she chuckled, slouching down again, though curling her legs up to keep her feet safe. "Anyway, m' kinda drunk, I just say whatever the hell is on my mind first."

"Mmm... Well that's understandable. Careful about that tongue though, don't want to say something you regret in the throes of alcoholic ecstasy," he smirks.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I wouldn't call alcohol ecstasy. Maybe a numbing agent?" she suggested cheerfully, disobeying that voice in her head and turning to pour herself another quarter of scotch.

He raised an eyebrow, reaching out to grab the bottle when she was done and sealing it. "That's enough of that for now, I think," he snorts, setting it on the end table on his side, out of her reach.

"Okay, dad," she snorted, hiding her grin and taking a sip. She was perfectly aware how many times he'd used that one on her.

He rolled his eyes, tempted to tickle her again but deciding she probably would get pissed at him if he made her snort scotch. Instead, he stood, walking over to the kitchen. "I'm hungry. You want something?"

"Have you got anything involving chocolate?" she asked, getting up and following him, keeping her liquor close in-hand. "If not, I'll pass, because I suspect I might pass out in the next hour anyway."

He rolled his eyes, glancing over at her. "There's probably chocolate in the cabinet there, unless you ate it all. Don't pass out, that's no fun. I haven't gotten to drunk-fuck you yet."

"Way to make it sound cavalier," she muttered, already on her tiptoes rooting through the cabinet. Sometimes she could sense their height difference even when he wasn't there; he tended to store things all the way up to the top shelf. If she did that, she'd have broken something ages ago trying to get her stuff down. A moment later she held out a bar of chocolate, triumphant. "But because you have - what is this, German? - chocolate, I'll forgive you."

He smirked, digging through the fridge before pulling out leftover pizza and sticking a slice on a tray in the toaster oven. "Cavalier me and drunk me rarely overlap," he smirks, putting the rest back in the fridge.

"That's not ominous or anythin'," she said, leaning back against the counter and snapping herself off a square of chocolate. "Then again, half the things you say could be considered ominous."

"Only half? I'm slipping." He glanced over at her after a moment though, leaning back against the counter across from her. "I wouldn't ever take advantage of you, if you're worried about that. I was beyond furious about what that shit did to you."

"I... I wasn't," she cleared her throat, a little taken aback. She looked very suddenly interested about the piece of chocolate in her hand. "You- _We_ do a lot of fucked up things in this line of work, but I don't think either of us is that... _vile,"_ she grimaced, glancing up at him briefly and then finding that too hard to maintain. She didn't like talking about this kind of thing, not if she could help it. Still. It was.. almost comforting to hear.

He could sense the tension and decided sarcasm was the best icepick. "Just eat your fucking chocolate and stop looking so pathetic, Harrison, would you?" he snorted, turning to pull his pizza out to give himself an excuse to look away, though it wasn't quite warmed up.

"Technically, it's yours," she muttered, doing as told anyways. She usually did, when it came to him. She cleared her throat, trying to become a little more normal. "Maybe 'legally' is the right term. I sure as hell didn't buy this."

He shrugged, turning back around, pizza in hand. "I gift it to you. There. Now it's yours," he smirked, taking a bit of food.

"Okay, fine, you've outwitted me," she rolled her eyes, chuckling. "But this is really good chocolate, again, so I really just can't be angry. What time is it, even? I've kinda lost track."

He glanced at the clock. "Bit past midnight," he said, taking another and frowning as a large bit of the cheese came with it.

She popped another piece of chocolate in her mouth and turned to the coffee pot behind her. "Alright, I'm going to need some caffeine then, if you don't want me to be 'boring'. Chocolate has never kept me awake, strangely enough. Coffee, though... Don't let me sign up for any marathons when I have too much coffee."

"I'll keep that in mind," he mumbled through a mouthful of pizza. "Though a marathon might do you good. They're not awful."

"I do work out, believe it or not," she huffed, leaning against the counter again as the coffee machine started puttering behind her. "Sometimes my job requires a little fleeing. And usually I have to be in heels. Really not a good place to be out of shape."

"True," he acknowledged, shoving the rest of the pizza in his mouth and walking over to the sink to rinse off his hands as he chewed.

Not for the first time, Lorna was struck by how normal this had become. And it just got easier with time. That was something he probably wasn't entirely comfortable with. She got herself a mug and poured herself a cup of joe in silence, and then sighed. "Damn. If I hadn't been forced to stay dry I would totally have a flask right now."

"Boohoo," he snorted, drying his hands off. "Look, use the chance as best you can to at least keep things a bit more in control, will you? He'll ban you again if he has to, you know he will."

She raised her eyebrows at him over her mug. "You sure you want to go there? To the particular reason I ended up in that meeting? It certainly wasn't my drinking, I'll tell you that," she scoffed, rolling her eyes

"I'm not saying it was," he said, unruffled. "I'm just saying that now he's got the idea in his head, he'll be eager to reapply it."

"Yeah, alright, fine," she sighed. "Look, I'll try not to let it get to how it was. I have an addictive personality. It's a detriment."

"I'm fully aware of that," he said, nodding and walking over to grab a couple of glasses out of the cabinet, filling them with water and sliding one her way.

She dumped the dregs of her coffee in the sink - she drank coffee almost too fast - and took a sip of water. She wasn't thirsty anymore, but if she didn't drink it, she'd regret it tomorrow. "This was a surprising end to the day, I'll give it that."

"What, being allowed to drink again? Yes. Yes, it was." He sighed, leaning back against the counter and taking a long drink.

Lorna set her glass down on the counter with a shake of her head and moved to take his and set it down. "Alright, let's drunk-fuck, okay?"

* * *

Playlist: Panic! at the Disco - Nicotine

Sia - Fair Game


	31. Reichenbach Consequences

A week and a half later, Jim was pushing a file across the desk to Moran, who he'd let stand this time. He had noticed his discomfort before, and after having his mother delivered to him with a silk bow attached, he thought a break was in order. "You're going in without backup. You won't need it. This should be textbook."

He nodded, opening the file and starting to read through the details, before frowning just a little. "Not to disagree, boss... but, well, I'm disagreeing. They've increased security almost fifty percent in the last week alone... They know something's up."

"So what?" he laughed, shrugging. "This should be a cakewalk. And you'll have Harrison with you, to lie you out of trouble. You're welcome, by the way. I saw you practically climbing the walls when she went out a few days ago with those contractors. Did she tell you she broke one of the men's hands? You're a _terrrrible_ influence. Go do the job. Have a little _trust."_

He grit his teeth slightly but didn't let the tension work its way onto his face. "Of course, sir. Thank you for the opportunity." He straightened, knowing better than to question Jim twice. "We'll be on route within the hour."

"Good. Update me when possible," he said shortly, turning his desktop monitor on. "Now shoo, daddy has to write a letter to that filthy Magnussen."

He nodded, heading for the door but frowning just slightly when he thought he saw Jim wince just slightly. "Sir, are you alright?"

Jim glanced at him, considering how much to say. This was, however infrequently incompetent, his bodyguard, and the man who had stopped him from dying on the roof of St. Bart's. "Headache. The screen makes it worse, that's all. Do stop loitering." But then again, he was hardly the most open book in the world. He would heal on his own.

He nodded slightly, cataloging the information but making not visual reaction to it. "Yes, sir," he said, stepping out and shutting the door behind him, heading off to find Harrison. He did a few minutes later, in her department armed with a scowl and a fire extinguisher. "Is this a bad time?" he asked sarcastically.

"Kane and Kelly have locked themselves in the broom closet because I've threatened to bash in both their skulls with the _once again EMPTY_ fire extinguisher," she seethed in response, dropping the red cylinder onto the floor with a crash, and then took a deep breath, raking a hand through her hair. "Okay, I'm fine, I'm fine. You have a job for me?"

"We both do. Get dolled up, we're going to a mob party and we need to look presentable and gullible," he said with a grin.

"Oh, good, a party. And here I was thinking my wardrobe would be neglected forever," she smiled, as if the place didn't smell like smoke, and patted his shoulder on the way past. "I'll meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes."

"Fifteen if you can swing it, otherwise I'll be out front with a car," he called as he headed for the elevator to go up and change into his tux.

She rolled her eyes at his back, but she was down in fifteen minutes, looking like she'd been prepped for the red carpet. "You look dashing. Usual distant husband, needy wife routine?" she asked as he appeared in the lobby, his shoes much more quiet on the marble floor than hers had been. "I got the new chauffeur to grab the Jag. That's the one I usually think is going to kill me, so I figured it was your favorite."

He flashed her a grin at the mention of the car. "You know me too well. Might have to have you knocked off. As for the routine, I think that's worked the best."

She turned towards the door, smirking. "You better not kill me. Good luck finding someone else who'd put up with your eccentricities _and_ not want to kill you," she teased, opening the door and holding it open for him as she stepped out onto the pavement. She wondered what they looked like, coming out of this unmarked building.

He just laughed, nodding to the chauffeur holding open Lorna's door and heading around to get in driver's side. "Alright. We've got a bit of a drive, which is why I wanted to leave as soon as possible." He passed her the file. "Right now it's a reconnaissance job. Nothing more." He started the car, pulling into the street. "I'll admit I've got a few reservations about security, but Jim seems confident that we'll be able to blend in."

"The day I can't blend is the day I die. Literally," she added distractedly, already reading through the file. "I'll try to get someone to show me around the premises. If not, we may have to peek over some hedges."

"Easier than that this time," he said with a smile. "We have invitations. We're just looking to chat some people up, get a feel for the general direction of the organization. And by 'we' I mean, of course, 'you'."

"Of course you do, you're terrifying and your contempt really shows," she hummed, flipping through a few pages with a rustle, trying to see if there was anything important she might have missed. "This doesn't seem too bad. As long as we don't know anybody there, we should be okay."

"We'll be fine. Piece of cake, Jim said. In and out." He seemed to be trying to reassure himself.

* * *

Half an hour later they pulled up in front of the venue, and with some reluctance, Moran handed his keys over to the valet. It would seem out of character not to, but he hated not knowing where his car was in the event that they needed to make a quick escape. He smiled, though, offering Harrison his arm. "Shall we?"

"Only if I'm allowed to have a couple drinks. This place is vaguely familiar and I'm a little nervous," she said through a smile, knowing that nobody was close enough to hear. Appearances were the most important thing.

"One drink, dear. You know how you get," he said, patting her arm slightly, eyes taking in the security at the door as they handed over their invitations and stepped inside. "See anyone we know? I'd love to say hello."

"Not yet, but we'll see who turns up," she shrugged, although a little daintier than normal. She always had to be a little more ladylike at parties. Even mob parties. "You can go pretend you're not having fun in some corner, darling, I think I should introduce myself to our host."

He sighed, leaning down to steal a quick kiss. "I suppose I must let you wander. Try not to get too lost, alright?" He gave her a smile before heading off to find himself a drink.

He seemed a little more sincere than he used to on these sort of missions, but she filed that away to think about later, scanning the crowd for the Don. Lorna was almost certain she'd never met this particular one before, but it would do to be cautious, and maybe to alter her accent a little. _There he is._ She took a steadying breath, snagged a champagne glass carried by a passing waiter, and made her approach.

Sebastian found a quiet corner and a stiff drink, sipping thoughtfully and trying to look as brooding as possible, keeping a cautious eye out for anyone he recognized. He'd have to socialize eventually, couldn't leave the brunt of that to Harrison, but for the time being strong and silent was his best bet.

* * *

Lorna had thought that it had been going rather well until one of the security guards hovering at the edges of the room stepped forward to whisper something in the Don's ear, and his face slipped into a chilly mask, his eyes hardening on her. "You've got a dangerous choice of a husband. If my friend here," he gestured to the guard, who looked like he bench-pressed 500 pounds, "hadn't worked for my good friend across the city, I don't think I would have even known. Markov, you know where to take him. Make it quiet."

Moran saw the goon move forward, and was already on alert. He stared for a second, wracking his brain, and sighed when he made the connection on the face.

 _Fuck_.

It certainly wasn't going to help to pull a gun. By the looks of it everyone in the room was packing heat. Which left few options.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out. It's Maxwell, right? Or was it Morris... Or Mirmac... I honestly can't remember, sorry."

The offended goon bristled, and the Don turned towards Moran, looking amused.

"Any particular reason for gate-crashing, Mr. Moran?" he purred as Markov (or Maxwell) and several others started closing in.

"Eh. Saw a lovely lady, figured she was my ticket in. You really should stop adding the 'plus one' section... It's a terrible idea, security-wise..."

 _Get out, Harrison..._

She had the good grace to turn red, looking very sheepish, despite the fact that her stomach felt like it was trying to leave through her feet. "I'm so _sorry,_ oh my god, I thought he just wanted some of the free drinks, and he promised to _pay..."_ Lorna babbled, playing dumb and succeeding, judging by the slightly exasperated look that came over the Don's face. _Let me out let me out let me out..._ She batting about fifty-fifty getting him out when they were both locked up, so...

"Get the lady's keys and drive her to wherever she'd like to go," the Don smiled, patting Markov on the shoulder, and obvious ' _Make sure she's away from here'_ in his eyes.

Moran laughed, tossing the jaguar keys over. The Don gave him a suspicious look. "What? She was going to drink, I offered to drive. You telling me you've never tried to jack a car from a bimbo? Please, this is the mob we're talking about."

The quip earned him a punch in the mouth from one of the goons, and which he didn't take lightly, returning the blow quickly before there was a sea of clicks and he was looking down the nose of an impressive number of guns. "Right, well, I can see we all know who'd win that fight," he smirked.

Markov glared at him, but turned to Harrison, handing over her keys. "Come with me, ma'am," he said gruffly, nodding towards the door.

"Mary, darling, you've got to be more gentle with a woman if you ever want to see one unclothed," Moran shot after him.

She held the keys tight enough in her hand as she left for it to hurt, keeping her face carefully embarrassed as she left. She had to fight the panic rising up in her at leaving him behind.

The Don gave Moran a dry smile. "Well, Mr. Moran, how about you come with me? I have a place for people who enter my home without permission."

"Sure, why not," Moran said with a smirk. "Just hope it's not a sauna. No offense but I think seeing any of you nude would leave me a bit nauseous. Except maybe you, Shorty," he said, winking at one of the guards and receiving another blow for it. _Just keep them distracted, Moran._

"You know where to take him," the man snorted, waving at the doorway. "I still have a party to run." Without further ado, 'Shorty' and two other guards manhandled Sebastian out of the room, not hesitating to throw in a few jabs when he put up any resistance. The last thing that could be heard from the Don as he was shuffled down a dark, cleverly hidden staircase, was "Someone find out who owns that man. I'd like to have words with him."

* * *

He'd never had a migraine before, but he had no doubt in his mind that this was one. He sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, trying not to wince at the soft _ding_ of the elevator. He'd taken pain killers half an hour ago, but so far they'd done little good, and he was beginning to feel nauseous. With any luck, however, it would fade soon so that he could get back to work. As it was, the incapacitation was extremely irritating.

Lorna knocked on Jim's door still looking good enough to attract entirely straight women, tapping her fingers anxiously against her thigh as she waited. This was so fucking bad. She was in so much _trouble._ And god knew what Sebastian was going through...

The knock was like a knife to his head, and that influence the snap in his response. " _What?_ " he snarled.

She paused. That wasn't a 'come in'. "There's... there's been a snag, sir."

He swore quietly under his breath, sitting up and composing himself. "Come in, Harrison. There had better be a perfectly acceptable reason that you're here and Moran isn't."

She came in, shutting the door quietly behind her. He seemed to be a little annoyed with.. sound. "Sir.. they, um.. They recognized him."

His attention snapped over to her, headache forgotten for the time being in the face of that information.

 _Impossible, I vetted everyone that was going to be there_.

He kept his expression neutral.

 _Well, obviously you failed to account for something. Damn this headache..._

"Excellent. We'll talk about retrieving him in a few days," he said non-nonchalantly, turning back to his computer.

"I? Um... Ah.. Okay, sir," she hedged, taking a step hesitantly towards the door. This was off. Something here was... just not right. But if he didn't want her in here, there was nothing she could do about it. Without any more hesitation, she turned and exited the room.

He sighed in relief as the door was shut, closing his eyes. He needed to get rid of this fucking headache. Moran could hold out until then.

* * *

The next few days were tense. Jim refused to see her, so she spent a good portion of her time in Moran's flat, worrying. He would have made fun of her if he could see her, but she couldn't help it. When they were really in trouble, they tended to be in trouble together, and she wasn't sure what to do with herself.

Five days went by before Jim let them get Moran out. The operation was simple, so even though it wasn't her department, she went along anyway. With most of the Don's guards dead, scattered throughout the house, they finally found the stairwell.

* * *

The room was barely big enough for him to sit in, his knees and toes brushing the far wall when he did, and it was pitch black. At first he'd been fine, glad he wasn't being tortured, but as the hours dragged on the small space seemed smaller and smaller, and the slow, steady drip of water on his head started to get to him.

He realized after what must have been a few days (He'd completely lost track of time, but it seemed like days- days spent trying to keep himself sane, trying not to panic as the water kept dripping, dripping, dripping and his muscles seized for lack of movement) that the water was the only thing he would have to drink, and he'd craned his neck back, letting the foul, metallic stuff into his mouth, still dripping slowly. He did that for hours just to get enough to stay alive.

The only thing he was grateful for was an open pipe on the floor on the corner, just big enough that if he maneuvered right he could piss into it. So at least he wasn't living in his own filth. It didn't help much.

The blackness seemed infinite, his body cramped and sore, and he was alone with his thoughts, images forming in his mind to try to cut the blackness. He was three, and four, and five again, staring at the same four walls and the same children's movies that he'd memorized years ago, carefully rationing his food because who knew how long his father would be this time?

The cramps of hunger were as real as ever.

* * *

The door was locked, and god knew where the key was, but Johnson had a crowbar on hand, and that was good enough. She wrenched the door open herself, gritting her teeth against the squeal of metal, and handed the crowbar back to whoever was behind her with a smack of metal against flesh. And, for a moment, she was kinda relieved. He was there. God, if he _hadn't_ been... She stepped into the tiny space, crouching in front of him. He looked out of it. "Moran. Moran, c'mon. If you ever want to leave this shithole you're going to need to get up until there's enough room for you to lean on someone else."

The light was absolutely blinding. For a few moments he had no idea what was going on, but then there was a voice. It rang loud in his ears, and he winced, trying to place it. The housekeeper? No...

 _Pull it together, Moran_.

Some part of him still had a handle on reality, and as his eyes slowly adjusted he caught sight of a familiar face. Harrison. _Harrison_ , that's right. That's who it was. He slowly got to his feet, gripping the wall as best he could, muscles cramping and screaming at him in protest.

When he was up far enough that she could get a grip on him she helped, hauling him upwards until she could wedge a shoulder under him and support his shockingly slim weight, helping him out the door. "I want the rest of this house sweeped, and I want it done now. If you find someone who fights you, kill them. I'm in no mood to deal with leftovers today," Lorna snapped, elbowing aside someone who was in the way. "Van around front, two minutes top. _GO,_ people!"

"M'fine, Harrison," he said, still squinting in the light, heart racing. He was out, he wasn't back in that room, that _fucking_ room. "Just a little dehydrated and hungry. And my ass is a bit sore. I'm fine."

"You look awful. And you're really damp. It's kinda gross," she said brusquely, stepping away from him, but ready to try and catch his massive frame if he started to tip over. Either way, her snappish orders had gotten the rest of the underlings out of their hair, something she thought might be appreciated. If too many people saw him looking so shitty they might get ideas.

He walked straight, trying to ignore the charley horse in his right leg. "How long was I in there?" he asked as professionally as he could.

"Five days, more or less," she replied, a little more quietly. Now that he was back and safe a lot of the energy that had been keeping her going drained away. And as much as the more sentimental bit of her brain wanted to, trying to give him a hug or something would go poorly. "Jim's fucking gone off the wall or something, too, so I'm glad you're back."

He frowned, glancing over at her. "What's wrong with Jim?" he asked immediately, discomfort forgotten for the moment. Not that the boss didn't have his moments, but...

"Fuck if I know. He wouldn't even fucking see me until today, and even if this was intended as punishment or some shit, five days was too long under unknown circumstances," she muttered, trying to rein in her anger. "Sebastian, can you save the questions for the van? I haven't slept in three days."

"Yeah, fine," he said, eyes finally getting used to the dim lighting as they approached the door. He glanced around at the bodies. "Mob's gonna be pissed."

"They can go fuck themselves, for all I care," she snorted, shouldering open the door and holding it open just long enough for him to exit. "Again, very low on sleep. My bullshit tolerance is nil. Get in the van, please."

He did, stumbling slightly and trying not to wince at the sudden harsh daylight. "What the hell didn't you sleep for? I thought Jim didn't authorize an operation until this morning?" He strapped in.

"It wasn't a choice, believe me," she grumbled, buckling up and kicking the metal-plated seat in front of her to indicate to the driver that she wanted movement. The van started up a moment later, and she fell silent. She didn't really feel like explaining herself. Especially not in front of people.

He nodded just a little, leaning back in the seat and starting to slowly stretch his limbs, eyes closed. "I need to shower and change before I see Jim..." he thought outloud.

"You probably have time," she sighed, leaning her head against the window and strongly resisting the urge to just fall asleep. "He's being very crotchety. Approach his door quietly, if you know what's good for you."

He nodded a little at that, too tired to comment on much. Finally they arrived back at the gloriously large headquarters, and he stepped out of the van, waiting for Harrison before heading for the elevator.

She waited until they were in the elevator, where there was no one else, until she pulled him into a rough, brusque, slightly angry hug. " _God,_ just fucking throw yourself under the bus some more, why don't you? _Christ._ I hate you."

He was surprised by the hug, but returned it a second later. "What are you on about, huh? You're getting all damp."

"Shut the fuck up," she muttered, into his extremely damp shirt, which smelled vaguely of rust and a dank, dark place. She pulled away as soon as the elevator opened, looking a little pink-cheeked and irritable as hell. "Okay. Go take a hot shower and see the crazy man upstairs. I'll warm some leftovers up so you don't starve to death in front of me."

"Yes ma'am," he muttered, sarcasm falling a bit flat as he headed for the apartment and immediately went to the bathroom and started up the shower, stripping out of his disgusting clothes.

She followed him into the flat and spent the time he did in the shower just sitting in his kitchen, resisting the urge to just cry out of relief and exhaustion.

He came out a few minutes later, freshly shaven and wrapped in a towel, and headed over to pull on clean clothes. "Alright... I'm going to go see him. Back soon, hopefully."

"Okay. Don't get locked in a cellar again, I'll be furious," she replied, having hastily gotten up and started rooting around in the fridge. God forbid he knew she cared.

He glanced over at her, but didn't have the energy right now to try and untangle that enigma. "I'll do my best," he said as gently as he could, before heading out into the hallway and then into the elevator. A minute later he knocked- quietly, per Harrison's advice- on the boss's door.

"If you aren't Moran, and you're bothering me after I _explicitly_ warned against it, I will get up from my desk and personally throw you out my window. If you _are_ Moran, come in," he drawled, from the couch, where he had a cold compress on his head. He felt like his brain was trying to crawl out of his cranium, so appearances could bloody well wait.

He was shocked by the response, and entered immediately, still remaining quiet. "Moran, sir." He closed the door silently, eyes on his boss, immediately slipping into body-guard mode. "What's wrong?" he asked, surveying the room as he walked forward.

"I have a headache that would dig your grandfather out of it's grave for the sole purpose of rapping his femurs on your forehead like a drum, that's what's _wrong,"_ Jim snapped, still lying listlessly on the couch. He would have looked at Moran, but that hurt, so he got most of his information from his audio cues. "I bet that pit was a fun time. How _close_ do you think you got to nirvana?"

"Enough to smell the pot and get the t-shirt, sir," he said, crouching down once he was certain the room was secure. "How long have you had this headache?"

"Far too long. Days," he growled, just generally furious with everything, and very sick of being in pain. "I think I've experienced cluster headaches now. Too bad I can't inflict this upon my enemies."

He nodded a little, concerned but not in panic mode quite yet. "I'd like to bring in someone to look you over, sir," he said firmly.

He considered saying no just to say no, and because he was irritable and in no mood to deal with Moran's more protective traits. But the pain was hampering his work, and that was where he drew the line. "Fine."

"Good," he said, standing and pulling out his phone. "I'm going to step outside. I'll be back in a minute. Do you want anything? Water or pain killers?"

"Both," was all he said in response, closing his eyes and trying to pretend like his head wasn't fucking killing him. There was only so much pretending could do.

He nodded, concerned. Jim didn't react to pain. He'd seen the man take a knife blade with more composure than this. "I'll be back shortly." He walked out of the office door, already dialing Jim's main physician and heading for the floor's kitchen.

He felt so awful that he even had a moment's guilt. He'd slipped up on the mob job, and it had landed Moran in some uncomfortable condition for a work week, and here he was, doing his job like nothing had happened. It was his job, though. The guilt passed.

Moran returned five minutes later with a tall glass of water and a max dose of extra-strength ibuprofen. "I've brought a straw in case that makes things any easier," he said seriously. "The doctor should arrive in a half-hour."

"Fantastic," he droned, throwing back the pills and sitting up just enough to get the water to swallow them down. "Have them come in. Knocking will not be necessary. Nor will your presence. I _loathe_ hovering."

"Unfortunately sir, I'm going to override that," Moran said gently but firmly. "It says in my contract that I have some leniency regarding medical issues and I'm taking it. You took a bullet to the brain, and now you have a massive headache, I want to be around immediately if something goes wrong."

He flailed a hand in the direction of the corner. "Then you will be _quiet._ Breathe only as often as you need to. I am not joking."

He didn't answer or object, walking to the farthest corner and sitting down, taking a slow silent breath and sitting back, holding it for as long as he could without making him have to pant for air. Exhale slowly and quietly. Repeat. Easy task for a sniper.

Thirty-two minutes later he heard the elevator ding and stood to forestall the inevitable knock, letting the doctor in and putting a finger to his lips. The doctor nodded.

"Do not speak any more than is strictly required," Jim warned, sitting up because he knew doctors always had to look your damned eyes.

When the doctor was finished looking him over, he lay back down and pointed towards Moran. "Tell him, outside."

They stepped outside, and Moran returned a few minutes later. "He gave me some stronger pain killers," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "He also says you need to go in for a CAT scan. I'll schedule one as soon as you take these."

He made a sound of compliance, taking the pills from him blearily and washing them down with the water remaining in his glass. It wasn't long until he felt kind a floaty, the pain in his head a far away ache. After five minutes, and five days of no rest, he fell asleep right there on the couch.

He considered the man for a moment, debating the fury he might face for even contemplating what he was contemplating, before deciding he didn't give a fuck and lifting the small man gently into his arms, carrying him through a few doors to the bedroom and setting him down on the seldom-used bed. He didn't dare go as far as undressing him, but did remove his shoes and tug the blankets up over him. He set the bottle of pills and a fresh glass of water on the bedside table, closed all of the blinds on the windows, and made sure his employer's mobile was within reach. Then he headed back down to his apartment.

* * *

Lorna had gotten a little carried away. She'd been desperate to distract herself from her wild relief that he was back, and in the process, she'd made stir fry. It seemed easier than dealing with her feelings. She didn't know what she'd been thinking in the elevator, but it still baffled her that he'd reciprocated. She hadn't expected that from him.

He stepped in to the smell of something glorious, and let out a groan. "Please tell me that's ready to eat," he sighed, wandering into the kitchen. "It smells fucking fantastic."

"Pretty much, yeah, as soon as it cools down. Thought you might want something with protein, so there's a little more beef than I would normally add, but how bad can it be," she said neutrally, shrugging slightly and turning off the stove top.

"Literally anything right now sounds phenomenal, thank you," he said genuinely, giving her a tired smile and walking over to find the largest glass he could find and fill it to the brim with water.

"No trouble," she smiled slightly, getting out bowls and giving him a larger serving. It was rare to get sincerity from him. But he might have been a little too worn for sarcasm. Still. She hated how worried she'd gotten.

He took the bowl with a smile and grabbed a couple of forks, tossing her one and sitting down, starting to eat ravenously, ignoring the fact that it was still so hot it almost burned his mouth.

She ate across from him for a few minutes without saying anything, considering him as she ate. He didn't look like he'd been fed at all in that place. "The Don's not dead," she said, when he was about half way through his serving. "Just so you know."

He looked up at her, and nodded, but couldn't bring himself to quite care at the moment. "We'll deal with it after some sleep," he sighed. He forced himself to slow down on the food so he didn't make himself sick, reluctantly leaving a fair portion in the bowl as he sat back.

She finished off all of hers, mostly because staying up all night burned a lot off energy and if she didn't stay on top of that it would bite her in the butt later. When she sat back she just looked exhausted. "I would ask about Jim, but honestly, I'm too tired to care. Bed?"

He nodded in agreement, standing and shoving his bowl in the fridge for later, walking over to give her a hand up. "Come on. You're exhausted." He wanted to ask about what the hell had happened in the elevator, but that was probably a discussion to had after they'd both slept.

She mumbled some sound of agreement, following him into the bedroom and having just enough clarity left to get out of her clothes and into pajamas, and as soon as she was in bed, passed out. With no reason to keep her awake, there was really nothing that could have stopped her.

He undressed a bit more slowly, pulling pajamas on and laying down, reaching up to turn out the light.

It was back on almost immediately, his heart racing at the sudden blackness, and he sat up, taking a few slow breaths.

 _Fuck, get a handle on yourself_.

He took another breath, and turned the light off again, laying down on the bed and letting the arm and leg opposite Lorna spread out sideways as far as they could, trying to remind himself that he had space. After a few minutes of that not working, he moved to curl up next to Harrison, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. _Not alone, not alone, not alone._.. He was still there, though, his pulse still through the roof, and he could feel the shadow of the television in the corner knew if he looked the plates of food would be there... He held Harrison a little tighter, before giving up and getting out of bed, heading immediately for the main room and turning on every light he could find, picking up a knife before laying down on the couch and staring out at every shadow. He was here, in his apartment. _Go the fuck to sleep_.

She woke up some time in the middle of the night, only really becoming alert after she realized Moran wasn't in bed next to her. For a second, she was petrified that she'd just dreamt she'd gotten him back, and then the calmer part of her pointed out the light streaming in through the cracked door. A moment later she was shuffling into the room, squinting at the light. "Moran? What's wrong?"

He looked over at her blearily, but sat up a second later, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. "Nothing, I'm fine, Just couldn't sleep. Go back to bed."

"You have a knife, that doesn't seem like nothing," she yawned, making a vague hand movement at the blade in his hand. "I know y'sleep with one and all, but this seems.. unusual, even f'you."

"I told you, just having trouble sleeping," he growled, sitting back. "I had enough time in the dark, just appreciating the light a bit, alright?" He hated solitary confinement, but that was a weakness, and hell if he was going to advertise any more of those.

She sighed, falling silent for a moment and just considering her options. He was very, very difficult to help, she knew that. God knew getting him to open up was like pulling teeth. And when he looked one edge like this, she had to tread carefully. "Come back to bed," she said finally, voice tired. "I can sleep with the lights on. I sleep better with you there, anyway. Please?" she added, clearing her throat slightly. Even if she was saying it to make it seem like she just wanted him there for her own benefit, it was the truth. As much as she resisted it.

He glanced up, the offer enticing. He was exhausted, and being alone definitely wasn't helping the situation. After a few moments he nodded just slightly, standing and walking over to put the knife back in his safe. He had one under his pillow anyway. "Yeah... alright. "

"Okay. Thanks," she murmured, turning when he was up and heading back into the bedroom, flicking the light switch on as she passed it, and crawled back between the sheets, letting out a long breath of exhaustion.

He came in a few minutes later, climbing into bed and reaching out to pull her close. The light behind his eyes when the slipped shut helped, as did having a warm, living being next to him, and within a few minutes he was asleep.

She kept herself awake until she felt him fall to sleep, concerned about his well-being, and wondering what had caused this. But, as soon as he was out, there was no more avoiding it. She zonked out, not to be awoken until the next morning.

* * *

He awoke crying. _Fucking_ ** _crying_ **. Tears slipping down over his face and short gasps catching. He immediately suffocated the sound, sitting up and scrubbing at his eyes in an attempt to get rid of the evidence. He looked around. He wasn't there. He'd gotten out. He was here, grown and successful and working for the greatest crime lord of the century. Not some snot-nosed toddler learning how to save the cheerios in case daddy was gone past bedtime. Or the next bedtime.

She shifted, stretching out as she lazily made her way awake, cracking her eyes to glance at the clock. About five in the morning. She groaned. Why the _fuck_ was she awake? She rolled over, sighing, and finally became aware of Sebastian, sitting up in the kind of position she normally associated with distress. There was nothing she could say to him, she knew that, but silent reassurance was more likely to go over... maybe not well, but maybe not terribly, either. It was hard to tell with him. But fuck... had he been _crying?_ She sat up and twisted to sling an arm around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck.

He stiffened slightly. He'd been hoping she wasn't awake. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. But he supposed if someone had to, she'd proven fairly trustworthy so far. He leaned into her a little, taking a slow breath. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up again."

"It's fine," she mumbled, hand slipping up to slide into his hair. She had to stifle a yawn into the crook of his shoulder - he was so warm, she couldn't help it. "Can I do anything?"

He shook his head a little. "No. Being in there just... messed with my head. I'll be alright. You should get some more sleep."

"M' alright," she shrugged mildly. "I got a good five, six hours. 'Nuff to start with... I'm sorry we couldn't get you sooner. Jim just.. wouldn't _see_ me. Sorry."

He laughed a bit, shaking his head. "You know I know how Jim is. You didn't sleep for three days, Harrison. Go the fuck to sleep. Or I maintain the right to ask you what the hell you were going on about on the elevator."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered, just a little stiffly. She mostly did. She didn't know what there was to _talk_ about, though.

"Why the fuck were you so fucking pissed?" he asked, leaning back against the head of the bed, careful not to squish her arm.

She made an unhappy sound. "I don't like leaving anybody behind like that. I'm not saying it wasn't the right call, but it doesn't mean I have to be fucking happy about it. I thought that was fairly obvious."

He snorted slightly, but didn't argue. He hated leaving people behind, as well, and she knew it. As for the reason she hadn't slept for three days... He could guess. "You can't go crazy every time you've got to leave me in a bad spot. It's part of the job."

She withdrew her arm from around him, leaning back against the headboard and sighing. "I know. I never meant for this to get so bad. Addictive personality, remember?"

He smirks just a little at that, glancing over at her. He should be furious. Should call this whole trainwreck off before it killed both of them. But they'd tried that and it never lasted long. He reached out, put his arm around her, tucked her into his side.

"I probably wouldn't have slept much, either."

Lorna was surprised, but she was pleased, too, and a little relieved. "Have to admit, I didn't think that was going to be your response," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. "Not that I want you to change your answer, don't get me wrong. Just. Not used to this yet, I guess."

He shrugged a little. "It's sort of become inevitable at this point, I think," he said with a quiet sigh. "Shouldn't happen but it will type thing."

She nodded. She'd had the same sort of thoughts. It wasn't like he hadn't actively pushed her away in the past, hadn't hurt her enough to try and back away, and she'd come back, every time. Not very healthy, but no relationship in her life, romantic or otherwise, had ever been. "You know," she said eventually, voice soft, "I rather it like this than like it was. You stress me the hell out, but... I don't know. I don't mind so much."

He laughed a little. "Well, there's a compliment if I've ever heard one," he muttered, shaking his head. "But yeah... Same."

She leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek before she could second-guess herself, and then raised an eyebrow at him. "Now, do you think you can sleep, or am I going to have to try and figure out what's bothering you this much?"

He rolled his eyes, shoving her gently over so she was laying down. "I can sleep. It's fine. Solitary confinement like that just does things to your head."

"Okay," she yawned, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in the pillow she'd claimed as hers a while back. "Wake me up if you need me," she added in a mumble, already half asleep.

"Will do," he muttered, laying down and curling up next to her again, eyes slipping shut. He thought for a while about the possible consequences of what he'd just done, but finally drifted off into a restless sleep.

* * *

When she woke up again, it was a much more reasonable time. Comforted by the fact that he seemed to be asleep - she could never tell for sure, with him - she slid out of bed and made for the kitchen at a shuffle, drowsily ruminating on the events of the previous night.

When he woke, he was alone. There was no thought, just a jolt of lighting-quick panic that seared through him as he immediately leaped up and yanked the door open. He made it into the main room before his brain caught up and he recognized the apartment, and dropped the hand that was wrapped around his knife like a child would cling to a security blanket.

Lorna was halfway through the door of the kitchen when he came tearing into the living room, and for a short, terrifying moment she was convinced he'd changed his mind and was going to gut her. Then the moment was past and she took a hesitant step towards him, a hand half-raised. "Sebastian? Are you okay?"

He nodded just a little, setting the knife down slowly on the end table. "Fine, sorry, just... thought I heard something," he said carefully, adrenaline still screaming through him, heartbeat throbbing all over his body.

"Okay," she replied just as carefully, trying to pretend like he didn't look like he was going to jump out of his skin any minute. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"Sure, yes, breakfast would be great," he said, nodding a little and taking a few slow, quiet breaths, trying to calm himself down.

She nodded, sparing one last concerned glance towards him before going into the kitchen. Christ, how was she going to get him to open up about this one?

He followed her quietly, keeping her in sight. Christ, he was going insane. This was pathetic. "Feeling any better now that you've slept?" he asked.

"A little," she nodded, pulling bacon out of the fridge. "Not 100%, but I haven't really been there for weeks, so I'll get there eventually. I think I solved my department's goddamn fire crisis. Only took fucking took writing 'twit' on Kelly's forehead with magic marker. Public humiliation does wonders."

He smirked. "Threaten to tattoo it next time and you're golden," he said, glancing at his phone. "Jim hasn't texted me... I'm going to go up after this either way."

She didn't reply for a moment, not wanting to compete with the sizzle of the bacon hitting the hot pan on the stove. "That sounds not fun. I heard some outside guy came in yesterday. What's the deal with that?"

He knew better than to advertise the boss's weakness, even to Harrison. "Consultant. He's been working on a bigger project than usual. S'why he's been so fucking irritable."

"Ugh, great, another big project that's going to get us in trouble," she huffed, prodding at the bacon with a fork just to take out some of her irritation on something formerly living. "Whatever, I just hope this ends soon."

"So do I," he says, nodding a little and walking over to put toast in the toaster. "But we'll figure it out."

"I guess things always work out," she shrugged, flipping the sizzling meat over. And as long as Jim wasn't putting off something like retrieving Seb from unknown circumstances, she could wait.

He rubbed her back a bit as he walked past to grab the butter. "Chin up. This plan of his won't be in motion for a while."

"I should hope not. I need time to let my newest scars fade," she hummed, patting her abdomen where she'd gotten a minor stab wound. Of course, she was referring to the ones on her neck, too, but if she put enough concealer on she looked alright, as proven by the Don's party. "I really need to stop getting sliced up, I'm lowering my value like crazy."

He shook his head a little. "You're still gorgeous. Just shows you've got a dangerous side. Mysterious. Men like that." He pulled out butter and raspberry jam, walking back over to retrieve the toast as it popped.

She laughed, forking the slightly-crispy bacon onto a couple of plates. "I know. But occasionally it means I don't fit the part, and someone else would be better suited to go. I can't pretend to be a model anymore at some visiting NYC agent's vacation home," she shrugged, neutral about it, and set his plate down at his usual spot and sat with her own. "Not the end of the world. Just means I need to get my goddamn underlings under control."

"Now you know why I'm such a terrifying asshole professionally," he says with a laugh, walking over with a plate of toast. "You want juice?" he asked, returning to the fridge.

"God, no, please," she winced, pausing with a strip of bacon halfway to her mouth. "I kinda hit it hard when you were gone, because there's liquor in here and I might piss you off if I accidentally had too much and got alcohol poisoning."

He didn't react, just poured himself orange juice. "You guessed correctly," he agreed, walking over and starting to eat. He was starving, now he thought about it. Maybe he'd heat up the leftover stir fry after this.

She nodded, already mostly done with her bacon and toast. She'd never been a slow eater, and in their line of work, many things happened without waiting for someone to finish their lunch. "I might be back late tonight. I'm following a greenhorn on a job, and depending on how much they fuck up, it could be time-consuming."

"Good luck with that," he said with a nod. "I'm going to be spending most of the day catching up on administrative work, I expect," he sighed. "I really need to stop getting kidnapped for such long spans of time."

"Yuck," she grimaced, pushing out her chair and going to the sink to put her dishes in. "I don't think you have that many, though. My workload barely changed. There's really not that much happening right now."

He nods a little. "Hopefully that's the case... For now I need to go talk to Jim." He cleared his plate and washed a bit of jam off his face, before heading to his room to change.

She gave him the space and just washed the pan she'd used for cooking, mind on her task for the coming night. It was important this went well. She couldn't risk losing favor with Jim. And, if the new hire wasn't worth it, she would correct the problem.

* * *

Playlist: SQURL - Funnel of Love


	32. Riordan

Moran headed upstairs a half hour later, walking over to Jim's office. For once, he didn't knock, just peered in, as silently as he could manage, trying to see if he was up.

"What the hell are you doing, moron?" Jim drawled, back in his place on the couch. He'd already decided not to question how he'd woken up in bed. For once in his life, he was in no mood to needle.

"Trying to see if you were in here without causing undue noise," he said quietly, stepping inside. "Is the painkiller helping?"

"Not as much as I could have hoped, but yes. I would be flabbergasted if it wasn't, with that dosage. Could make a _foorrtune_ selling those on the street," Jim sighed, a hand rubbing at his temples. It didn't help.

"Well, at least it's taking the edge off," he said, standing at ease. "You have an appointment for a CAT scan on Thursday. Is there anything I can get you, or anything you need done that can't wait until this is done with?"

"I need you to help arrange the job in Germany. It's open on my computer. Every time I look at the screen I get nauseous. I trust you not to make any _grievous_ errors."

"Of course sir," he said, expression unchanged by the high praise as he headed over to Jim's laptop and starts reading through the details. "Anything you know that isn't on here yet?"

"No. I've had this in the works for months, just last-minute details that need to be put in order," he waved a hand, and let it dangle over the edge of the couch. If he wasn't in so much pain, he'd have complained of being bored.

He nodded, starting to pull together the final numbers for people required, making assignments, and finalizing timetables. "Sir, is there any particular reason you've got a six man team going in at the rear? Given the predictions for security they'll have a clear path and given their access point is a vent, the fewer people the better."

He was silent for a moment. It wasn't a surprise that he'd missed this. He'd fucked up the screening that had gotten Moran captured, and his mind was creaking under the strain of the scar tissue he'd always hoped was less prevalent. "I may have made an error. Correct it."

"Of course sir," he said, without allowing any reaction to show through. Those were words he had never heard James Moriarty utter, and they sunk worry deep in his gut.

Jim spent the next half hour completely silent, the sound of his own words too loud, too painful, to bother with. All this, just when he'd been trying to be a little _healthier._

He finished making the last few adjustments, and saved the document. "It's all ready to go. I can print it out or read it for your approval if you like, or just send it along to the German branch."

"Just send it to the German branch," Jim replied, sounding like he'd very much not be there at all. "That's all that needs doing in here. Go make sure that no situation gets to me. I might kill someone valuable."

"Of course, sir," he said, sending the instructions through with a note to send any questions his way, before closing the laptop and standing. "Let me know if you need anything, sir," he said, before closing the door quietly behind him.

Jim waited until Moran was gone to stagger to his feet and half-feel his way into his personal quarters and to his bed. There wasn't an ounce of work ethic left within him.

He spent the rest of the afternoon informing everyone that any communications to Moriarty were going through him until further notice, and catching up on administrative duties in general.

Harrison didn't come back until late. He tried sleeping, but gave up when the four walls seemed to close in on him, returning to his computer until she got back.

* * *

Lorna spent the next few days tailing the newbie, returning at 2 or 3 in the morning. The first time she found him waiting up for her, she didn't think much of it. It was only by the third time, when he looked exhausted and about ready to fall on the knife in his hand, that she put her foot down.

She closed the door behind her, her stomach sinking as she saw him. "Moran? Christ, you look awful. Why aren't you sleeping? What's wrong?"

"Just getting work done," he droned, too tired to put much life in his voice. It was a pitiful excuse, his laptop had switched to screensaver twenty minutes ago and he hadn't bothered to change it.

She set her backpack down by the door and moved to kneel in front of him, taking his face in her hands so she could look at his eyes, check for a fever. "You look like you've gotten six hours of sleep this entire week," she said firmly, although her voice was soft. She cupped his jaw with one hand, the other falling to his knee. Somehow physical affection was easier, now that he'd given her an inkling about how he really felt. "You have to tell me what's going on, Sebastian. Please."

He stared at her for a few moments, but he was too tired to bother trying to evade her questions. "I just... can't sleep. I'm alone here and I keep thinking that I'm back there as I'm falling asleep. I can't stand solitary confinement, Harrison, not after what my dad used to do. It... I just... I can't sleep."

She let out a long breath, and, because she couldn't bear to let him sit there looking so desolate for a moment longer, pressed a kiss to his forehead and tugged him to his feet. "Okay. Okay. Let's get you into bed, okay? I don't have to be late tomorrow, I already have Kane on it anyway, alright?" she murmured, lacing her fingers through his and towing him gently towards the bedroom. She cared so much about him that this hurt.

He followed her quietly, not in the mood to argue, laying down on the bed in the next room without bothering to change, curling up under the blanket, keeping his eyes on her.

She was in blackouts, which never were particularly comfortable to sleep in, so she paused to get out of them and get into a overlarge shirt she'd originally stolen from Malcolm. When she was comfortable enough to relax she crawled into bed, immediately nestling into him, despite the fact that he was still in dress clothes. "Wake me up if you need to talk to me or something, okay?" she murmured, brushing her knuckles over his shoulder. "I think I've gotten a lot more rest than you have, I'll be okay."

He nodded just a little. Part of him was trying to object to the fact that she was comforting him, caring for him, giving him orders, but they were so far past that point it was ridiculous and he didn't bother, falling into an exhausted sleep.

Soothed when he passed out instead of throwing up a wall in her face, she drifted off after him. Hopefully, this wouldn't come back to haunt her, but she had to do something about this.

* * *

He started awake, again. It was the third time that night, and he doubted he was going to get any more sleep.

 _Fuck him. Just... fuck him_.

He took a breath, sitting up and dragging himself out of bed, dropping to the ground quietly to start doing push-ups in the hope to burn off the adrenaline the last nightmare had left him with.

Lorna eventually woke up to his absence, as she was wont to do, as much as it annoyed her. Her dependency on him was ridiculous. She shifted, hearing his breathing, and looked at him from over the edge of the bed. She didn't know how to help. She wasn't enough, that was clear. She couldn't help him sleep, but she could put his fucking father in the hospital tomorrow for doing this, that was fucking sure.

He heard her shift and looked up at her, sitting up and back, wiping sweat off his face with his shirt. "Hi. Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."

"Not your fault. Been a light sleeper ever since we got back from that... place. You're pretty warm, I notice when you go missing," she shrugged, voice hoarse with sleep. "Have you tried taking a hot shower?"

He nodded just a little. "I've tried everything, believe me..." He looked over at her. "It'll fade. Old memories got brought up. I wish I could change them, but I can't. They'll go away."

"Do you want to watch a movie, get your mind off it? Maybe you'll just slip off without even knowing," she suggested, shrugging slightly. "Anything to just distract you?"

He sighed. "I don't know," he said quietly. "Not a movie, no, that... wouldn't be good." The same fucking movies, playing over and over and over again... He reached up to scrub at his face. "Fuck... I never got it, you know? Never got that it wasn't normal until I went to school. But no one else there bean-counted their _fucking_ cheerios..." He was so exhausted. "Maybe you should go home so you can get some proper sleep."

"You told me, what, how many months ago now? More than six, maybe seven? You told me that I had to talk about what was bothering me, that if I didn't process I would keep having nightmares. I don't want to leave. I _do_ want you to be able to get some decent sleep," she murmured, sitting up, the sheets pooling around her waist.

He closed his eyes, annoyed as she threw his own words back at him, wondering why in hell he wasn't barking orders at her and telling her to leave.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, resigned.

She was a little taken aback that he'd consented, and had to come up with an actual question that she thought might help. "How long did he leave you in that room? Do you even know?"

He nodded, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the nightstand, and shrugged. "The VCR had a clock; when I was older I could read it. I was in there daily from nine until whenever he got home. Longest was almost four days, when he took an unexpected business trip and forgot to let me out. More often it was just the day or two."

"Jesus Christ," she muttered, rubbing at her eyes. A child, going through that... "How many years? How old were you when he stopped locking you up like that?"

He took a moment, thinking. "Seven. That was when I went to school. He forgot to enroll me the year before. After that I had the run of the apartment when I was home, but I was supposed to stay in my room except for food."

She couldn't even think of anything else to say for a moment, just looking down at him in mute shock. "...How long did you live there? When did you get out, when you joined the army?"

He nodded a little. "Not that once I was older I spent much time at the apartment. I'd do anything to get out of there and he didn't much care once I was in my teens. Found a gang and spent time on the streets until I went military. He got pissed when I got a rap sheet, but it was swept up like everything else and aside from the occasional beating when he was drunk I didn't have any consequences. Army was a hell of a turnaround."

"What happened after the army? I mean, I know you were discharged, but did you just.. disappear? What did you do between then and finding Jim? Did your father ever contact you?" she shook her head, just completely baffled. Her childhood had been rough, had been dirty and crime-ridden, but this? This was insanity.

He smirked, not opening his eyes. "Ah, I see, we're doing the full biography," he snorted, but didn't really mind. "I'm damn good with a gun. Knew that going in, knew that going out. The military polished up everything else and neatly chipped off any remnants of what might be considered a moral compass, so I was perfect for gooning. Got a reputation pretty quickly, and Jim found me three years after that."

"Before you went into the army, was that the last time you saw him?" she asked, having not been present for that particular bit of the train incident. The train incident was what she called it - nothing so simple had ever turned out so wrong for her.

"No, a few times after that," he said with a shrug. "He's in Jim's pocket. I have to work with him from time to time. We get the job done and go home. Last time I saw him he tried to... I don't even know. Might have been trying to apologize but fuck that noise." He laughed. "No. Thank you, no."

Lorna just shook her head again, letting out a long breath. It was amazing he'd grown up to be so well-adjusted, to be honest. "I can see why solitary might bring some of that back. It's just- fuck, it makes me angry just thinking about it. I don't know how I can help. I want to, but that's..."

"Fucked up," he said, smirking a little and finally opening his eyes, staring at the wall. "You do realize, of course, that should you relay this information to anyone I would have to kill you in the slowest and most creative way I can imagine?"

"Who would I share this with? I don't have any friends, no family, and even if Jim _doesn't_ know about all that - which I'm positive he does - it would never be relevant information. But I'll take the death threat under advisement, anyway," she sighed, sprawling across the bed. "I wouldn't want to be back in that room, either. Giving solitary to a _child..."_

He shrugged a little. "It was his idea of safe parenting," he sneered. "I guess it seemed logical at the time."

"He was in _government,_ he could have paid for a sitter," she muttered angrily, then huffed. "Sorry. I did a job that went wrong with the boss I had before Jim, found some kids locked in a basement. They'd been down there for a week. I know what it looks like, and imagining it happen to you is just... shitty."

He didn't comment, just stood and lay down on the bed again. "Let's talk about something else now, okay?"

She nodded, retracting an arm from his side of the mattress. "I ran into someone I used to know today, from when I was running drugs. I would have completely forgotten about him if I didn't remember his stupid-ass name. 'Sherrinford.' God." That wasn't completely the truth, but for some reason she didn't want to speak about it to him.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he snorted, smiling a bit. "My childhood may have sucked, but Christ, can you imagine trying to grow up with that name."

"I know," she laughed, "And he's really not that bright. Handsome, but maybe two bricks short of a load. Just reckless and impulsive. I only ever really got to know him because he was staying in this shithole of an apartment below a den I used to smuggle to." Also kind of a lie. He'd been a playboy, but reasonably bright. Maybe she didn't want to talk about him because out of all her exes, he'd been the one most similar to Sebastian.

He shook his head, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "God, why in hell people do that to their kids I'll never know," he snorted, sighing.

"I mean, my parents went a little off the beaten path with me, but at least it's not _silly,"_ she chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes and then letting out a long, tired breath. She had more sleep than he did, but it wasn't quite enough, and she didn't want to sleep and leave him by himself.

He looked over at her, caught the tired look. "You should sleep more. I'll try, too. Either way there's no point in both of us being tired."

She sighed, weighing the pros and cons. In the end, he was right. Usually was. "Alright," she relented, reluctantly. "But seriously, you can wake me up if you need to. My dreams are never that great, anyway."

"Yeah, you say that now. Then the one time I wake you up you'll be queen of brownie mountain with a harem full of large dicked intellectuals eager to please," he smirked, reaching over to turn off the light.

"What, are you saying that that's not my life?" she asked innocently, noting silently that he'd turned out the light. Whether or not it was progress, she didn't know, and stopped thinking as she curled up against him, exhaustion quickly clouding her mind.

He held her close. He'd not realized what he was doing when he'd turned the light out, he'd been caught up in the habit of things. But like it or not, Lorna had been right. Talking had helped. It had put everything firmly in the past. It wasn't a big difference, but it was some. He closed his eyes, and after a few minutes, he, too, was asleep.

* * *

She woke when his alarm went off, sighing unhappily and burrowing further into him like it would make the alarm stop. Mornings. What an awful time of day. It did, however, look like he'd gotten some decent sleep.

He groaned slightly as woke up, feeling groggy but not nearly as exhausted as he had been. He reached over to turn his alarm off, and yawned, sitting up, shoving her off to the side gently. He stood, mumbling something about a shower, and headed for the bathroom.

She rolled over and buried her face in the pillows, refusing to face the day quite yet. She'd had a few dreams about being locked in small spaces, and the things that Moran had told her were rolling around in her head nonstop. She just _hated_ that that asshole had gotten away with it so easy.

He emerged a few minutes later, wiping the shaving cream off his face and walking over to the drawer to pull out clothes. "Come on, Harrison," he called over his shoulder. "Outta bed."

"Who said I have to get up now?" she groaned, though the part of her that recognized that she was his employee got her moving, however reluctantly.

"I did," he said, smirking over at her. "You looked far too comfortable over there and I figured I'd share the misery."

"You're a cruel, cruel man, Sebastian Moran," she muttered dramatically, shuffling into the kitchen a fumbling around with the coffee maker until it started making promises noises.

"Figure I've got to remind you every once and awhile," he smirked, tying his tie as he headed for the door. "I'm going to grab breakfast later.. not really hungry. I'll talk to you later." He ducked out, and headed quickly to the elevator. It wasn't that he was nervous about leaving the boss for so long, it was more that... he was. He had a sinking suspicion that things were not right.

* * *

Lorna got herself up to functioning in the next half hour, and after dumping the dregs of her coffee in the sink, set herself up on the sofa with her laptop, curiosity pacing around her head.

That was how she ended up outside the almost obnoxiously posh house, owned by one Lord Riordan Moran, in regular streets clothes, a pair of gloves stuffed into her back jeans pocket. How she'd managed to come into contact with so many Irishmen was beyond her. But since it was late afternoon, there were only a few ways she could go about this. Breaking in would be too much effort and would be too conspicuous. So she stepped up to the stoop and knocked on the door.

The door was answered a few moments later by a man in an expensive jogging outfit holding a smoothie and looking politely puzzled. "Hello. Can I help you?"

"I assume you're Lord Moran," Lorna said, curiously giving him a once-over. "You look like him. Sorry, I guess he looks like you. Can I come in?"

"I look like who, now?" he asks, taking a step back. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

She slipped in through the space he gave her, taking a few steps into the opulent foyer with her hands in her pockets. "Hm? Oh, you look like Sebastian. I thought that would have been clear. You don't have any other children, no siblings. I love the internet. You're not exactly famous, I really doubt there's an impersonator out there for you," she hummed, eyes scanning the pictures on the wall. All of the lord, usually with some other dignitary.

He frowned then, sensing something was off. "I'm sorry, I still haven't gotten your name. Why are you here, exactly? Unless that clears up I think that maybe you should leave."

She was silent for a moment, calculating the risk of giving him her name. She wanted him as far away from the door as possible, and that meant pulling out a few grifting skills. He looked fit, for his age, and she was still not as strong as she'd been before the ordeal. Getting him down would be work, and it might take time. "Lorna," she said, spinning on her heel and putting on her best smile, approaching him again with her hand outstretched. "Sorry, I get a little distracted sometimes. I'm... friendly with Sebastian. I wanted to meet his father."

He relaxed after a few moments under her pleasant smile, and let the door shut a little. "It's fine, dear. I'm sorry for my rudeness... You said your name was Lorna?" He stuck out his hand. "Lord Riordan Moran, but please, call me Riordan. How do you know my son?"

"Work," she smiled, shaking his hand a little more limply than she might normally. _Give him low expectations..._ "Don't worry, I don't do what he does. I'm sure you're... aware of the nature of it," she shrugged, returning her hands to her pockets, still emanating a friendly air. "Also sometimes we live together, but it's mostly the work. Do you have anything to drink? It's past noon, and you probably have some expensive bourbon in this house."

Her smile was disarming, and he was heading towards the liquor cabinet before he quite knew why. "I'm afraid I can't claim any real knowledge of what he does beyond that he's a contractor of some sort, Lorna. My son doesn't talk to me too often, unfortunately. What is it you do?"

She took a seat in an elegant armchair that looked like it might spit her back onto her feet if it deemed her too dirty, giving a small sigh. "Riordan, I know you were involved in the Tube incident. I've no idea what capacity, but I saw your name come up. I do much tamer work, though, be assured," she shrugged, crossing her legs and leaning back into the chair, making the space hers. Time to slowly shift the conversation. She wanted him to know what he was being beaten for.

He froze just slightly, glancing over his shoulder at her before walking over with two glasses of bourbon in hand. "You work for Mr. Moriarty, then," he said, handing a glass over.

"I'm surprised you know his name. Not many people do. I guess you know how to keep your mouth shut, don't you?" she chuckled, sipping at her liquor. "Either way, it doesn't really matter what I do. I'm not here for work-related purposes. This is personal."

He kept his eyes on her as he backed up to his own chair, taking a seat. "Mr. Moriarty and I have an agreement. I'm sure whatever personal queries you might have won't be disruptive to that contract?" he asked smoothly, though his fingers were a bit tight on his glass.

"Do I look suicidal to you, Riordan?" she laughed, shaking her head. "No, no, of course not. I wouldn't even be here if I wasn't so invested in Sebastian." Her expression grew more serious, the winning smile dropping right off her face. "I care about your son. More than I've ever cared about anyone else. So imagine my anger when I learned about the treatment he suffered as a child. I simply _had_ to come see you for myself. You don't look like a naturally cruel man. _I_ don't look like a murderer. But there we are."

Riordan seemed to consider bolting for the door, then think better of it. He considered trying to lie to the woman, but he doubted it would work. "Killing me would breach that contract we were just discussing," he pointed out evenly. "I won't insult you by trying to lie. I've tried to apologize to Sebastian time and again, but he won't give me the time of day. Not that I blame him."

"Yes, you're correct. If I killed you, I would be in serious trouble. Maybe even get killed myself, who knows with Mr. Moriarty. I didn't come here today to kill you. I only told you because I thought it would be fair of me to let you know what I'm capable of," she smiled, suddenly friendly again, and stood, taking a sip of her bourbon. There was a moment where she was just standing there and he was sitting there, looking like he was carved out of stone, and then the moment was gone and the glass of bourbon slammed into his face. She took advantage of the momentum from her pitch and lunged forward, hauling him out of his chair while he was still reeling from taking a glass half full of alcohol to the face and sending him right through the glass coffee table.

The next fifteen minutes were not pleasant ones for Riordan. After she'd broken an arm and a wrist with a rolling pin she found in the kitchen, he struggled less, but before she kicked in a rib and slammed his head into the plaster wall, he put up a decent fight.

On minute seventeen, she wiped her prints and put on her gloves to call the hospital from his phone.

On minute nineteen, she left the house out the back door with a slight limp and a bruise blooming on her back where she'd hit the granite countertop.

By minute twenty-five, she was long gone, and Riordan Moran was being loaded into an ambulance van with three cracked ribs, a punctured lung, one broken arm, one broken wrist, one shattered clavicle, a fractured ankle, and multiple lacerations on his face and neck, and that was without counting the deep muscle bruises he was sure to suffer. He would not be jogging for a very long time.

* * *

Moran was sitting on the couch when she walked in, tablet in hand, waiting.

"Care to explain to me why channel six just started blasting the breaking news that Lord Moran has been hospitalized after a brutal attack?" he asked, eyes not leaving hers for a moment, taking in her slightly mussed hair and the way she favored one leg.

"I wonder who called the ambulance?" was all she said, pulling off the thin black gloves she was wearing and heading for the bedroom, eager to get her sore leg under some hot water. "If you want to talk about it, I'll be in the shower."

He rolled his eyes, standing up and following her. "What did he do to your leg?" he asks, setting the tablet on the coffee table as he walked past it.

She sighed, pausing in the bedroom to gingerly strip out of her clothes, trying not to irritate the throbbing ache in her lower back. "I got careless. He got one of the coffee table's legs and got in a good hit before I broke his wrist." She tossed her bloodied clothes into a heap on the floor and limped into the bathroom, turning on the shower about as hot as she could bear before stepping in, hissing.

He frowned at the marks, but didn't comment otherwise, going to get the first aid kit. "That was stupid," he called over the roar of the shower. "Jim uses him. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was _thinking_ I didn't kill him," she shouted back, only loud so she could be heard. She really just wanted to sit under the hot spray and take a quick nap. Not going to happen, but she wanted it. "I was also thinking that Jim has been awfully quiet this week. He better rattle someone soon, or I won't be the only one noticing. _Not_ me, preferably."

"Stop trying to change the subject," he said, walking back into the bathroom with the kit and an ice pack, though he knew she had a good point. There wasn't much he could do about it until tomorrow's scan. "You've got another job tomorrow and you look like you've been in a car wreck."

She turned off the shower and got out, looking a little stiff, and grabbed a towel. "I'm not completely stupid, I did think about that," she sighed, doing her best to dry her long hair before wrapping the towel around her chest and sitting on the toilet to get a better look at her leg. She didn't think it would bruise too visibly, but it certainly hurt. "I'm not getting information out of any one target, all I need is a good pair of stockings. I know better than to let myself get punched in the face, although I will admit that he was surprisingly fast."

"Of course he was," he sighed, handing her the ice pack for her leg and standing to look at her back. "Nothing backless tomorrow, either," he sighed, looking for any broken skin or serious damage. "That's going to hurt like a bitch, right across the spine." He came back around and gave her a weary look. "You know, you can't go out throttling people every time we have story time."

"I don't expect that there will be anyone else who's done bad enough that I can't resist the temptation to beat half to death, but yes, I know," she shrugged, lifting a hand to rub her eyes. She was always exhausted after prolonged physical violence. She felt good, but exhausted. "You can't tell me you won't sleep a little better, though, can you?"

"That's beside the point," he sighed. "You're goddamn lucky that Jim's distracted right now or you would be dead right now. You crossed his contact on a personal. I don't care if you killed him or not, that's not good, and Jim would have had you shot on sight for daring to step out of line like that."

"I know, Moran, I know," she muttered, keeping herself from snapping at him and slipping by him into the bedroom, looking for clean clothes. "You don't think I'm always aware of what Jim could do to me? After DeWitt? After every goddamn Boss I've ever had? I know." She got dressed as quickly and efficiently as she could without hurting herself too much. "But Jim's got something going on up there that's got the Eye of fucking Sauron pointing in another direction, so I took a chance. I'm a better liar than you, Sebastian, and you've gotten away with it in the past." She sat heavily on the edge of the bed, looking like she'd rather just stop talking about it.

"You got away with it, yes," he said, walking out after her, frustrated and not even sure quite why. "And if it were your target we wouldn't be having this conversation. But if you expect me to be grateful that you almost got yourself killed dealing with my problems, you've got another thing coming."

She had enough energy to look offended. "What? I didn't almost get myself killed. He got a weapon once, and I took it from him, and then I made sure he couldn't used a weapon. I have two injuries. Not even serious ones. I haven't broken a thing. No sprains. Look, if he could have done some serious damage to me after I half-blinded him with the bourbon glass to the face, I would have been _impressed,"_ she huffed, just looking bewilderingly at him. "I'm starting to try and think of a time you've actually seen me fight and see if I need to be really offended by this."

"Not by him," he muttered, waving that off. "Jim is a wild-card! The Eye of Sauron, as you so eloquently put it, does shit like this just to fuck with people, and it could have been you. I know you know what you're doing, I don't doubt that, what I don't get is _why_ you just did that."

"Because I've had enough of being helpless," she spat, not angry at him, angry with herself. "Holmes, DeWitt, I can't fucking get them. Holmes we can't even touch, and god _knows_ where DeWitt is. Your father lives twelve blocks from here. He was reachable. I could have some sort of sense that I'd righted something. And I hate watching you suffer. I rather be miserable myself."

He was quiet for a long while. "Anyone else I would have killed," he said finally, with a small nod. "But I suppose for you... An exception can be made." It was as close to a thank you as he was going to get.

She laid back on the bed, feet still hanging over the edge, and managed not to make a sound of complaint when her back twinged. He made a lot of exceptions for her. And, honestly, she made a lot for him. Even as bosses went, she took a lot of shit from him. She resisted the urge to lift a hand and reach out for him, knowing that that was perhaps too personal, even considering the fact she basically had made his apartment home. So instead she just reached up, grabbed a pillow from the top of the bed, and brought the pillow over her face, letting out a long sigh into it.

He left the room, and came back a minute later with a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water. He nudged her good leg with his toe. "Here. Take these."

She sat up, let the pillow fall into her lap, took the pills. "Thanks," she murmured, after taking a good drink of water. She wasn't sure what else to say to him. They had no basis to work off of here.

He nodded a little bit, after a bit sitting down next to her. He stared at his hands for a bit before sighing. "Do you want to go over tomorrow's briefing tonight, or would you rather wait for the morning?"

"Better if it's tonight, I can't remember it right if I do it in the morning," she shrugged, leaning down to put the bottle and the empty glass on the ground, next to the pile of bloodstained clothes. She really shouldn't have worn her second favorite hoodie.

He nods in agreement, leaning over to grab the file off the bureau and tossing it to her. "I'm really rather... annoyed.. that Jim hasn't called these off yet," he sighs. He'd breached the subject with the man this morning and had gotten the pained equivalent being laughed out of the room.

"I never really expected him to," she shook her head, catching the file with a little more clumsiness than normal and flicking it open. "Anyway, some of these _do_ seem like they need doing, the only issue is sending _me..._ Crap, I can recognize half the names on this list. Have to go heavy on the makeup, try to look different. Break out a wig, maybe..."

He walked over, pulling the list out of her hand and reading over it, snorting air through his nose and handing it back. "This is complete bullshit. I don't have time for his mind-games right now," he muttered blackly.

"Really nothing we can do about it," she replied wearily. She was resigned to this. It was why she'd gotten her affairs in order, after all. "I'm not crazy enough to go against a direct order."

He nodded just a little, and walked into the next room. "You want a drink to replace the one you dumped on my father?" he called back.

"I would say 'tossed' or 'chucked' but yes, very much so," she said, following him in and lowering herself onto the couch with a small huff. The heels tomorrow would be a bitch. "Doesn't have to be good, just strong."

He nodded, pulling a bottle of mid-grade vodka out of the cabinet and pouring them each a glass, handing one over. He raised his in a half toast. "Up Jim's ass," he said dryly, taking a long sip.

She smirked, and then got down to the serious business of draining half the glass, completely ignoring the mindbogglingly boring taste. "I don't know how much longer I can keep up the pace with these jobs, to be completely honest," she muttered, when she'd taken a good breath to catch up. "If they keep coming faster I won't be able to get them done in time, or I'll slip. I've given a good chunk of my workload to Kelly, but he's not exactly good under administrative pressure."

"I'll fix it, don't worry about it," he said, reaching for the remote and turning the television on. "Not too much longer."

"I hope you're right. I mean, you usually are, but especially so right now," she snorted, knocking back the rest of her vodka and coughing at the burn. Right now she had the urge to get black-out drunk. She wondered how far he'd let her get.

"Don't even think about getting drunk," he said, as if reading her mind, already screwing the top onto the vodka. "We are not making tomorrow any worse by having you hungover."

"Damn. Caught red-handed," she muttered, then stood, very carefully stretching. "Unless you need me for something, I'm just going to pass out, get a head start on tomorrow."

He nodded a little, sitting back and staring at the television, watching the news. "Go ahead. I'm going to see if there's any news on your misadventure."

Lorna nodded, and headed for the bedroom. There wouldn't be, not if Lord Moran had taken her threats before she'd called the hospital seriously. And why wouldn't he? A few minutes later she was fast asleep in bed, no worries to keep her up.

He waited until the door shut, gave it another five minutes to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything, and then stood, walking over to his safe and opening it, pulling out a notepad. He didn't dare trust this to his laptop. He walked back over, sitting down and starting to go over the final details. Lorna just had to survive tomorrow. Then, assuming Jim didn't call things off, the next assignment would be his chance.

* * *

Playlist: The Brothers Bright - Blood On My Name

Panic! At The Disco - Say Amen (Saturday Night)


	33. No One Knows The Word 'PTSD'

Jim woke up the next morning, and immediately wished he hadn't. There wasn't a thing left to him that didn't make his head scream. Sleep was a brief reprieve, a big absence of pain that he took whenever his head allowed him to. Something was very wrong with him, there was no denying that now. He just hoped they could fix it.

Sebastian entered a few minutes later. He'd gotten used to not knocking, and Jim seemed to have accepted it as well. "We have a car waiting, sir," he said quietly, walking over and holding out a pair of headphones. "These are sound cancelling. I wasn't sure if wearing them would make things better, or worse, but I figured it would be worth a shot."

"Hold onto them until the car at least," Jim sighed, unable to stomach the thought of riding the elevator looking so ridiculous. "Let's go. I do not want to drag this out."

He nodded in agreement, offering his employer a freshly pressed suit. "I'm not sure if you want to shave, sir, but you do look rather bedraggled."

Jim took it, giving him a dry look. "I can suss that out for myself, Sebastian, but thank you for the suit. I'm not going to shave. The sound of the motor gives me a headache." Everything did.

His nod was his only reaction, and he waited for his employer to change before heading for the door, pulling it open as quietly as possible.

The ride to the clinic was a nightmare of possible security issues, but Sebastian finally sighed in relief as they were shown into a private suite. He left two guards at the door and entered with his employer.

* * *

The process was infinitely irritating. _Infinitely._ From the gown to the stillness to the quiet beeping of a machine in the corner. It all frustrated him, all made him feel powerless and _average,_ and it all gave him a headache. When they let him leave the machine and change back into his suit he just sat in the folding chair in the corner, head leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. Moran would deal with this.

Moran came in a few minutes later. He'd spoken to the doctors, and they had confirmed his suspicions. He didn't really think that Jim would be surprised, either.

"Sir, the results are back," he said quietly, closing the door behind him.

"It's to do with my regrettable action on top of St. Bart's, isn't it?" Jim sighed, opening his eyes to look wearily at Sebastian. "If it's a tumor I will be _quite_ surprised."

"Correct with the first one, sir," he said, taking a seat and trying not to be angry at his employer. He'd been terrified and furious that day at St. Bart's, and here it was biting them in the ass again. "The scar tissue is tightening and compressing blood vessels. You're at risk of an aneurysm, among other things."

"I don't suppose there's anything that can be done about this," he stated, not bothering to get his hopes up. This was a nightmare. Of all the things to lose...

"Surgery could help, sir, but there are risks." He leaned his elbows on his knees. "It wouldn't be a simple procedure."

He was silent for a moment. "What's my other option? I can't work, can't even _fucking think_ like this. And dying of an aneurysm... if I died of something so _mundane..._ No... Surgery is the only option."

He nodded slightly, sitting back. "Then we'll start discussing those options with higher-level surgeons, not the poor sods here." He took a slow breath. "Permission to speak freely sir?"

"Granted," he said without hesitation. What did it matter, right now? Without Moran the network would have ground to a halt.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he asked, finally, after years of holding his tongue. There wasn't the anger he'd expected to accompany it, just calm, if weary, acceptance. "Was it really worth this? Was the damn game really worth potentially losing your mental capacity?

Jim gave a tired sigh, closing his eyes again. "You really want to know? I suppose you've earned the truth." He gave a mild shrug, trying not to second-guess himself. Thinking too much hurt. But then, everything did. "I wasn't meant to survive that. I could have faked a gunshot to the head. It would have hurt, but it could have been done. But I'd _beaten_ him. And it had been so _easy._ I thought I'd found an equal, finally, and he turned out to be such a _disappointment._ I saw no reason to return to so much stale boredom. But... I am glad you kept me alive. I never did thank you for that." The truth was perhaps a little more complicated, but he couldn't expect Sebastian to understand such a thing. Sometimes not even _he_ did.

He sighed, sitting back and reaching up to rub at his eyes tiredly. The idea that Jim had wanted to end that beautiful, fascinating mind of his... Was surprising to say the least. "You don't have to. It's my job to protect you, sir. Even from yourself, it seems."

"Don't ruin it, Sebastian," he said dryly, eyes still closed. "You've been doing rather well. I... appreciate your discretion during this past week."

He nodded just a little. "Of course, boss." He stood after a moment. "Unless you have any objections, I'll have the car brought around so we can get back to headquarters."

"No, I've no objections," Jim shook his head, and stood, letting out a long breath. If he was lucky, this pain would soon be soothed. Either by death or surgery, it seemed.

He nodded. "They've prescribed a more advanced painkiller. We can either stop for it on the way back, or I can go out again once we get there. What's your preference?" he asked, heading for the door but not exiting.

"Get it on the way. The sooner I can have it, the better. When we return, take over for the day. If I can work tomorrow, I will. But today..."

"Of course, sir," he said with a nod, walking back over to hand his employers the sound-proof headphones before returning to the hallway and pulling out his phone, calling the car.

He didn't put them on right away, waiting until they were in the back of the car to clear his throat. "I won't put Harrison on any more of the assignments that might kill her. But she has to make it through the ones already scheduled."

He took a slow breath, glancing over at his employer. "No offense, sir, but why? They're almost certainly bound to fail, there's a department full of capable staff. Not Harrison, no, but _capable_..."

"Many reasons," he said coolly. "I _do_ need those jobs done, and she gives good results almost exclusively. _And..."_ he looked over at Moran, his eyebrows rising just slightly. "I want to see what it does to her, and in turn what it does to you. I'm a curious man, Sebastian. The two of you offered up a rare opportunity. My two highest-ranked employees, living together? And _happily,_ it seems, judging by O'Hare's reports." He smirked just slightly. "I'm not trying to undermine whatever it is the two of you have, but, well... if either of you is going to snap, I rather you got it out of the way now."

He grit his teeth slightly at the mention of O'Hare, turning his eyes forward. "Of course, sir. Understood." It didn't mean he wasn't infuriated by the idea, and he knew Jim could read it off of him, but he kept his behavior neutral.

Jim put on his headphones after that, and that was the end of that discussion.

* * *

A few hours later, Lorna was in a tight dress and frankly painful heels at a small party. Well, her standards of large were probably bigger than most, but there were only a couple dozen people there at most. And she knew too many of them.

She thought most of them had no inkling of who she was, with the heavy makeup she had on, and her hair styled in a way that it was hard to see her face from the side. She was drinking champagne - there was nothing stronger being handed out - by herself in the library, looking at the books to satisfy her own curiosity when she heard footsteps behind her, and turned to see her host, a middle-aged man who she'd once stolen a flash drive full of government secrets from. "Mr. Jordan! I don't think I've had the opportunity to properly introduce myself. I'm Devin McKinley."

"Is that so? It's a pleasure, Ms. McKinley," he said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "You know, it's funny, I could have sworn that your name was Ariel, but perhaps my memory is fading just a bit." He gave her a cool smile.

To her credit, her smile didn't fade at all. Her fingers did tighten their grip on her glass just a little. "Sorry, I don't think so. I just have one of those faces, you know?" she laughed, shrugging delicately. _Open the door, asshole._

"Oh, no, it's you, I'm sure I just mistook the name. Tell me, did you enjoy Detroit? I felt like the weather was rather difficult that week." He took a few steps forward. "But then, it was stressful for me all around. Lost a valuable bit of data."

She stopped smiling so widely, gritting her teeth slightly. Okay, so she was going to have to force her way past him. "It wasn't so stressful when you fucked me behind that club, I bet," she replied icily, sipping once more from her champagne and then sitting the glass on the shelf behind her. "Don't make this hard."

"What are you planning to do, Devin?" he chuckles, walking forward. "Walk out into the crowd? I'll have you arrested in five minutes for espionage."

"You don't have proof of anything, Mr. Jordan," she stated, brushing her hair out of her face and wishing she had time to put it into some kind of ponytail. "I cannot be arrested without a speck of evidence to back you up. Even if I was, I couldn't be convicted. Don't do this. You _will_ regret it."

"I do have evidence, actually," he smirked. "I'm a bit of a watcher, and I had set up a camera in a book before we went to it. It caught you taking the chip. My reputation is already destroyed, I've got nothing to lose. But I'd love to watch you burn with me." He reached out to grab her wrist.

Fear shot through her, Jordan turning into DeWitt before her. She didn't think, just reacted, twisting her wrist out of his grip and slamming the heel of her palm into his nose, immediately backing up, walking into the bookshelf hard enough to hurt, the champagne glass falling and shattering on the floor near her feet.

He let out a cry of pain, stumbling slightly and pressing his hands to his nose as blood started to stream down his face, disoriented. A moment later he looked up, eyes streaming but furious. "You little bitch," he snarled, lunging forward and grabbing onto her dress with bloodied hands.

She sucked in a harsh, the only sound she made as he yanked her forwards, her jaw clenched tight as she tried to make DeWitt turn back into Jordan, only shaking herself out of it when her back hit the bookshelf again and a lance of red-hot pain shot up her spine. It only took her a moment's fumbling, one hand curling into his shirt and the other going behind her to hike up her dress enough to grab her knife out of its thigh sheath. She stabbed him a moment later, shoving the blade up under his ribs with nothing but a quiet grunt, still struggling with the fear that was making her hands shake.

His eyes went wide for a moment, but he didn't even scream, just wilted in her grasp and slumped forward, weight pinning her against the shelves.

Still she was silent, just shoving him off taking a shuddering breath as he thumped to the floor. The hot blood on her hands felt like it was burning her skin. She had enough presence of mind to take the knife from his still-bleeding body before she turned for the window, shaking hard as she climbed out and lowered herself carefully into the alley.

* * *

An hour later she walked back into Sebastian's flat, barefoot and still stained with blood. She'd had to walk home - what public transit could she take, looking like this - and five minutes into the walk she'd just ditched her heels in a dumpster.

He heard the door open, and walked over- knife in hand- from the kitchen to make sure it was her. At ease with her, yes. At ease in general? The instant that happened was when he got killed. He froze when he saw her, eyes wide, and set the knife down, walking quickly over. "Is any of that yours?" he asked, noting that for the most part it was on her hands and in prints on her dress.

She looked down at herself, shaking her head just a little. "I don't think so," she replied quietly, only seeming to just realize her knife was still in her hand, and she slipped it back into its sheath, swallowing. "I couldn't grab anything when I left, but I had a look, and I think I can still write it down..."

He walked back into the kitchen and got a rag, a pencil, and a piece of paper. "Clean your hands and write everything down," he said, tossing her the rag. "Then we'll get you cleaned up."

She nodded, silent, and after she cleaned her hands spent the better part of twenty minutes writing down what she'd seen near-verbatim. She was a good grifter for several reasons. She was a good liar, she was beautiful, and she had excellent memory. When she was done she set the paper on the coffee table, and made herself drop the pen next to it. Was this what Moran felt when he saw O'Hare?

He was watching her carefully. "What happened?" he asked when she was finished. Her hands were shaking, and he knew if he felt them they would be cold with shock.

"Someone recognized me. I stole something from him last year, on a job. Cornered me, tried to grab me. He, uh..." she swallowed, trying to keep some measure of composure, "He started to look like DeWitt. I panicked, killed him, probably. I don't know."

He nodded just a little, reaching out to give her a hand up. "Come on, hot shower," he said, heading for the bathroom. He didn't need to ask what she meant by 'looking like DeWitt', He'd had his fair share of encounters like that with pseudo-O'Hares.

She followed him a little blankly, undressing a little unsteadily in the bathroom, hands struggling to do anything with dexterity. She made it into the shower before she broke down into tears.

He sighed, watching her, and kicked off his shoes, stepping into the water in his clothes, not wanting to make her feel like he was coming onto her as he reached out to pull her into a hug. "I know. It fucking sucks," he muttered.

For a brief moment she'd forgotten he was there, and had to fight down another surge of terror, and then leaned into him, muffling sobs into his soon soaking wet shirt. It took her some time to wind back down, and the water had started to be a little less hot. "I want to get out," she said, when she had her voice back, although she was still quiet, still shaken.

"Okay," he said quietly, turning to turn off the water and pulling back, stripping out of his soaked clothes down to his pants. He left them in the tub as he got out, passing her a towel and getting one for himself, drying off. "Come on, pajamas," he said, no room for argument as he headed into his room and walked over to the bureau where she kept her clothes, pulling out the shirt she'd stolen from him and some flannel pajama trousers and tossing them her way.

She caught them, but it was a near thing, and getting into them wordlessly before she crawled into bed, exhaustion seeping into her limbs at the last vestiges of adrenaline left her system. Suddenly, she was so relieved he was here, that she didn't have to go to sleep alone.

He changed into dry clothes and walked over to climb into bed next to her, leaving the light on for the moment. "You doing alright?" he asked quietly.

She didn't answer for a moment, because she herself didn't know. "I don't know. I... I didn't think that anything like that would happen," she whispered, making eye contact with him despite how hard it was. "It was.. _nothing_ like how it actually happened. I don't know why I just..." she shook her head, taking a deep breath.

"You were afraid," he said quietly. "Your brain made some connection and then it was like you were back there, and there was nothing you could do about it." He knew the feeling too well, had fought with it almost every day since he'd first seen O'Hare.

She nodded. "Yeah... Yeah, I know. I just don't understand why this time is so much _harder,"_ she shook her head, voice breaking slightly, eyes stinging.

He nods just a little. "Is there any way I can help?" he asks, watching her expression and body language for what visual clues he could find.

"No, you're already doing what I could have asked for," she murmured, finally unable to keep holding his gaze, shifting over to press up against him, burying her face in his chest. She couldn't bring herself to hate that he helped.

He held her tightly, shoving off annoyed requests about what the hell he was doing, _comforting_ , for once she was settled and asleep. "You're okay," he said softly. "You're safe here."

She believed him. It was insane, how much she trusted him. That insanity did nothing to stop her from plummeting into sleep. Because that's what he was to her, safety. Even after he'd tried to kill her. But that could wait until she woke up.

 _Idiot. You are in far, far, far too deep. You've gone soft and one day soon, it is going to come back to haunt you. If not kill you._

He closed his eyes, turning the problem over, but the solution was obvious.

 _Living isn't the objective. Never was. Before, it was killing, tormenting, and those are still high on the list. Things have just shifted a little. Get over it_.

He relaxed a little in that knowledge, and a few minutes later, he, too, was asleep, the lights still on.

* * *

She woke up with the weighted feeling she usually got after she'd had a good cry right before sleep. She didn't think too much about the previous night's events, deciding that it would be better if she just forgot it. This was one of those times she cursed how good her memory was. She shifted, rolling onto her back and letting out a slow breath. Sebastian was probably going to be a little withdrawn after all that. It seemed like his normal ego defense mechanism.

He woke when she rolled away, and rolled over onto his other side, pulling the blanket up over his head, determined to get five more minutes of sleep, as it seemed he'd actually managed to avoid nightmares for once.

After glancing at the clock and figuring she'd probably had enough sleep, she sat up and slid out of bed, heading into the bathroom to grab the knife she'd left in it last night. She washed it off and then returned it to the small dresser she'd claimed as her own, then slipped out of the room. She had the urge to clean.

He woke up a half hour later and padded into the bathroom, jumping into the shower and shaving. He emerged a few minutes later drying his hair off, glancing around and noting that things were a bit more organized than usual. "Go on a cleaning spree?"

She looked up from where she was dusting the back of the TV, stretched a bit to reach all the way. "...Maybe..."

He rolled his eyes, heading into the kitchen. "You want pancakes?" he asked, pulling a bowl out of the cabinet.

"Yeah, okay," she agreed, making herself set down the duster on top of the TV before her cleaning spree got out of hand. It was fine in her own apartment, but in his, it would be a little rude if she started reorganizing something like, say, his guns. She followed him into the kitchen, moving carefully. The man she'd killed last night had aggravated her back injury, and now it was going to take twice as long to heal.

He was mixing together ingredients when she came in. "What's on the agenda for today?"

"No jobs. Thank fucking god. I think I'll go down to the infirmary, see if they can give me something for my back. That asshole fucked it up further than it was already fucked."

He nodded a little at that, pouring a couple of scoops of batter into the pan. "Sounds like a plan. The next job is what... Friday?" He sighed, leaning against the counter. "News on that, by the way. Jim said he won't assign you to any more dangerous jobs, but you have to finish these."

"That's... not ideal," she sighed, and gave a helpless shrug, boosting herself onto the counter across the kitchen from him, trying to stay out of his way. "It's better than nothing, I guess, but, Christ, the ones at the end of the list... I don't know if I'm going to make it out in one piece."

"I know," he sighed, flipping the batch of pancakes over as they browned. "I'm still working on it. There are alternatives. I'll figure it out."

"I hope so," she shook her head. "I don't want a repeat of last night. I can't always be armed on those trips, not if I'm going to have to get out of my dress. If someone recognizes me on one of those, I'm just royally fucked."

"Do you know any hand-to-hand?" he asked, looking over at her. "If not, then we're running through it. A lot." He pulled a couple of pancakes off onto a plate and handed it to her. "I don't want to have to deal with restaffing while trying to fucking run things for Jim."

"Yeah, I do. Some of it is legit, some of it is street fighting. I'd rather we didn't practice until I'm not crippled, but knowing you, that's probably a stupid request," she chuckled, holding the plate one-handed and grabbing maple syrup out of the fridge before sitting.

"You're learning," he smirked, tossing her the butter from where he had it for the pan. "You might have to fight when you're injured. I'll show you stuff that won't aggravate it."

She caught it easily, an enormous improvement over last night, a smile on her face. "Alright, well, you're chief of staff, you can probably boot whoever's in the sparring room so we can have it to ourselves. By which I mean so they don't watch me fall over because I put too much weight on my bad leg, and so they don't have to bear witness to the inevitable sexual tension."

"Sounds like fun," he said, laughing and walking over with his own food. "It'll have to wait until tonight though. Jim's busy and I need to do most of his usual work."

She nodded, waiting until she was done with a mouthful of pancake to respond. "That's fine. Gives me time for the people down in the clinic to fuss over me. I bet they're real sick of seeing me."

"I'm sure they're thrilled to have made a friend. You're like their little test dummy," he said with a smirk, drowning his pancakes in syrup and starting to eat.

"I am the _perfectly sized_ test dummy, thank you," she said, failing to keep a straight face, and then following his lead and seriously digging into her breakfast.

"Tiny," he muttered under his breath between bites, smirking. A few minutes later he stood, clearing his now-empty plate. "Alright. I'm going to go instill some fear and a little bit of shit-pants panic. Talk to you later."

She nodded, too busy eating to talk, and waved goodbye. Damn, he was acting... normal. _Normal._

* * *

The rest of the day went pretty much the way it always did when Jim left him in charge. Just because he'd gone soft in the Lorna department didn't mean he'd lost any of his usual sadistic terrifying nature, and he relished the urge to exercise those particular muscles.

Lorna caught the tiny ripples caused by Sebastian somewhere in the building, where he was probably making tsunamis. It showed up in the emails her people sent her, and even the infirmary people were on edge. It was oddly calming for her. Everything was right in the world. Except Jim's conspicuous absence. Nearing the end of what she estimated to be his schedule, she sent him a text saying she'd meet him in the sparring room, got into clothes suitable for working out in, and headed on down. The space wasn't empty, but as soon as he showed up, it would be like a shark swimming through a school of fish.

He got her text, and smirked, the other hand lowering the man he'd been threatening back to the ground. He tucked his phone away. "Now, I have an appointment to keep, but I would seriously reconsider failing so spectacularly again," he said, turning for the door and heading downstairs to the sparring room. He opened the door, saw Lorna, and walked in her direction. Those around him stopped, as if waiting, and he relished it for a moment before calling, "Do be kind enough to close the door when you leave."

The room was empty in under thirty seconds.

"Fucking Christ, I love that," he smirked as he came up level with Lorna.

"It's pretty hilarious to watch when you're not one of the intended victims," she snickered, then gave his outfit a little scrutiny. "You really want to spar in a dress shirt? I mean, I'm assuming I'll get you on what I'm assuming are _filthy_ mats at least once, but I have been wrong in the past.

He shrugged, walking over to the chairs by the wall and taking off his shirt, leaving him in an undershirt. "Fair point. Not expecting to do too much in the way of throws with your back like it is, but we'll see."

"With you and physical violence, I always have to assume the worst," she shrugged cheerfully. She liked sparring, even though her job usually didn't require hand-to-hand. And Sebastian was an actual challenge, unlike a lot of her coworkers. Kelly was too nervous to touch her, and anyone below him was hardly worth her time anyway.

He nodded in agreement, smirk in place. "Alright. You know these gigs. What's the most common come-on from one of these guys?"

"Violence-wise?" she snorted, raising her eyebrows. "Nothing fancy. Grabbing my wrists, usually, although I've had a few go straight for the throat."

He nodded a little, reaching out to get a firm grip on her wrist. "Alright, well, let's start slow then."

She nodded, though putting a little thought into it before she actually did it. She'd broken quite a few wrists getting out of holds like this, and she doubted he would really like it if she did it to him. So when she moved, she sacrificed damage for distance, twisting out of his grip and ending up on his flank. Not ideal, but better than putting him in a cast.

He nodded a little in agreement, turning to face her. "Enough to confuse an old fat man, I'm sure," he smirked, reaching out without warning to spin her around and pull her into a choke-hold, keeping the pressure just light enough that she could breath.

She reacted on instinct - she'd been in this position so many times - and after an instant of getting a good hold on him, challenging as that in and of itself was, leaned forward enough to pull him off balance. The rest was just gravity. He landed on his back on the mat a moment later, though her back was crying in the corner and asking why on earth had she done that.

He looked at her, a bit surprised by the throw, to be honest. "Okay... good... There's a much easier way to do that, though, that I'm going to teach you," he said, standing and dusting himself off a bit.

"Yeah, okay," she agreed, bending over with her hands on her knees. "Ugh. God, you're heavy. How much do you _weigh?"_

"About 240, last I checked," he said, shaking his head. "Didn't I say we weren't going to do throws? Did you hurt yourself more?" He pushed a hand through his short hair. "What did the infirmary say, by the way?"

"I didn't really think it through. Still a _little_ wired from last night." She stood to stretch, raising up her hands and leaning backwards until there was a distinct popping noise. She groaned. "They told me not to stock any warehouses. Think I'm okay. I mean, I'm not sprained, just some nasty bruising. Hard to make it worse."

He nods a little, sighing. "Alright, listen. We're going to try this again, don't throw me," he said with a smirk, pulling her into a chokehold again. "Okay, listen. Turn your head to the side away from my arm, to the left, so your neck turns away from the pressure and you can breathe. Good. Now, grab my wrist and pull it down, and then twist out under it, towards my chest. Duck out. Should end with me in an elbow lock."

She was good at following directions, when she cared enough to listen. A moment later and she had him how he predicted, though she kept the force on his arm light enough not to strain his joint. "Okay, yeah. Easier. But is it more _stylish?"_

"Yes, because ending up leaning over like a hunchback of Notre Dame impersonator is incredibly stylish," he quipped, breaking her grip and straightening.

"I never said _fashionable._ There's a difference between style and fashion. You work with Jim, how do you not know that?" she smirked, taking a far enough step back that he couldn't just swoop forward and grab her. It was a pretty far step, considering his reach. This was enjoyable. Not dealing with life and death. "I assume you learned most of this in the army?"

"Quick and efficient," he said with a nod. "What else do you know, or do you want to know?"

She grimaced. "Honestly, I could probably stand to learn how to block hits. I'm more of the dodge kind of girl, but if I'm half lame, that's not an option. Try not to beat me to death, will you?"

He grinned, but nodded. "Sure. I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Over the course of the next hour he taught her basic blocks and the best way to use them in the most common situations, as well as how to combine them with a fast return.

At the end of the hour, she was laying on the mat on the floor, a little sweaty and a lot sore. "Never mind what I said earlier. Absolutely no sexual tension. I don't think I'll ever experience it again in my life," she groaned dramatically, staring up at the ceiling. "You've left me a broken woman. I may never recover."

"Well that's a shame," he says, smirking and flopping down on the mat next to her. "Because I'm sure you're sore, and I was thinking the sore could perhaps be helped by drinks, a hot bath and a massage of some sort, but if you're not interested in sexual tension then we should probably just leave that be."

"Whoa, hey, let's not be hasty," she backpedaled, going for nervous and ending up just laughing. "But no, seriously, if you're joking I might have to kill you, or something similarly unpleasant. Make you wear wet socks or something."

"Oh god, not _wet socks_ ," he said, pretending to shudder. "I mean, I went through boot camp and the army, but god forbid I wear _wet socks_..." He smirked.

"I would say I would force you to eat spiderwebs - I did that to Kelly - but I don't think I'm physically capable of it," she chuckled, huffing as she pushed herself up and stood. "I'd lend you a hand but I might just fall over, so it might be redundant."

He hopped to his feet with minimal effort. "You need to do this more often. It'll be good for you," he winked. "Come on. You need to pack a bag. I need a night off and I haven't been to one of my old apartments in _far_ too long."

She somehow looked even more excited. "Getting out of the office? Hell fucking _yeah,"_ she beamed, springing towards the door, a second wind powering her. She jabbed the button to the elevator and it dinged open, apparently already on their floor. "How many apartments do you have? I mean, you can give me a fake number if you want."

He laughed, stepping inside. "Six," he said, leaning against the wall, giving no indication of whether or not that was the actual number.

She smirked, hitting the button for their floor and not speaking until she was stepping out. "What am I bringing? Standard clothes? I wouldn't ask, but I'm a grifter, the wardrobe is always on my mind."

"Just bring a change of clothes, pajama, toothbrush. I'll grab whatever else we might need," he said, walking out as the doors opened and heading for the apartment.

She nodded, following him in and making for the bedroom. She had a small bag packed in three minutes. Of course, she organized her clothes so the things she would need in an emergency were all in the top drawer and the rest were actually properly sorted, so she had an advantage. She waited for him on the arm of the sofa, and was suddenly struck, again, by their situation. Fuck, were they a couple? The idea wasn't awful, but somehow she doubted Moran would want anything to do with labels. She would just keep that thought to herself.

* * *

Playlist: Hozier - Arsonist's Lullaby


	34. One More Night, One Last Time

He came out a few minutes later and grabbed the bottle of scotch out of the cabinet, putting it in his bag. "Ready to go?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She resisted saying something along the lines of 'I was born ready, bitch,' and nodded, getting up and leading the way to the door. "How much of that scotch do you think you're willing to sacrifice tonight?"

"Depends on how conscious you want to be for my massage," he retorted, making sure the door was closed tight before heading for the elevator.

"You should be careful," she advised, smirking slightly as she stepped into the lift - obviously people were using the stairs after Moran's 'management by terror' that day. "I might just melt, and then where will you be?"

"Hmmmm... In a room with a beautiful, naked woman who has melted under my ministrations...?" he sighed, looking confused. "Where to begin...?"

"Alright, shush, you're going to get yourself in trouble," she smirked, stepping out into the garage as the doors opened with a cheerful ding. "I assume we're not taking a car that's going to make me tense up."

"No, I suppose we can take a boring one," he smirked. "Would you prefer a Volkswagen or a mini-van?"

"Volkswagen," she replied seriously, immediately turning for it. "And you know, I do _like_ the other cars. They're fantastic, and they look even better. But your driving... is a little exciting for me."

"Do you want to drive?" he asked with a sigh, heading after her as the chauffeur scrambled forward from his cubby to provide the key.

"You can drive as excitedly as you want in a Volks, I'm fairly certain I'll survive the experience, she chuckled, waving at the chauffeur wryly. She wondered if he knew how much he owed his job to her.

"I'm not going to test your confidence, though with a statement like that I really should," he smirked, climbing into the driver's seat, tossing his bag in the back, and starting the engine.

She buckled up, as she always did when she entered a car with Moran in it, stuffing her bag at her feet. "How far away is this particular place?"

"About a half hour, if traffic's normal. Light and we'll be there in twenty minutes," he said, pulling out onto the street and heading for the northern reaches of London.

She nodded, and, because she really was tired from sparring, spent the ride mostly in silence, content to just sit there without forcing conversation.

* * *

She was a little surprised where they ended up. "This is ritzier than I was expecting, actually."

"My life involves a large paycheck, frequent external commissions, and little personal time. Things accumulate. You splurge," he says with a smirk, pulling into the adjoined parking garage.

"No fucking kidding," she snorted. "And I thought you were burning down money with the other flat we literally exploded. Boy was I wrong. Oh my god, how big is your tub?"

"It's more of a jacuzzi," he said with a smirk, turning the car off and getting out, grabbing his bag out of the back seat. "This is my favorite place I have. Great view. Come on."

She followed, remembering at the last moment to get her own stuff. She was a little dazzled, honestly. She'd been in rich places, yeah, but that was all for work. Work, which was not conducive to relaxation. "You know, at this point, why not just own a spa?" she wondered aloud, only half joking, as they stepped into a very nice kitchen. And she had to give it to him. It was tasteful.

"I'll consider that next time I'm thinking of buying," he laughed, pulling the scotch out of the bag and setting it on the counter. "Come on, it's not small. I'll show you around."

"Sounds good," she hummed, holding onto her stuff for when they passed a bedroom. Or rather, The Bedroom, because she didn't doubt there were at least two, maybe three rooms containing beds in this place. She wondered how he didn't go insane when he lived in the HQ flat, after having the run of a place like this.

He walked through the living room which was divided from the kitchen by a counter island, and had a state-of-the-art entertainment center. It had a high ceiling, three sides of the above space opening up into a second floor. A wood and wrought-iron spiral staircase ran up in the corner. The last wall was broken up by windows which looked out on the city below.

He walked through into the large master bedroom, which painted orange and burgundy, with a rosy wooden floor. The wall across from the door had a minimalist window seat with a kneeling desk in front of it, and a door on the other was open just enough to reveal a bathroom. He put down his bag on the large bed. "You can leave your stuff here," he said, glancing at Lorna with a smile. "I'll show you the rest of the place."

She set her stuff down next to his, surprised at herself for not whistling yet. She was just too stunned, she supposed. Sebastian's wardrobe should have been a clue to this, if she'd really given any thought to it. "Christ, this place is beautiful, Moran. You must have a bitchin' real estate agent," she shook her head faintly, constantly finding new details in corners or on shelves that she liked.

"I'm glad you like it," he said, smiling and walking back into the hallway. "I think you left your jaw back here, somewhere.."

"Ha ha, like I would mess up your decor like that," she quipped, rolling her eyes as she followed him. "Seriously, though, what do you use all this space for? It's gorgeous, don't get me wrong. I never figured you the type for it, though."

He shrugged a little. "I like it," he said as he headed for the staircase. "I like having a place that I know I can go and it's quiet and mine. I grew up in a small space I had no control over. I like a big one that's made up just how I designed it."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that you _designed_ this, oh my _god,_ because I might faint and-slash-or throw myself into your manly, interior-decorating arms, and I feel like that might interfere with the plans you already seem to have made," she laughed, reaching the top of the stairs about six seconds after him, slowed a little by her sore thigh.

He smirked a little. "Yet another one of those 'spread this around and you will find yourself slowly dead' moments, but I figure you know that by now," he said with a laugh. "Guest bedroom there," he said, pushing the door open so she could peer in. "Full bath connects to the next room," he said, walking down to the next door and stepping through, "which is my dojang, for the most part." The room was simple, light green walls and more windows, weights and a kicking bag in the corner. "Only problem is that in the summer the sun hits right on the windows and the temperature in here is incredible."

"Everything in this place is incredible, that's hardly surprising," she chuckled, though still ogling everything in sight, feeling extremely outclassed. It was just so _surprising._ Where had he got it from? Obviously not his father, judging by the ostentatious, obnoxious poshness that the Lord lived in. How could he have picked this up in the army, either? Either it was innate talent, or it was Jim, and she kind of doubted Jim took the time to teach Moran the finer intricacies of interior design. "You know, if this crime thing doesn't work out, you could make a killing. Pun intended."

"Oh, ow, that's just rude," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "I should get a sign for the door. 'No puns'. He walked around the corner of the balcony-like hallway, pointing to the far side. "That's just a big office for if I have to do business here, this side is a storage room and a game lounge. And that's the extent of it." He leaned against the rail, looking down into the center of the room.

"Christ. I've run out of significant praise. All I have left is 'wow'. A lot of 'wow's." She kept turning, looking at as much as she could, until she'd gone in a circle twice and she had to stop at the risk of feeling silly. " _Wow."_

He laughed just a little, nodding. "Guest room is bloody useless. You're the first person I've brought here," he snorted, heading for the stairs. "Want something to eat or drink?"

"I mean, there's that bottle sitting in the kitchen so promisingly- hey, what?" she frowned, following him down, again with a little more hobbling. "How the hell do you have this place stocked? Magic?"

"Food-wise? I have non-perishables and frozen goods stocked in case I ever need to hide out here short-notice," he said, entering the kitchen. "I can't make anything fancy, but I can do a bunch of different kinds of pasta, or steaks, or... I'm not sure what else in here, but it's here." He walked over to a set of cabinets in the wall and pulled them all open at once, revealing that they were actually the door to an in-wall refrigerator.

"Christ," she said again, because she couldn't help it. "But no, I'm not hungry. Had a pretty good meal before we sparred. Lucky you didn't elbow me in the stomach or anything."

"Yeah, that wouldn't have been pleasant," he agreed, pulling out a frozen bagel and turning to put it in the toaster, shutting the cabinet with his foot. "Drink, then?"

"Yes, please. I need a little numbing for my leg or I'm just going to give up and sit in the middle of your floor," she snorted, already leaning against the counter, favoring said leg.

He nodded in agreement, grabbing glasses from a real cabinet and turning around to pour them both a decent serving of the scotch. He handed her her glass, leaning against the counter next to her. "So, still interested in that bath once I've eaten?"

"After you mentioned something about a _jacuzzi?_ Who the fuck am I, a nun?" She knocked back a good portion of her scotch for medicinal purposes, then took it more slow. "Yes, before you try and spin that against me. I know you."

He glared as she preempted his quip and stalked over to retrieve his bagel, hiding a smirk. "Puns _and_ joy-killing. Why did I invite you again?"

"I'm really hot. Also, sometimes I make some food that's edible, so there's really no downside," she shrugged, grinning. She loved being one step ahead of him, whenever she could swing it. "Plus, who else do you know that would appreciate your design choices like me?"

He sighed dramatically. "I suppose I'm stuck with you then," he said, rolling his eyes and taking a bite of his bagel.

"It does seem to look that way, doesn't it?" she said with mock-sympathy, smiling and taking a sip of scotch. "Whatever are you going to do with me?"

"I thought I gave you tonight's schedule," he smirked after swallowing his bite of bagel. "Do you need it written down?"

"I guess I was fishing for a few details, but I see you're not feeling particularly forthcoming," she teased, finishing off her scotch. She'd gone through it fast. She didn't really want another. That bath, though...

"When have you ever- _ever_ \- known me to be forthcoming?" he asked, before quickly finishing the last of his bagel and picking up his drink. "What are you up for?"

"I'm up for being warm and relaxed. And clean, I'm just a little bit sweaty from our workout," she smirked, setting her glass down on the counter with a clink.

"Bath it is," he says, bringing his glass with him as he headed back in the direction of his bedroom and through to the bathroom. The bathroom was large, almost half the size of the bedroom. In one corner was a large shower and a toilet, then a long wall of counter and mirror, and at the other end a jacuzzi the size of a hot tub.

"Up to your bath-needs?" he asks with a grin.

"I don't know, _maybe,"_ she hedged, then laughed, looking at him kinda disbelievingly. "Fuck yes. Can I take it home with me?"

"If you can find a way to transport it," he laughed, reaching out to turn on the tap, and then adding a bit of water softener from a nearby bottle, leaning back against the wall. "So, am I invited to this party or would you prefer I leave you in peace?"

"Yeah, you're invited," she chuckled, sitting on the edge of the tub as it filled so she wouldn't strain herself. "I mean, unless you think somehow the two of aren't going to _fit,_ but this thing is maybe a gallon short of an Olympic swimming pool."

He laughed, rolling his eyes, and sat on the edge of the tub, starting to pull off his clothes. "Yeah, they were out of the Olympic-sized ones."

"Shit, that's a shame. You could have invited the whole office," she stated, following suit and gingerly shucking her shirt off. "But I guess that might get awkward."

"Just a little. I've thought about inviting Jim once or twice, but never quite decided how that would go over." He reached in to test the water temperature and made a face, shaking his finger off and reaching over to turn the temperature of the tap down a little.

"I can see him saying something snide," she agreed, standing to get rid of the rest of her clothes. She was sore, and she would be happy to get in water that was just below scalding. "If he came, though, I think he'd be impressed. You've got style."

He shrugged, and smirked. "Maybe. It's not my job to have style, I'm not sure how impressed he would actually be."

The tub was about half full at this point, and he stood, walking over to a cabinet and pulling out a couple of towels, walking back and setting them on the counter before stepping into the water and sinking to a seat at the far side of the tub with a sigh.

"Mm, you're probably right," she sighed, stepping in after him and sinking down on the other side, hissing as the hot water enveloped her multiple bruises. "I guess I was operating off the idea that even Jim has to think of _something_ without being in context with the job."

"Oh, he does," he says, nodding. "But I'm part of the job, so when that gets set aside, so do I. I doubt he would be inclined to separate me from it."

She sighed again. "Well, I guess it could be worse. I've had bosses who didn't separate personals and business at all. I guess you kinda know that. Honestly, I prefer Jim's general disinterest."

"True," he said, leaning back against the wall of a tub with a sigh before reaching out to shut the tap off as it filled. "Jet and bubbler controls are by your left elbow. Have fun."

A 'kid in a candy shop' expression appeared on her face. She spent the next three minutes fiddling with the controls, until she found a good combination of pressure and positioning, and then she melted, letting out a happy groan. "Christ. I never want to leave."

He laughed at that, nodding in agreement, shifting until he was resting comfortably against the jets on his side. "I always forget how nice this is," he sighs.

"Thank god neither of us are drunk. I could totally see us drowning in here because we fell asleep," she hummed, dunking down enough to get her hair wet.

"There are so many worse ways to go, honestly, though," he said with a smirk, sinking a bit lower in the water. After a few moments he said "So. Favorite movie."

She grinned, although she almost shocked that he wanted to know. How often did they have normal-people conversations? "The prepared job answer is Casablanca, but my actual favorite is the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I rarely have the time to sit down and watch them, though."

He laughed at that, opening his eyes again. "I love those movies. Though the fight choreography and weapons use is sometimes painfully inaccurate. Still enjoyable. I might have them here... I can't remember if they're here or at the downtown place..."

"I would ask to you to check, but watching those movies isn't really relaxing. I try to say the lines with them. It's a personal challenge," she chuckled, stretching a little. "If you ever want to watch them with me you'll probably have to duct tape my mouth shut."

He snorts a little with laughter. "Of course you do. You're such a nerd," he said, rolling his eyes and splashing her lightly.

"Yeah, but you put up with it," she retorted, flicking a little water his way with a smirk.

"It appears I do. Fuck knows why," he snorts, though he's smiling. "How's your back feeling?"

"Better. It's amazing what a hot bath will do. And jacuzzi jets," she added, chuckling. "I do want to get out before I get prune-y and I get old-people hands." She waved her fingers at him.

"Fair enough. You've got time, though," he sighed, shifting to get the jets to a new place. "And then I owe you a massage, I believe, if you're still interested."

She snorted. "The day I'm not interested, you need to make sure an impostor hasn't taken over my life, because that is the only reason that would happen."

"I'll keep that in mind," he laughed, stretching with a groan. "I've even got massage oil from when some peon tried to buy me off."

She let out a startled laugh. "What? Oh my god, what were they even trying to get from you? Favor or some shit?"

"I think they were trying to lighten the blow of an abject failure. What they actually did was change their status of 'punished' to 'terminated', but it was nice massage oil." He smirked at the memory.

"God, what an idiot," she snickered, shaking her head. Even when she'd been a peon - and she had been, she hadn't started out at the top of her department - she'd been smart enough to give Sebastian Moran a wide berth. She'd seen the people he'd left in his wake, and she'd learned from their mistakes. Though she'd never even considered the thought that she would get to know him personally. Sleeping with him, sure; how many times had she climbed the corporate ladder with sex? But this? No one could have seen this coming. "I honestly cannot imagine someone trying to bribe you. It must be like trying to convince a volcano not to blow up."

"Actually I rather think it's like sticking some dynamite in a volcano as an attempt to deter it," he snorted. "It won't do anything but make your situation a tiny bit worse." He relaxed for a few more minutes, then finally stood, crossing the tub and stepping out, grabbing a towel and starting to dry off.

It took her another minute to get in gear, because she had to convince herself that leaving the (admittedly, cooling) tub and putting weight on her leg again was worth it. But she did get up, with minimal noises of complaint, and took the other towel to pat herself down.

He noticed that she was still favoring her leg, though less so, and nodded towards his bedroom. "Come on, if you make it to my bed you don't have to get up again if you don't want to," he chuckles.

"Deal," she said, drying her hair as much as she could and dropping her towel on the counter before heading into the bedroom, collapsing on the mattress face-down. "Even your fucking bed is magical," she laughed, rolling onto her back. "At this point I just need to stop being surprised."

"That would probably save you a little energy, yes," he chuckled, heading to the closet and pulling out a sheet he didn't care about, spreading it out on the side of the bed she wasn't on. "Here, onto this, I'd rather not get oil all over everything."

She scooted over, stretching out before rolling onto her stomach, figuring that he was going to ask to her to anyway. "I'm ready to be pampered."

"Is that so?" he asked with a smirk, walking back over to his closet and digging through it until he found the bottle he was looking for. "And I'm the pampering type. Really."

She chuckled, resting her chin on her arms. "I thought it was worth a shot, but I guess I'll edit. How's 'I'm ready for sexual tension'? That more your speed?"

"I suppose that's a little better," he smirked, pouring some oil into his hand to warm it before turning his hand over and starting to smooth it across her back.

"What, not perfect? What would you call this, then?" she teased, relaxing under his touch with a sigh.

He'd call it a lot of things. Relaxation, enjoying her, an apology. Maybe a goodbye. Not that she would ever know that.

"Well, I don't know. Perfect for me would go a little beyond tension, but I suppose that's up to you," he said with a flippant smirk, adding a little more oil before setting the bottle aside, starting to rub her back gently, fingers pressing into muscles, careful of bruises.

She laughed, then groaned, burying her face in her arm. "You keep doing _that,_ I'll do anything you want."

He knelt up on the bed, leaning over a little and working his fingers gently down the sides of her spine, before spreading out over the small of her back. "Anywhere in particular that could use a little relaxation?"

She made a sound into the crook of her arm, realized that was not an answer, and then shook her head. "No, just keep doing that. God, I really needed this."

"Okay," he chuckled, nodding. His hands were large compared to her back, side by side they covered the width of it easily, and that gave him an advantage. "You know, they teach you pressure points in hand-to-hand, but that information actually transfers fairly well to massage."

"You ever want to practice those, you're to welcome to use me anytime," she moaned, vaguely thinking that she had been right, and she was just going to melt right here.

He smiled a little, smoothing his hands over the oil again, warming it against her skin, his hands moving down over the back of her hips and the side of her ass, relaxing muscles there, and heading for her sore leg with careful touch.

She managed not to jump when his hand brushed the worst of the soreness, reminding herself not to tense up again, and the next time he passed by, the ache was a little less.

"Just try to relax, but tell me if something isn't helping," he said softly, avoiding the worst of the bruise. There wasn't anything massage would do for that.

"Mhmm," she mumbled, just so he knew she'd heard him. It was a testament to how far they'd come that she found his voice soothing. Although, it wasn't that surprising at the moment, when he was making her warm and unwound all over.

He smiled, working his way upwards again, his touch on her arse a bit more playful this time, though he went back to massaging her back, one hand working at the base of her neck gently. "Well, this is all knots, Christ, Harrison, you need to relax more."

"I've been under a lot of stress," she murmured, shrugging slightly. "Christ, though, that feels good. Thanks."

He smiled, leaning down to press his lips to the back of her neck as he finished there. "No problem. I'm certainly not complaining. The view is spectacular," he chuckled.

She shivered, then laughed quietly. "Yeah, I bet. It's award-winning by itself, but covered in oil? Mind-blowing."

"Very," he smirked, rubbing his hands over her skin a little longer before sitting back and wiping his hands off on the sheet. "Alright, you. You are officially tenderized."

"Sounds like you're going to throw me into a stew or something," she chuckled, arching off the sheet to stretch and then flopping back down, still on her stomach. "Did you say something earlier about going past sexual tension, or did my brain just shut down completely?"

"No, I might have mentioned that," he smirked, leaning down to kiss her shiny back, one hand sliding down over her arse and along the inside of her leg. "Interested?"

"Hell yes," she purred, stretching out like a cat, knowing the view of her ass would be, simply put, incredible. "After a massage like that? Anything you want, Tiger."

He grinned, his hand sliding back up between her legs, spreading them just a little, fingers brushing over her warm center. "That's nice to hear," he murmurs.

She could literally feel herself heat up under his touch, but she knew better than to try and chase his hand. "Is it too late to ask for minimal teasing?"

"No," he says, smiling a bit at that and withdrawing his hand, rolling her onto her back instead so that he could snog her properly.

She slid a hand into his hair, kissing him back eagerly, nipping at his lower lip. She wondered if he knew just how much he turned her on, when he set his mind to it. Hell, even when he _didn't._

He pressed his body up against hers, relishing her warmth now that his body had cooled down from the hot water. His hands found a place on each of her shoulders, elbows supporting his weight as his tongue sought after hers.

Sometimes she forgot just how much bigger than her he was, and then she was reminded like this, and her hunger to just be utterly possessed by him tripled. Really, they both benefited from his tendency to mark her. She kissed him harder, the hand in his hair tightening.

He grinned, moaning softly, one hand moving from her shoulder down her side to her hip and grabbing hold, his own hips grinding down against hers firmly.

She gasped, the hand that wasn't in his short hair grabbing his ass, giving her a little purchase to reciprocate with, her heart hammering in her chest.

He bit her lip at that, groaning and pressing back into her hand a little, enjoying the grip. The hand on her hip slid to her thigh, shifting her leg outward just a little as he ground against her again, before shifting just enough to brush against her entrance, smiling against her lips.

She shivered, nails digging into his skin, a needy sound escaping her lips, muffled against his. "Sebastian, please," she breathed, always the one in a hurry, like if she didn't get enough of him now the opportunity would get taken away.

He rolled his hips slowly, lips finding the corner of her jaw, then a sensitive spot on her next. "Please what?" he asked, feigning ignorance, thumb tracing circles on her skin.

She dragged her nails down his back, arching up into him with as he found the spot on her throat that sent heat straight to her core. "Fuck me, mark me, just- for Christ's sake, you know perfectly well what I want," she groaned, grinding up into him.

He didn't play around any longer, pushing his hips forward slowly but firmly, burying his cock in her as his back arched slightly under the bite of her nails. He didn't say anything, just started to move, long, powerful motions, his teeth sinking into the spot he had just kissed as he growled against her skin.

Her breath hitched as he bottomed out, then he was moving and she couldn't keep herself quiet. "Sebastian, d- _don't_ stop," she pleaded, voice shaking, his teeth having found such a sensitive spot on her throat that she could barely keep herself in check.

He grinned, releasing his bite on her for the moment, closing his eyes as he kept up his pace, his hand at her hip pulling her into him with each thrust, stooping slightly so his tongue could find her breasts.

She had to shift her grip from his arse to his shoulder, because she thought that maybe he wouldn't like to be sitting down in pain for the next few days, and she couldn't control her grip anymore, couldn't keep herself from drawing blood on his shoulder, hand falling to the sheets, her breath coming in swears and pants.

It was all he could do to keep himself from losing his rhythm of motion entirely. He lifted her hips up, shifting his knees underneath him and pulling her legs around his waist as he kept moving, teeth finding a new spot on her neck.

She braced one hand on the headboard above her, the other sliding down his side and back up, and finally settled for gripping his upper arm, holding on tight, too overwhelmed to keep still, pleasure burning her up from the inside out. And still she wanted more, wanted the life pounded out of her. "Is t-that - _nngh -_ is that all you've g-got?"

He snarled against her skin, pulling back to look at her with her blood tinging his teeth where he'd broken skin. "You w-want more?" he panted, eyes blown out black. "Greedy..." But he was eager to take her. He pulled away, just for a moment, and pulled her roughly over onto her front, onto her hands and knees, kneeling up behind her and sinking into her again, the new angle giving him so much more freedom of movement as his body curled over hers, a hand finding her hair and gripping firmly.

She cried out, rocking back to meet his thrusts as best as she could, fists curling into the oil-stained sheet beneath her, the sound of threads ripping reaching her ears over their heavy breathing and her moans. Rarely ever did she let anyone have her like this, because it took a lot of trust not to really be able to see the person fucking you into oblivion, but _god,_ did it feel good.

He buried his face in the back of her neck, picking up speed now, hips snapping forward as one arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him again and again, teeth grit as he started to get close.

She could feel herself teetering towards the edge, some thoroughly indecent noises leaving her mouth and her arms shaking. _Not quite there, not quite there._ "Sebastian," she gasped, a broken moan escaping her. "I-I'm _close."_

He responded with a nip at the top of her spine and the arm around her waist shifting until he could find her center in all of the movement, fingers finding her clit and rubbing circles.

She came hard, falling onto her elbows with a shout, arching back against him, nails tearing at the sheets.

He was lost in her, in the way she moved, her heat against him and sound of her voice, and he came a few seconds later, crying out against her neck as his hips jolted forward against hers.

She panted for breath as she came back down, just barely keeping herself from falling over with bone-deep satisfaction, her legs still shaking slightly. "I think you... you fucked the life out of me," she chuckled breathlessly.

"Seem to... be breathing pretty well for... for a dead person," he smirked, pulling away from her and reaching down absently to pull off the condom. He froze a second later. "Fuck."

It didn't take her long to realize why his mood had shifted so suddenly. It was hard not to, considering cum obeyed gravity, like everything else. "Shit," she groaned, laying down on her back and running a hand over her face. " _Shit."_

He closed his eyes, taking a slow breath. _Calm_. "I'm sorry," he said, voice as even and diplomatic as he could manage. "This is my fault. What do you want me to do?" The offer was genuine. "I can go get anything you want or need, whatever."

"It's not completely your fault, I should have been paying attention too," she sighed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard, still looking a little flushed. "Fuck. I can't take a morning-after, our good friends down at the clinic have advised me that my liver is pretty much shot to hell... Christ. I was meaning to get back on the pill, I just haven't had the _time."_

He sits cross-legged, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands, trying to think. This could be bad, but it could be nothing. "Do we have any other options?"

She shook her head faintly. "Besides waiting it out? No. Christ... Okay, we'll know in a week. If I'm late and I come up positive we'll just use what I used after DeWitt. Simple. Not fun, but.."

He nods just a little, taking a breath. "Fuck, Lorna... I'm so sorry." He meant it. He'd been trying to help her forget about that shit and now he'd made it worse.

She frowned, reaching out to push his knee. "Stop it. Look, I'm okay, alright? Not fucking great, but I'm alright. I know what you're thinking but this- it's nothing alike. Nothing is the same." She started out strong and ended up a with a shudder in her voice, her mind deciding to play back the other event to help prove her point.

He looked up at the tremor in her voice, and after a moment's hesitation opened his arms, leaving her the choice of whether or not to accept the offer.

She shifted forward to crawl into his arms, trying to keep herself from remembering so much, trying to keep herself from crying. It was so _hard_ to pretend it hadn't happened, harder to shut out than anything else she could remember. And she knew that if she found some way to get it out, it would be better, she could get rid of the flashbacks, of fucking _seeing_ DeWitt, but it had a vice-like clamp on her throat, and DeWitt was too far away to reach.

He enveloped her carefully, shifting until he could lean back against the head of the bed. "You're safe," he whispers, because he knew she had believed him before, had relaxed. "He's not going to touch you here."

"I know," she said quietly, though her voice was laced with frustration. "I do. I just- I can't get it out of my _head."_ She took a deep breath, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. "So many people in my line of work live with this. When I was still really learning the ropes here, a man pulled me aside and told me that drinking on the job was the best decision I could make. And he was right. I let it get out of hand, because I was just getting off the heroin, but he was right. And then fucking _DeWitt._ Smart enough to wait until I was sober."

He held her close and let her talk. He knew the frustration, being unable to pull oneself out of the fear, and so he just let her say what she needed to in a place she felt safe.

She lifted a hand and rubbed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. "I don't know how to move past this in a way that doesn't involve me and substance abuse. I have good days, but all it takes is one slip. Christ. I need a vacation. From life."

He nods just a little. "It'll get easier. We'll find him and kill him. That will help. It will."

"I just hope Mycroft hasn't put him in some witness protection program or some shit," she huffed, then shifted, moving off him. "I'm going to clean up. Really don't want to sleep this messy."

He nodded in agreement, standing as well to pull the ripped, oily sheet off of the bed and, after considering it for a moment, tossing it in the trash.

She came back out a minute later, looking mildly relieved and definitely feeling it, and crawled between the covers. "Well, apart from the aftermath, that was pretty fantastic sex."

He nodded in agreement, having cleaned off as well, now laying out on the bed staring up at the ceiling. He glanced over at her as she sat on the bed. "That is very true. It was."

She shifted over to curl up against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Abruptly, she realized that she did actually love him. Why her mind had decided to offer up that information _now..._ It didn't matter. She'd just keep that one to herself. "Alright, turn off the light, will you? I'm sure I'm going to have some hand-shaped bruises on my waist in the morning, and a watched pot doesn't boil."

He smirks a bit, reaching out to turn the light off as she asked. They lay there in silence for a while before he said "You can come here any time you like. I'll give you a key."

She was glad the lights were out, because she was shocked, and it must have shown on her face. "I.. Really? That would be fantastic," she said, in only a mildly surprised tone. She wrapped an arm around him, pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Thanks."

He was glad she couldn't see his expression, which was torn between content and saddened. "I hardly ever use it. Someone should."

"I guess I could use it when you have to go out of the country," she nodded, because sleeping in this big empty place when he was twenty minutes away wasn't very appealing.

"However you like," he said, nodding and then adding with a smirk- "Except for orgies. Strictly no orgies that I am not invited to."

She laughed. "Out of my job, I really have no desire to fuck anyone else, so I wouldn't worry about it. You're just too pretty."

"Aw shucks," he preened sarcastically, though he was smiling. "Stop trying to butter me up and go the fuck to sleep, Harrison."

She made a contrary noise, but really she was tired, so she just nestled further into him and relaxed, and within a few minutes was out, mind blessedly blank.

He didn't sleep much that night, but for once, it wasn't because of nightmares. He didn't know what the coming days would bring, but he knew that soon he would be risking everything. So he just relaxed, content to hold her while she slept, and relished that.

It startled him how much he'd changed since he first met her.

He didn't care.

* * *

Playlist: Marina and the Diamonds - Blue


	35. They're Handing Out Surgery Like Candy

She stirred early the next morning, mostly because she'd been sleeping on her sore leg and it was starting to complain, so she rolled onto her back with a tired little grunt. Most of her ached, but a lot of that was the good kind of ache that came about after some particularly vigorous sexual activities with Sebastian, and that she never felt like complaining about.

He woke a little while later when a particularly rambunctious sunbeam made its way into his eyes, and grumbled in annoyance, rolling over and hiding his face in Lorna's arm.

She stifled a chuckle at the noise he made, watching the sunlight reflect off his blond head for a few minutes, chewing over her realization of the previous night. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to tell him. But it was somehow a comforting thought all the same.

Eventually he dragged himself into consciousness. He really needed to start sleeping more. "What time is it?" he asked groggily. They needed to get back. He needed to check on Jim.

It took her a moment to find the clock in the room. "Half past seven. Your other alarm doesn't go off until quarter til, so I thought I'd let you sleep."

He shook his head a little, sitting up with a small groan. "Thanks, but we should get back. I have a lot to do today." He stood, stretching, and headed for the bathroom.

"Okay," she agreed, yawning and just enjoying the warmth of the bed for a moment before getting out of bed, stiff as a board. Oh yeah. There were the bruises. They were impressive, honestly.

He stepped out of the shower a few minutes later, walking back to pull fresh clothes out of his bag and glancing over at Harrison, smirking a bit at his handprint clearly outlined on her skin. "If it's any consolation, your marks on my back are making me live up to the 'Tiger' moniker."

She started pulling on her own clothes, smirking. "That and the bite on my neck. I can't tell if you left any on the back, but my hair covers it all up anyway. And consolation my ass; I _like_ these, motherfucker."

He grinned, then, buttoning his shirt. "Just try not to advertise where you got them. I've got a reputation to maintain of a fearless ice man." He pulled on his jacket, and picked up his bag. "Ready to go? Not much here in the way of breakfast food. We can stop for something on the way back."

"Yeah, I'm good," she chuckled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading for the door. "But fearless ice man doesn't mean incapable of taking me in a manly fashion. I know for a fact half the hitmen would fall on their hands and knees for details."

"Fair enough," he smirked, locking the door behind them and handing the key over to her. "I have another back at my place. Here."

"Okay, cool. Again, thanks," she grinned, getting into the Volks and putting the key in her bag before shoving it down at her feet. She'd never even considered that he would offer something like this. Staying with him was one thing; he benefited from that. But giving her access whenever she wanted? Either he thought something was going to get him any day now, or he was finally loosening up. She hoped it was the latter.

He started the car up, and pulled out.

* * *

Forty minutes later they were back at headquarters, having grabbed coffee and breakfast sandwiches en route, and he was heading up to Jim's office with information from one of the surgeons he'd contacted.

Jim had been trying to work. He really had. But the pain was too much, and the potential errors too great, so he gave up and sat in silence, drinking from a bottle of scotch to help numb himself.

He entered without knocking, stopping at the door once Jim saw him so that he could nod him in, but he walked forward immediately this time. "Sir, you can't combine alcohol with the pain medication you're on," he said firmly. "It could cause liver damage, and the last thing you need right now is complications."

He sighed, but he set the scotch back on the desk. "I assume you have news for me."

He nodded, walking forward and stopping just short of the desk. "Dr. Ramone from India is interested in your case, sir. He'd like to fly in and look you over."

"Fly him in. Soonest fly you can swing," he nodded, raising a hand to rub his temples. "I want this to be over."

He nodded in agreement. "I thought you would say that. His plane leaves in an hour, he should be here by late afternoon." He glanced down at his notebook. "Everything within the company is on schedule. The Freehold merger went as planned, and they've yet to question the contract terms, so this may be a fairly uneventful takeover."

"Hmmph. For once I might prefer it that way," Jim muttered, slouching in his chair. Jesus, he was tired. Always was, now. But he couldn't let that weaken him. He almost made a snide comment to Moran about his _mistake_ \- one this big he couldn't miss, despite the constant groaning of his brain - but for once, kept it to himself. But he couldn't _completely_ let it go. "Don't let your little snafu last night become an issue. I don't think Harrison is that stupid, but I have been surprised by hormonal women before."

He stiffened slightly at that, but kept his expression steady. "Of course not, sir. As I'm sure you know, I never would."

"Sometimes things bear repeating," he snorted, amused at the way Moran locked up like a rusty animatronic. "Don't look so dour, that's all I have to say on the matter. I really don't have the energy to berate you."

He nodded a little, jaw still set, and relaxed just slightly. "Regarding things which bear repeating, I don't suppose you'll reconsider your position on Harrison's upcoming assignments."

"No. I've told you this already. Don't ask again, or I'll put her on something that will put her in a coffin. Are we clear?"

He almost told him that he already had, but shut his mouth. "Then permission to accompany her on the remainder in case things go south."

Jim made an exasperated sound, rolling his eyes. "Ugh, _fine,_ yes. Knock yourself out, if you'll shut up about it. Christ, Moran, you've gone soft."

"I haven't gone soft, _sir_ ," he snarled with barely contained aggression. "I've spent a significant effort training Harrison, and especially given that you're currently incapacitated, she is vital to the efficient workings of _your_ operations. I don't have time to do her work, mine, and yours, or train someone to take her place, so if she gets killed it represents a serious strategic disadvantage." He bit the words _you prick_ back just before they escaped, but stood firm.

"You're right," Jim said evenly, a small smirk on his lips. "But if you've got so little time, why are _you_ going with her? Do you really view your coworkers with such contempt that you don't think someone else could watch over her? You've started making decisions based on your personal emotions on the matter. In this case, I can't argue. You're a good bodyguard. But this is a slippery slope."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" he asked, nostrils flaring just slightly. He wanted it, but hell if he was going to say anything without permission.

"Go ahead," he smirked, because usually what Moran had to say was entertaining.

"Don't talk to me about slippery slopes. Not when I'm cleaning up the mess _you're_ in because you put a bullet in your head when you couldn't see life beyond your little genius boyfriend. I'm holding this company together right now, I'm seeing to it that you receive medical attention, and making sure you don't mix alcohol with your fucking meds because you couldn't be bothered to read the label, all because you decided to play Romeo before you even bothered to check if Juliet was actually gone. So don't talk to me about slippery slopes, alright?"

He was silent for a minute. Then he whistled. "Been holding that one in for a while, haven't you? If I was feeling a little better I might have slapped you for that. But as it is..."

"As it is you're in pain and incapacitated. Yes, I'm aware." He straightened into attention. "Unless you have anything else, sir, I have work I should be doing."

"No, that will be all. Try not to wind yourself up too much. You're going to have a heart attack."

He didn't respond, just nodded curtly and turned, leaving the room quietly and heading for the elevator. Part of him was surprised he'd left the room alive, honestly. But he was sick of Jim treating him like a child who knew nothing, especially when he was working so diligently to keep the man alive.

* * *

A few days later, Lorna was pausing in the mirror on the way to get dressed, checking to make sure that she didn't look too obviously marked, and passed back into the bedroom, heading for the closet - she couldn't keep most of her dresses in his flat, but the ones she did keep couldn't be put in her dresser - when she noticed him sitting on the bed, in a tux. She paused, frowning slightly. "You going out somewhere?"

He nodded a little from where he was adjusting his shoulder holster to be hidden by the narrower jacket. "With you," he said, pulling his jacket on again and nodding in satisfaction.

She looked confused. "What? Why? I'm not scheduled to have anybody on this job," she shook her head, then continued to the closet, pulling out her dress for the evening.

He stood. "Because I'm going, that's why. Since when do you question my assignments? I told Jim I was going in as your backup. He agreed. There's almost no way this doesn't go south."

"Okay," she shrugged, tossing her towel to the bed and slithering into her dress. "I'm just surprised. I've pretty much memorized my schedule, so little changes throw me off. Zip me up, will you?"

He nodded, walking over to do as she asked. "Sorry, Jim's been giving me shit lately and I'm bit sore on the subject." He stepped back, walking over to pull on his shoes. "Do you want me as the distant husband or as a bodyguard?"

She flipped her hair back over her shoulder, mulling it over briefly. "Distant husband. If someone recognizes me, I rather they have low expectations about how dangerous you are. I mean, they can't be that low, because you look like you could wrestle a bear, but better than thinking you're armed."

"Better to go in unarmed, or no?" he asked, letting her take the lead in those decisions. She knew the op better.

She scrunched up her nose. "Probably unarmed. Good security there. Don't know if they do pat-downs, but better safe than sorry."

He sighed, but nodded, removing his jacket and then his shoulder holster. Outwardly, he didn't like it. Inwardly, it just made things easier. "Alright. If you're ready, then let's get going."

"I'm ready," she nodded, turning for the door.

* * *

An hour later, they were at the edges of the city, pulling up a gravel driveway. No wonder security was so tight - this place was a nightmare. "Alright. Hopefully this place is big enough, and there's enough people, and I won't get recognized. Hopefully."

"I'm going to stay nearby either way," he said as he pulled into the car park and turned off the engine. He handed a spare car key to her. "Just so we have options," he said, tucking the other set into his pocket.

She tucked the key into her bra - uncomfortable, but her only option - and got out of the car. At the front door, they were frisked, and she was glad she'd told him to leave the gun at home. That was a hitch she didn't need to deal with.

He gave her a nod, parting with now-familiar banter and heading off to find a drink and a corner where he could watch her and the room. If she moved rooms he'd have to adjust, but for the time being it would do.

* * *

She'd maybe made it through two rooms of mingling before she felt a hand on her shoulder, and before she knew it was sweeped briskly into another room, the two men by her sides most certainly security. She swallowed down the bitter taste of fear in her mouth, already trying to explain herself away, find an out.

He didn't bother to wait and see if she could talk her way out of it. First of all, he knew she couldn't, second of all, that wasn't the plan. He headed across the room, dodging tipsy party-goers, and pushed the door open, putting on a cheerful face and stumbling a bit as he entered. "Darling? Where'd you- Oh, h'lo, mates.." he said, grinning at the two men who had cornered Harrison. "Don't mind giv'n me back my dance partner, do ya? I think I might be gettin' lucky t'night if yo-"

By that point he was close enough to step in and snap the first guard's neck with clean precision. By that point the other guard was on him, and he twisted out of his grip, landing a solid blow in his gut and shoving him hard, grabbing Harrison from the wall. "Let's go!"

She'd kicked off her heels as soon as Sebastian had entered the room, and she ran after him, feeling the second guard's fingers brush her ankles before she was out of the room, and then she completely lost her bearings. Where he was leading her, she had no idea, not in this huge complex of a place, but there was shouting behind them, and soon after the sounds of pursuit. _This is bad this is bad not again notagainnotagain..._

He'd memorized the blueprint of the house before they'd come, and he didn't hesitate as he made his way through winding hallways. He was giving their pursuers a chance to take a slightly shorter route, a chance to get close, but it had to be timed perfectly... They burst into the hallway just behind him and he hid a smirk, swearing instead and grabbing Harrison, pulling her up in front of him as the room they needed came into view. He shoved into it seemingly at random, shutting the door behind him, turned around, and swore at the seemingly dead end, pretending to look around for a moment before turning his eyes to the vent. "Right... Through there, come on," he said, walking over to pull off the cover.

"Are you fucking kidding me? There's no way you're going to fit through that," she hissed, bending down in front of it and squinting at the dimensions. She was a lot smaller than he was, and it wasn't going to be a comfortable fit for her. Her stomach sank. She knew that he would hear no arguments about this, that she was going to go without him, and leave him, again. "Sebastian..."

He yanked the cover free. "Just go get the car going, okay?" he said, looking over at the door. There was a repeated _bang_ as their pursuers worked to break it down, and judging by the state of the frame it wasn't going to last too long. "Come on. I'll give them a good what for and meet you out front in five minutes. Just go down to the road."

She didn't believe him, but she had no choice. So she gave him a fierce one-armed hug, turned, and wriggled into the vent.

He pushed the cover back into place, stood, and ran to open the window, leaning out of it like he was helping someone down. The door splintered open, he turned around, ready to fight, but the shot came before he had a chance to advance. He let out a cry of pain as the shot ripped into his gut, knees buckling slightly as he grabbed onto the table for support, and he was in a submission hold before he had a chance to argue, his teeth staining red.

 _Sebastian._ She stopped, almost tried to turn back, heart hammering in her chest, before she grit her teeth and kept going, eventually working to another room. She punched out the vent cover and crawled out, knuckles bleeding, and slipped out the window without a sound. Within five minutes she was in the car, trying not to speed, trying not to be conspicuous. She had to get help. How soon they could get a force together, she didn't know, but _Christ,_ if he bled to death in there...

* * *

He didn't remember much detail of the following time span. The room was dark and he never bothered to look around that much, because the instant he was there, there was pain.

Bones, broken and grating against each other when he moved, when he tried to avoid the heavy chain that flogged over his body again and again.

Burns, more chains, eventually he lost track and everything was simply pain alternated with moments of glorious unconsciousness. His blood was everywhere, and part of him realized he might have gambled too much, cut it too close...

By the time they hauled him into a van he was too weak to fight back, though he tried to remain conscious enough to understand where they were going. Then he was dumped onto asphalt, and the sound of the motor faded. The last thing he remembered before he fell unconscious was footsteps approaching hurriedly.

* * *

Jim stared at the phone in his hand for a long moment. The call was unexpected, and he wasn't sure how best to process the information. He reached for the intercom almost out of habit and paused as he almost tried Moran.

"Harrison. Get up here."

"Yessir," she said hurriedly, heading for the door, trying not to get her hopes up, trying not to worry about what news he might have. The past three days had been like a nightmare, one she'd had to operate through anyway, and she was barely keeping herself together. About two minutes later she knocked lightly on his door, afraid of making too much noise, if he was still irritable about that.

He opened the door and walked past her. "Come with me," he said as he headed back for the elevator. "Moran was dumped outside a St. Bart's hospital. He's being brought here by ambulance," he said, punching the elevator button with more force than usual. His headache was phenomenal, but at this point, he didn't give a shit.

She was completely silent, waiting for the lift without a word. He wasn't dead. Not dead, but in an ambulance... it didn't bode well. A few minutes later, they were present outside the infirmary to watch Moran being hastily rolled in, the paramedics shouting a lot of things that she didn't understand, and then he was gone behind the surgery doors and she sat hard in one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room, raking a hand through her hair.

Jim didn't sit, walking through into the infirmary proper, and then into the viewing window for the operating theater. He didn't need to be told that his sniper was in bad shape. He was pale beneath the coating of blood, most of his body a slightly different shape than it should be where bones were broken and twisted. A bullet hole oozed near the center of his abdomen. The urgency of the surgeons was to be expected.

What he didn't expect was the flatline. It seemed to come out of nowhere, and the operating theater erupted into motion as someone grabbed the crash cart and paddles.

 _He could die_.

It hadn't really occurred to him before that. His sniper was dying. Sebastian Moran, who had worked with him now for almost a decade, was dying on the table.

He turned and exited the infirmary. He didn't want to see any more.

Lorna didn't ask for any news when Jim returned, her stomach twisted up in knots already without knowing what was happening in there. She didn't want to know if he was breathing his last breaths in there. She put her head in her hands.

He sat down a few chairs away, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. He needed to leave for his own surgery in less than an hour.

He tried to come to terms with the fact that Moran was going to die in there. It would be better to be pleasantly surprised than to be caught off-guard. He thought through the list of potential candidates to replace him, but the options were not remotely appealing. He trusted very, very few people. One of them was the man dying a room over. Losing him would be... unacceptable.

* * *

The surgery took hours. Jim left early on, for what, she didn't bother asking. It had to be important, to leave without knowing whether or not his right-hand man would make it through the next few minutes, let alone hours.

It took five hours of intensive surgery. One of the tired surgeons who came out, pulling off bloody latex gloves, told her that he was stable, but they were still worried about him. But if he made it through the night, they were fairly confident he would live. It wasn't long before they let her into the room they'd put him in, and she sat in the chair beside his bed and tried not to break down at the sight of him. She'd never seen a person so battered come out alive.

* * *

Everything still hurt. That was the first thing that came to mind as he drifted slowly into consciousness. But it was muted pain, and after a few minutes he realized that he was either very close to dead, or on painkillers. Maybe both.

An indeterminate amount of time later he managed to get his eyes open- one of them, anyways. The other seemed swollen shut. He glanced around the bleary, dimly-lit room, trying to piece together where he was. He took a breath, but gagged on something down his throat, and then a second later there was a whoosh of air into his lungs anyway, which was very disconcerting. It was pulled out after another second without his approval, and he began to get the idea that something was breathing for him. He didn't like that, either, and grunted in annoyance, trying to figure out which of his arms was the least damaged so he could get the damned thing out of him.

Lorna had been in a light sleep. That was as much as one could get in one of those chairs, but she woke up when he started moving, the heart monitor's beeps changing pace slightly. It took her a moment to try and figure out what he was trying to do, then reached out, (very gently) grabbed the arm closest to her, which was in a cast. "Let me get a nurse. I'll be right back," she said quietly, voice weak from disuse.

He jumped slightly at her touch, but relaxed when he heard who it was, managing to turn his head enough to see her. He nodded a little, but she was already gone, and he was left with the frustrating prospect of trying to catalog his injuries without being able to see them.

She came back a moment later with a nurse who checked his vitals before agreeing to remove the respirator - which looked like a terribly uncomfortable process, if not quick - and a minute later they were alone again, and he was breathing under his own power. "I guess you want to know how bad of a shape you're in, right?"

He nodded just a little, mouth dry, and wondered what his voice would sound like. It was, as it turned out, hardly recognizable through the rasp. "Yeah... that'd be good."

She let out a long breath. It was a decent-sized list, and she had to remember them all. "You have 38 stitches, a good portion of those trying to repair the hole they made in you when they dug that bullet out. Four first-degree burns, eight second-degree burns. You barely escaped nerve damage there. They broke five ribs, caused a lot of internal bleeding, so they've been coming in about every hour to check for signs of hemorrhaging. Your right arm is mostly okay, but you have a hairline fracture in your forearm, so that's going to be in a sling. Your left is in a lot worse shape. I don't know what they were hitting you with, but you have a couple pieces of metal in your arm holding your bones in one piece. They managed not to break anything in your head and neck, but the swelling isn't going to go down for a few days, at least. Your bottom half is mostly okay, besides the burns and the bruising." She sighed, lifting a hand to rub at her eyes. "You almost died. Your heart stopped twice."

He nodded just a little, and if he wasn't so high on drugs, he was sure the "Okay, good," would have just been mental. As it was, it was suddenly out in the air in his scratchy voice, and it took him a few seconds to realize that wasn't a good response. He decided the best course of action was to shift the subject. "How long've I been out?"

She attributed that strange response to the drugs - of which she'd been clear were not to be opiates - and shifted to check her watch, not sure herself. "Around 17 hours. You were in surgery for five."

He nodded a bit, shifting to look at her. "Where's Jim?" he asked, curious to see the immediate effect of his plan if he could.

"I don't know," she shrugged, shaking her head. "I texted him an hour ago that you were probably going to make it, but no response. He left about an hour into your surgery. He didn't look happy about it."

He frowned, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to think. "Date?" he asked after a minute.

"March 2nd. Well, actually, it's the 3rd, now," she corrected herself, glancing at her watch again. "Sorry."

"Fuck... his surgery," he muttered, only to regret it a second later. He didn't seem to have much by way of vocal control on whatever the hell they'd hopped him up on. He sighed. Oh well. Harrison could know.

"Surgery? What?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Is this about his irritability these last few weeks?"

He nodded just a little. "Shh though... nobody's supposed to know. I'm only telling you because I'm fucking high.." He gave her a grin, then winced as it hurt his face. "His brain's all fucked up from when he ate a bullet."

She let out a long breath. "Christ. That... explains a lot," she muttered, shrugging slightly. "Hey, though, how are you feeling? I made sure they didn't put you on morphine, so it's something else. Something less likely to bring back the heroin cravings in force."

"Thank you," he said, nodding a little. "I hurt, but not bad... I feel good for almost dying."

She let out a bit of a stressed breath, nodding. She'd come so _close_ to losing him. "Well, they'll let you out of here in a few days, then they'll hand you over to me. You're fucking lucky on that account. If you were by yourself they'd keep you here forever."

"Thank you again," he said with a smile. He looked her over carefully then. "You okay? Got out okay?"

She held up her left hand, which was still wrapped up in a bandage. "Split my hand open on a grate, but otherwise, yeah. Didn't get shot."

"Okay, good," he says, nodding a little. "That would have been bad."

"Yeah, it would have been," she snorted. "But it wasn't exactly like we planned that escape. Christ. I thought you were dead." She managed to keep her voice steady, though all she really wanted to do was crawl into his cot beside him and angrily berate him for something that wasn't his fault.

"I knew what I was doing, it was fine," he said, giving her a reassuring smile. "I'm fine."

"You're alive, you're not _fine,"_ she said irritably, then sighed. "I'm sorry. Been a stressful few days. I mean, nothing compared to yours, but..."

"S'okay," he said, still trying to assure her that she had no reason to be upset. He'd signed up for this. Jim would stop now. "It's nothing I didn't anticipate."

"What do you mean anticipate? How could you have known anything about what they did to you?" she frowned, looking at him like he was crazy.

"No no, not... I just..." He frowned, glancing over at the IV in his arm. His head felt heavier. Had he gotten another dose of medication? "Now Jim'll leave you alone. That's all."

She shifted forward in her chair, her frown growing deeper. "What? Sebastian, did you- for fuck's _sake,_ did you do this on purpose? _Sebastian!"_

He winced as she yelled. Oh, right, she wasn't meant to know that bit. They had definitely given him more medication, things were very hard to piece together. He decided that the best course of action was to firmly shut up, and did so.

She bent over, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, just trying to breathe. This was too much. He was like this because of _her._ She should have stayed, should have fought with him. "You _idiot,"_ she breathed, practically into her knees. "I just- I can't-" she shook her head, her breath shuddering, and she sat up to look at him, eyes watery. "Don't you _ever_ pull something like that again, do you hear me?"

"I was just fixing things, it's fine," he said, turning back to her, frowning that she was crying. "Don't cry, okay? I was just giving Jim a taste of his own medicine..."

"You almost got yourself _killed,_ Sebastian," she shook her head, wiping at her eyes. "Just... for god's sake, you can't just do that. I can't- if you die, what am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to _do?_ God, you're so fucking _thick_ sometimes, I can't believe you."

"It was calculated," he said almost proudly, before deciding that wasn't the best tone. "I'm fine, okay? I'm okay. Not dying."

If he hadn't been bedridden with injuries, she would have smacked him. "That's not the _point._ You just- Don't do these things for me. If you get yourself killed I will never forgive myself."

"Likewise," he said seriously, looking over at her with a frown. "So Jim needed to stop being a prick."

"And what if he doesn't change anything, huh? Then this will have been for nothing. Besides making me very upset with you."

He shrugged a little. "I had to fix it. He didn't understand. Now he will."

She had to fight the urge to kick his bed. "You drive me insane. You're lucky I love you, or I would fucking kill you." She said it, and she didn't regret it. If he'd fucking _died..._ And he was high, so she was kinda cheating.

He looked over at her again, eyebrows furrowing a little at that. "You do?" he asked. Then, "You wouldn't kill me, because you don't want me dead. That makes no sense."

She rolled her eyes. "Go the fuck to sleep. When you're high it's like the brains just dribble out your ears."

He frowned at her. "I can't... think, okay? They did something to my head..." He closed his eyes, then opened them a minute later. "Are you still angry?"

She rubbed her eyes. He got so much more vulnerable under the effects of drugs. She'd seen that inside that hellhole. "No, I'm not angry. I'm a little upset, but I'm not angry."

He nodded just a little bit, and closed his eyes again. Within a few minutes, he was asleep.

She was relieved that he was back asleep. She needed some time to process all this.

* * *

When he woke again a few hours later, he felt considerably more lucid, though he still hurt all over. Harrison was still there, dozing, and he didn't feel a need to wake her just yet, so he just lay there, trying to remember through the haze of medication what they'd discussed the last time he was awake.

She stirred about twenty minutes later, shifting a little uncomfortably, knots building up in her shoulders. "Hey," she rasped when she saw he was awake, "You doing okay?"

"Alright," he said with a nod. "I'd kill for a sandwich, though..." He noticed how tired she looked. "You should go get some rest."

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I guess I should," she sighed, standing and running a hand through her hair. "There's the button if you want to call the nurse."

He nodded just a little. Her eyes were red, and he gave her a bit of a smile. "Don't worry too much, okay? I promise you won't have to take over for me."

"I better not," she muttered, resting her hand on his briefly, then turning for the door. "I'm going to pass out. I'll probably be back within the next 12 hours."

"Okay," he said quietly, watching her go before reaching out to press the button to see about some food.

* * *

Over the next few days, the network was quiet. It was no secret what happened to Moran, and after a day of not being able to reach the boss, most assumed that he'd taken a trip without notifying anyone, as, occasionally, he did. Lorna was, suddenly, the highest-ranking functional agent in the building. She kept things running as smoothly as she could, but with no new orders coming in, it was easier than before. On the day the people at the clinic agreed to release Moran, she stopped by his flat after a meeting to grab him a change of clothes, then went down. She walked into his room holding them up. "Congratulations. You get to move up a few floors to be confined again."

He grinned. "Brilliant. I've been bored out of my mind," he said, working on trying to sit up and wincing a bit as his ribs protested. The last few days he'd been doing very little but move in and out of a stoned haze as the painkillers fluctuated. Lorna had been a bit cool with him at times, and he had a feeling he'd pissed her off, but he didn't remember much so he just let it slide.

"Should have thought about that before you pulled the stunt you did," she chided, though she was smiling. "Do you need help putting these on?"

He glanced up, surprised, wondering if she knew somehow, then nodded just a little. "Unfortunately I think so... Movement is a little restricted."

She nodded, setting the clothes on the bed and grabbing his pants, bending to help him into them. She had a lot of practice dressing people who were not very helpful - she'd had to dress a lot of high friends, back in the day. "I didn't miss that glance. How much do you remember after first waking up?"

"Just about nothing, honestly. They're keeping me fried on pain meds," he grumbled, trying to help as best he could without the use of his hands. "I'm useless."

"Ah. That explains the looks I've been getting," she rolled her eyes, reaching for trousers. "Quick recap; I know what you did. I yelled a little, I cried a little, you mostly looked like a kicked puppy."

"Oh bloody fucking hell," he muttered under his breath, tone black, as he shifted his legs into the trousers she held out. Brilliant.

She chuckled, making an 'I know' sound. "You get real chatty when they have you hopped up," she snorted, buttoning him up and grabbing his shirt before frowning slightly. "Alright, this part is going to be a little more difficult. How much does it hurt to take your arm out of the sling?"

He sighed. "Just kinda put it around my shoulders for now. That'll be enough. I don't care that much and it isn't a pleasant feeling." He caught her gaze, trying to read her. "Are you still pissed, then?"

She sighed, slinging it around his shoulders with a mild shrug. "I wasn't really _angry_ in the first place. I was a little distraught, maybe. I did threaten that if I didn't- wasn't so emotionally attached to you, I would have killed you. I still kind of stand by that."

He nodded a little, smirking just slightly. "Fair enough." It was well worth it even if she had been angry. "Alright... standing," he said, considering the room a challenge and getting his feet squared properly on the floor.

She only hovered a little, ready to stop him from toppling to the floor if need me. Thank god he hadn't broken a leg in that place.

He managed to get to his feet, though his teeth were buried in his bottom lip with the effort. "Okay. Upstairs," he grunted, starting to walk- a bit unsteadily- across the floor.

"If you need them, there are crutches in the hall," she murmured, opening the door and holding it for him.

"Yes, because crutches will work so well with no arms and five busted ribs," he shot back sarcastically, eyes on his goal as he moved at a relatively slow pace out of his room and down the hall towards the infirmary exit.

She made an exasperated sound, following him out. "I'll get a fucking wheelchair if you need it, happy? Christ. Like pulling teeth. Keep in mind I'm going to be taking care of your miserable ass."

"By suggesting crutches to the man with two legs and no arms," he shot back, though he let a smirk soften the words a bit. "Sorry. Thank you for your completely useless but well-meant offer of support."

"You better be careful, I'll just push you over," she smirked, adjusting her pace to match his. "Lock you in the closet or something for a few hours, teach you a lesson."

"I may be incapacitated, but I can still murder you," he grumbled good-naturedly. He was aching all over, and he couldn't wait to get to his apartment and lay down. Almost dying apparently took it out of you.

"Mhmm," she said doubtfully, pushing the button for the lift. "Honestly, I'm afraid to touch you. You might just shatter."

"Don't be ridiculous," he snorted. "I'm just a bit bruised, is all." He glanced over at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes. "How have things been going?"

"Jobwise, okay. Nothing's really been happening. I've been managing what was already scheduled, but there haven't been really all that many hitches," she shrugged, stepping into the elevator as the doors opened and waiting until he got in to push the button for their floor.

He nodded a little, leaning carefully against the wall. He needed to check in on Jim, make sure he was doing alright. "Has anyone heard from Jim?"

"No. I know about that too, by the way. Forgot to recap that. Not sure if you remember. But I have been looking out for messages, but nothing. My guess is that he's not together enough yet to say anything."

He nodded just a little. "Remind me never to get high around you, you learn too much," he muttered as they got to their floor and headed out. He froze as he saw O'Hare in the hallway, and O'Hare stared back, before turning and walking into his apartment. Moran grit his teeth and headed for his own.

She was silent for a moment, letting him process that until they were safely inside the flat. She didn't really know how to continue the conversation, either. Her job was okay, right now, but she was tired and stressed over her personals. It was wearing on her. But he was in worse shape, and her first priority. "You want some food?"

"Yes, please," he said, nodding hopefully. "The food down there is alright but I'd love something normal..." He wandered over to collapse on the couch slowly, head falling back, exhausted.

"Alright, I'll get you something," she hummed, disappearing into the kitchen to heat up some Chinese takeout she'd gotten last night, specifically for this purpose. She brought it out to him a minute later, handing him the bowl before sitting heavily on the floor, back against the sofa. She'd kill for some valium right about now.

He'd figured out he could eat alright with his non-sling arm, and so propped the bowl in his lap and went to town as best he could, letting out a groan of content. "Thank you," he mumbled through a mouthful.

"Thank me by not choking because you ate too fast," she chuckled quietly. "I thought you might want some real food after the infirmary, so I got some stuff last night I know you like. I want all the brownie points you have."

He nodded in agreement, finishing the food quickly and setting the bowl aside, eventually looking at her with a quiet sigh. "So, warden, how long am I in for?"

"They don't want you working until the day after tomorrow, at the soonest. Your head is still recovering from the bashing it took. You go in for x-rays in four days, and that's only because you're so important to operations that they can't spare you. They'll tell you then what you're looking at," she shrugged, resting her head back against the cushions, looking up at him. "And if you really wanted to leave I couldn't stop you. So let's not do that."

He sighed, but nodded, closing his eyes. His head definitely had taken a bashing, so he supposed that was fair. "I'm sorry that I worried you," he said after a bit. "It was... necessary, but that doesn't mean I wanted to."

"Thanks," she murmured. She knew he was going to make it now, which was an enormous relief, but not the end of her worries. And she didn't want to bring up their little mistake, not when he was such a mess. And then there was DeWitt. A contact of hers had seen him in London.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, because he knew her well enough to know she wasn't. He wished he could pull her up from off the floor, but his arms were useless at the moment, so instead he shifted a leg to rest against her arm a little.

"I don't know," she shook her head. She didn't want to bring up either concern, not until he was healthier. "Just.. kinda need a break. I'm not going to get it, but..." She huffed, shrugging a little.

He sighed, nodding a little. "I'll be back to work as soon as I can, and I'll give you a break then, alright?" he said quietly. Everything was such a mess right now. "Is there anything I can help with right now?"

She shook her head. "No. No magic solutions for any of my shit right now. Just... waiting."

"Okay," he said, nodding just a little. He leaned his head back against the couch with a sigh, feeling like shit, mostly because he was exhausted, partly because O'Hare was just down the hall.

She could sense where his thoughts were going. "I don't like him," she said, frowning. "He gives me the creeps. And it's not just the scars. He's... a little off."

"O'Hare?" he asked, looking over at her. "He's a good man, Harrison... He is. He's been through a lot of shit but he's good." He didn't tell her what Jim had said about O'Hare reporting to him. They'd all reported things to Jim at one point or another. It didn't mean anything important.

"Maybe he was a good man," she said evenly, sighing. "But it's not as if you really know him now. That kind of shit changes people. Not many good people work for Jim."

 _That kind of shit that I left him to_ , he thought, but nodded a little. "Whatever you say," he said quietly. "If you don't trust him, then that's fine. Probably smart."

She made a tired noise. "I don't trust anybody. I don't trust Kelly. Kelly, who still can't kill somebody without becoming useless for a day afterward. It's almost gross how limp-wristed he is. I'm just fucking suspicious these days."

He snorted a little bit. "Kelly just seems pretty useless in general, in my opinion. I've thought about firing him. And you trust me, at least I think you do."

"Yeah, I trust you. God knows how that happened," she smirked, then sobered a little. "I just hope nobody crosses me. I think I might take a hand on accident one day."

"Lookit you, growing up to be a menace. I'm so proud," he said, smirking a little and nudging her with his knee.

She snorted. "You're lucky that for the most part I have retained my sunny disposition."

"'Sunny', is that what we're calling it?" he asked with a chuckle, though he winced as his ribs objected. "Seems optimistic."

"Oi, I was cynical _before_ I became a menace, you can't count that one," she retorted, glancing back at him just to make sure he was alright. Relatively speaking. He still looked like he'd been beaten with a shipping yard.

"That's my point! You never had a sunny disposition," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He was quiet for a minute, then- "Did they give you any pain meds for me by any chance?"

She leaned to the side, digging them out of her pocket with a rattle. "I am not a clinic amateur. Let me get you a glass of water."

"Okay," he said with a small nod. The jostling of his ribs had apparently been the domino that needed flicking, and the pain medication was starting to wear off rather rapidly.

She got up and returned a moment later, making sure he had the glass before she opened up the bottle and jostled the right number of pills into her hand, carefully passing them to him. He really needed an extra hand. "Let's hope you don't say something even crazier than last time, huh?"

"Here's hoping," he said with a nod, raising his hand up carefully to get the pills in his mouth before switching the glass to his good hand and downing it greedily. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until he got the first sip, but he finished the glass easily. He set the glass down on the end table carefully, and sighed, leaning back a little.

"Let me know if you want anything else," she murmured, resting her head back against his leg carefully, in case it hurt and he needed to tell her not to.

He smiled a little at that, though, shifting his leg behind her a bit until he could hook his foot around her hip, shifting her a bit closer. He would never admit it, but he'd missed her the last few days.

She was content to just sit with him for a while, waiting for his meds to kick in. Part of her was glad that he didn't remember her confession; it meant they didn't have to discuss it, and she'd gotten to say it at least once before one of them died horribly. But she was disappointed, too, that he didn't know.

He let out a hum of content as the pain started to fade away, and yawned. "That's better," he muttered, shifting around a bit to get more comfortable on the couch.

"Good. Maybe you'll be able to sleep well tonight. God, I hope you do. I need rest," she muttered.

"I won't wake you up if I don't," he snorted, sounding almost insulted. "I'm a big boy, I can let you sleep."

She snorted. "Mhmm. You think a little differently when you're on that stuff. Believe me, it's a real experience."

"Like what? What did I do?" he asked, looking down at her curiously. "What're you down there for, anyway?"

"You say weird things," she chuckled, shifting to laying down next to him, careful not to flop so she wouldn't hurt him.

He smiled a little at that, closing his eyes. "Like what? What weird stuff did I say?" he asked with a sigh and another yawn.

"What, and give up my dirt on you? C'mon, you have those dares, I got to have something," she chuckled, cuddling up to him as best she could under the circumstances.

He pouted a little but nodded. "S'pose that's fair. Gotta save the dares for a good time," he said with a yawn.

"Hey, you can take a nap if you want. You don't have to worry about anything that needs doing right now. You need a lot of rest."

"You don't need to baby me," he snorted, though his voice was lazy. "M'fine..."

"Someday you're going to say that I'm going to snap, maybe try to stab you," she replied mildly, rolling her eyes. "Your heart stopped, you're allowed to be a little fucked up, okay?"

"You know, I didn't have a near-death experience," he sighed, frowning. "No out-of-body experiences, no light at the end of the tunnel. That's a rip-off..."

"I've never had one either, and I've come close to dying a few times." She shrugged a little. "I don't know, though, if all that stuff is real, I'm sure as hell not seeing a light. They're not even going to let me _see_ those gates. I don't really believe in it, though."

He let out an odd sort of giggle. "The way I see it, if there is a hell, they'll probably hire us," he said with a grin, eyes closed.

"You would love being a torturer. I don't know what _I'd_ do," she snorted. "Maybe give tours."

"You can be the good cop, or a succubus or something," he said, grinning. "Or in charge of the tempting department... acquisition of new souls, all that..." He laughed, obviously amused by the thought.

"Oh, I would make the _best_ succubus. I would take so many souls. Lucifer would give me my pay raise himself. I'd deck out my hell-flat so cool," she snickered. "Actually, I'd have you do that."

He grinned at her. "Yeah? You think? They probably have really good hot tubs in hell. Like... natural heat and all that..."

She groaned. "Ugh, don't bring those up, I'm so tempted to just abandon your ass here and go make use of your jacuzzi. So tempted. "

He pouted. "That's not fair. Though I did give you the key. See? Wouldn't have been so bad if I died, you could've had it all to yourself," he said, nodding to himself at the logic.

"No, I don't think I'd want to stay there without you. I'm pretty accustomed to small spaces, and that's not a small space. It would feel too empty," she shook her head, glancing up at him. His meds were definitely taking effect.

"The jacuzzi is small," he pointed out, shifting a little until he could put his head on the armrest and yawning.

"I can't live in the jacuzzi," she retorted, smirking, then looked up at him. "You should really sleep again."

He stuck his tongue out but didn't open his eyes. "I don't like this stuff... makes my head feel all weird..."

"That's pain medication for you," she sighed. "Not much you can do about it except wait until you're healed enough to stop taking them."

"Hmph," he muttered, yawning again, before opening his eyes to glance at the door. "Is the door locked?" he asked after a moment. "Don't want O'Hare comin' in.."

Well, that answered the question about whether or not Sebastian trusted their neighbor. "No," she shook her head, getting up carefully, trying not to jostle him. "I'll lock it, don't worry about it."

"Mkay," he said quietly, eyes shutting again. A few moments later he was asleep, curled up into a ball on the couch.

Lorna was going to lock it, but then her phone vibrated in her pocket, and that meant that someone in the department needed her. She sighed, stepping outside. She was surprised to find O'Hare in the hall. "Ah. Hi, neighbor."

He nodded a little. "How's he doing?" he asked, eyes on the door she'd just stepped out of, arms crossed.

"He's doing alright," she sighed, sliding her phone back into her pocket. Really, this was out of character for him. She'd only exchanged a few words with him since he'd arrived. "I got him settled. Just have to let his body heal, at this point."

"I can understand that," He said, giving her a grin that was missing a few teeth. "Heard he almost died."

"Yeah, they gave him a pretty good whooping in there," she snorted, rubbing the back of her neck with a glance towards the door. "He'll be alright. He's tough."

He snorted a little. "He's gone soft," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Not the Sebastian Moran I knew."

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, I mean, his heart stopped, and last I checked, that's not really _controllable._ He's really not gone soft."

He shrugged. "You didn't know him back in the army. I did. I'm not saying he's soft for dying, I'm saying his lifestyle... his reputation... his mental state, too, from what I've seen... All a little squishy." He sneered.

"His _reputation._ Oh, boy. O'Hare, when he feels like reminding the peons what he's capable of, the office is quiet for days. You've only been here for, what, a couple months?" she snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "And what about his lifestyle seems _squishy_ to you?"

"What doesn't?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "Fancy job, fancy townhouse, and he's stayed here for years. He's become sedentary. We're warriors, adventurers, our type."

She laughed at him. "Christ, are you thick, or what? No wonder you got caught," she scoffed, a bit of a cruel glint coming into her eye. He'd been the one to start this. And her fuse had been whittled down to nothing. "He hit the jackpot. This job? It doesn't end - you don't _leave,_ you get fucking killed. The fact that he's been here for years just proves that he's better than everyone else in this fucking building except for the boss. He's certainly been doing more fighting, more travelling, than you were in that place. Do you call that an _adventure?"_

He stepped forward suddenly, looking over her, and for a moment it looked like he might attack her. Then he stepped slowly back. "While he's been here basting in luxury, I was a prisoner of war. I've read your file, Harrison. You've spent a little time under the knife. What, a few days with Mr. Holmes here and there? A few weeks, at most? And you're scared, and scarred, and I understand that. Now imagine that sort of thing every day for _six years_. What were you doing six years ago? Think about everything in between. Every birthday, every day spent on your arse watching television... imagine those little beetles nibbling around under your skin. Can you comprehend that?" he spat, eyes wild with rage. Then he seemed to catch himself, to a breath. "Don't talk to me about his adventures. He's soft."

She was uncowed, and she had every right to be. He could do nothing to her. She was more valuable than him, and if he did anything to damage her, he would pay for it. "I don't give a _fuck_ what you went through, O'Hare. I'll never lose sleep over it. The only impact you have on my life is the air you're wasting when you're in the same space as me," she snarled, staring at him like she wasn't a good couple feet shorter than him. "Your perceptions are skewed. You can't compare everyone else to your life as a fucking torture victim, it's idiotic, and a waste of my goddamn time. And I will talk to you _however I want. Especially_ when you start going down a line of conversation I take issue with. Think before you open your mouth. You're only here to fuck with Moran's head. Killing you would be no loss to anyone."

He bared his teeth just slightly. "I was there because he left us. Disobeyed orders and left us. You and I both know he agrees with me, and it's tearing him apart. You may not care, but he does, and you care about him."

"And you only lived because they _let_ you," she said coldly, looking at him with contempt. "You didn't _survive._ You didn't do anything to keep yourself alive. There's _nothing you can do,_ not in those situations. You aren't alive because you're some macho warrior, because you're tougher than the rest. You survived because they kept you alive. That's nothing to be proud of."

"No," he agreed, nodding. "You're right. It isn't. It's something to be angry about."

"Yeah, I bet," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "Now, are you fucking done talking back to me? Cause if you aren't, I have just been _looking_ for an excuse to beat the shit out of someone this week."

He ground his teeth, but he wasn't in condition to fight anyone anymore, so he stepped back and shut up, eyes blazing.

"That's what I thought," she muttered, pulling her phone out of her pocket and turning for the lift, ready to react if he thought about trying to attack while she had her back turned. "I better not see you on my department floor unless you have a hand-written note from a superior, or I will burn off what's left of your face. Ciao."

He watched her go, turning to consider the door to Moran's apartment, and for a moment his eyes lit up. In her distraction, she'd left the door ajar. He walked closer, considered it... then pulled it shut. Now wasn't the time. He turned and limped back into his apartment, closing the door firmly behind him.

She spent the rest of the day wondering whether or not to tell Moran about their little altercation in the hallway. She felt vindicated, felt like she'd been right to be a little leery of him, but... Moran was healing. He didn't need that stress yet. Just like he didn't need her other stresses.


	36. Killing You 100 Times Wouldn't Be Enough

It wasn't until four days later that Jim finally returned to headquarters. He wore a hat to hide his bandaged head as he quickly went up to his quarters, and made a note that he needed his own private entrance created. He sat at his desk for a few moments, considering the room, before he texted Harrison.

 _I assume if Moran were dead I would have been informed by now. -JM_

She was in the living room, working. She'd turned off Sebastian's alarm so he would sleep later - he needed all the extra sleep he could get. She was a little surprised to be the one getting the text, even still.

 _Yes, sir. He's going to be fine. Although I should warn you that right after the surgery he was on so much medication that he told me about your situation. No one else is aware. LH_

He let out a frustrated sigh at that. Moran would pay for the mistake, but once he was better.

 _Is he currently capable of coming to my office? - JM_

She paused.

 _If I got him dressed, maybe. His arms are a little useless right now, sir. Do you want me to wake him up? LH_

Already she was regretting telling the boss that Sebastian had let it slip, but she felt like if she could take over just a little of Sebastian's responsibility right now, he'd get better sooner.

 _Yes. I need to speak with him as soon as possible. - JM_

He set his phone aside and stared at the far wall, trying to access the parts of his mind which were covered in fog.

Lorna set her phone on the coffee table and got up, went into the bedroom, and carefully touched his shoulder. Less because he was hurt and more because he could hurt her. "Sebastian. Jim is back. Also I kinda told him I know about his surgery. Sorry."

He came back into awareness slowly, groggily. His body ached, but he'd been cutting back on the pain killers in favor of sanity.

"It's fine," he grunted, shifting onto his back with a wince. "I'll deal with it. Does he want to see me?"

"Yeah. I would have let you sleep, otherwise," she murmured, stepping away to get him some clothes. "There's a pot of coffee in the kitchen that's still hot."

"Okay," he said, sitting up and gritting his teeth slightly as his ribs protested, but keeping steady for the most part as he stood. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," she said, turning back with his clothes. "You want help with these?"

He sighed, but nodded just a little. Buttons especially were tricky. "That would be appreciated, thanks." They'd gotten it down to a routine, and within ten minutes he was downing the last of the cup of coffee. "Alright..." He stood. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," she sighed, sitting back on the sofa. He was going to need it.

He headed for the elevator, taking his time but keeping his pace even and his posture tall and steady. The elevator arrived more quickly than usual and he was on Jim's floor in less than a minute, heading for the office and after a pause to consider, knocking lightly with his foot.

"Come in," Jim said. The knock wasn't awful, which was a good sign. He still hurt a little, but it was like they'd cut out a snake that had been constricting his brain. Now it was just a little foggy, still recovering.

He fumbled with the door handle a bit and finally got open, pushing inside and closing it behind him, walking over to stand in front of Jim's desk. "Good to have you back, sir."

"It's good to be back," he agreed, reaching up to itch at his head and stopping halfway with a sigh. No itching. "I feel better. Much better. Not 100%, but not like I'm dying."

"Excellent," he said with a nod. "I'm glad to hear it, sir. I was concerned."

He nodded, falling silent for a moment. He felt slow, sluggish, and he wasn't used to it. "...As was I. For your health. There are no satisfactory replacements for you, Moran. See to it you don't die."

 _Victory_.

He raised an eyebrow. "There are plenty of suitable replacements for me, sir. Probably at least a dozen in Europe. Administrative and combat skills in combination are not all too rare a commodity."

He made an annoyed sound. "I rather not have to deal with the loss. Look, I'm telling you not to die, you lunk. Don't make this more difficult for me than it already is."

"Yes, it is rather bothersome to have someone you depend on almost die, isn't it?" he asked. His voice had just a hint of an edge.

He just looked at Moran for a good long minute. Then he heaved a sigh, tapped his fingers on the table. "...I... see your point. That was well played, Moran. Fine. You win. I'll take her off the remaining jobs."

"Thank you, sir," he said, not daring to let a hint of a smile play onto his face. "I promise to try not to get myself killed. Is there anything I can do for you right now?"

"No. I'm going to start looking through the jobs as best I can right now - and take Harrison off them, so don't do anything even more idiotic - but I don't need your help for that. Go do whatever you do when you heal."

"Understood, sir. Let me know if you need anything. I'd salute, but..." He nodded to his hands, before heading to the door and making his way out. It was only once it was solidly closed behind him that he allowed himself a smirk of victory. He had done it. He had successfully played James _fucking_ Moriarty, Moriarty _knew_ it, and he had lived.

He walked back down to the apartment and scanned in, pushing open the door. "You're off the jobs."

Lorna dropped her laptop onto the rug with a thump, and leaned back into the couch and made an enormously relieved sound. "Thank _god._ I really thought I was going to die. Or worse, I don't know, I know there's some shitty things out there."

He laughed, walking over and sitting down carefully. "You should have seen his face when he figured out what I did..."

"He must have been less pissed than I was if he didn't kill you," she snorted, though she was grinning. She was so relieved. _So_ relieved. "Also, hey, good news: I'm not pregnant!"

He raised an eyebrow, then grinned, "Brilliant. Fucking brilliant. It's about time we had a good day, huh?" he asked, smirking. "Everyone's alive and no one's pissed."

She chuckled, propping her bare feet up on the table, just feeling actually good for the first time in days. "God, what a relief. Finally. Finally I'm not looking for doom right around the corner."

He smiled, shifting to lean his head against her shoulder, since hugging her was pretty much not an option at the moment. "Everything is heading back to normal."

She lifted an arm to wrap around his shoulders, careful not to squeeze him. "As normal as things are. Well, if he's really taking me off those jobs, I'm going to have a bit of a break."

"And you're hopefully not going to die. That would be good," he said with a sigh of content. He'd succeeded. Somehow his idiotic plan had succeeded.

She nodded, letting out a long breath. "Hopefully not. I've been waiting for a good time to tell you, but.. DeWitt is in London. I wasn't sure, after all of that, that he would stay here. But I have somebody tracking him. We can move in whenever we want."

He glanced over at her, taking in her expression, and nodded. "Alright. I'll run it by Jim. I have no doubt he'll be eager to get the smug bastard dealt with. Do you want to deal with him personally?"

"Yes, I would," she said, a little more quietly. The closure would be good for her, for her mental state.

* * *

It was almost nine weeks before he got the last cast off. Underneath his arm was pink and dry and irritated, with a long, thin scar up the forearm from the surgery. But it was off, and despite being a bit weak, it had full range of motion again. He held it up victoriously when he returned to the flat. "Goodbye robot," he snorted, wiggling his fingers in Harrison's direction.

"I bet that feels good," she grinned, looking up from where she was sewing in an inside pocket to one of her dresses. She looked a lot healthier - the circles under her eyes were gone, she'd gained back what she'd lost in their imprisonment, and her month-long vacation had done wonders for her disposition.

"Like heaven. I can fucking scratch when I'm itchy," he snorted, rubbing at a spot on his wrist to emphasize. "It's practically atrophied, but that won't take too long to fix."

"Better late than never," she shrugged, setting the dress to the side and putting her needle back into its much safer container.

"About that," he said, picking up a pencil and starting to flick it slowly through his fingers, trying to work on a bit of dexterity. "Garret just confirmed, we've got DeWitt's location again."

She froze a little, then nodded. "Can they bring him in? I want that bastard gone as soon as possible."

He nodded. "We can. I'll go with them myself, make sure everything's square, alright? Then he'll be yours to do with as you please."

"Good," she nodded, drumming her fingers on her thigh, already thinking of things to do, wondering how much pain she could inflict on him before he died.

He nodded, walking over to his room to get dressed. "We'll go pick him up now, then."

"I'll be here, getting just a little bit drunk."

* * *

It was surprisingly easy to bring Dewitt in. What was difficult was bringing him alive, not because he struggled, but because the instant Moran saw him he wanted to put a bullet down his throat. As it was he took a few punches with his stronger arm before they locked him up, then went to get Harrison.

Lorna entered the room they were keeping him in with a stone-cold expression. She hadn't decided yet what she was going to do to him, but it was going to be painful, and he would not live to see outside these walls again. She couldn't let him live. It would eat at her until the day she died. She stared at him for a good three minutes before she walked forward and removed his gag, dropping it in his lap. "I'm going to want to hear you scream. Which ear is your favorite? I'll leave that one where it is, just because I'm in a good mood."

He looked a little surprised to see her, but then laughed. "You? Yeah right. You don't like getting your hands bloody, little bird. I remember. You almost passed out the first time you shot up. Listen, why don't you just relax a little and undo my trousers, and I'll let you ride my cock, okay?"

She backhanded him, hard, because her hands were shaking and he couldn't tell if she used them to beat the shit out of him. Before he could recover from the hit she grabbed his hair, yanked his head to the side, and pulled the knife she had in her back pocket. A second later, and his ear was in her hand. She dropped that in his lap too, as he screamed. "You say anything that vile to me again, we'll see how bloody I really like it."

He managed to catch his breath a moment later, eyes wide and confused as he looked up at her. "What the _fuck?!_ " he asked roughly. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" There was a hint of fear in his eyes, but it was clear that he had no concept that he wasn't in control.

"I'm proving you wrong. You told me I wouldn't do it. I did. What are you going to do about it? You can't do _anything,"_ she snarled, and punched him in the face just because she couldn't help herself, because he'd forced himself on her, because she remembered it so _clearly,_ like she was still there, helpless, unable to do anything but live it. "I'm going to tear you limb from limb. I'm going to kill you."

Dewitt seemed like he was starting to understand the extent of the shit he was in, and paled.

"I still vote you cut off his dick and feed it to him, but that's just me," Moran said from where he was leaning in the doorway. He wasn't going to interfere, just make sure Harrison was alright. There were mistakes that could be made in torture. Not many, but when one was emotionally involved they became more likely. He didn't want her getting hurt.

"I was thinking more along the lines of suffocating him with it, as the big finale. That or pouring sulfuric acid down his throat, I don't know, I haven't really decided yet," she replied without turning, bending to give DeWitt a cold smile. "I'll probably do the former. I think it would be more _fitting,_ don't you? You're looking rather pale, there. You doing okay? Shit, sorry, I forgot to tell you. I don't give a fuck."

"Beautiful. Very poetic," Moran said, smirking as DeWitt lost another shade.

"You can't... I... I have rights!" he floundered. "You can't just hold me here!"

She lost her cool. She stabbed the knife into his leg and grabbed his face with her other hand, nails biting into his cheeks. " _I_ had _rights,"_ she spat, twisting the knife in his leg viciously. "And you _violated_ them. If you speak another word to me I will mute you _myself."_

He screamed in agony as the blade twisted in him, pulling against his restraints, voice cracking. "Stop! Stop! Please!" he begged, her warnings lost in the pain.

She wrenched the knife from his leg, forced his jaw open, and cut out his tongue, all in the space of three seconds. From that point on, the only thing that could leave his mouth were screams.

* * *

She spent six uninterrupted hours in that room, slowing removing bits of him, piece by piece, staunching the bleeding when she thought it looked like he would die before she wanted him to. When she was done, most of the left side of his face was gone, along with his left foot, and three fingers on his right hand. She'd taken a grater to his chest. And in the end, his did suffocate on his own dick. When his heart stopped beating - she'd checked for a pulse - she turned to Moran in the doorway, where he'd been for most of the time, barring food and bathroom breaks. She tried wiping some of the blood off her face, and only ended up smearing it across her cheek. She sighed. "Alright. I'm done. Tell cleanup I'm sorry, will you?"

He walked forward, gently prying the knife out of her hand and setting it aside, looking her over. "How do you feel?" he asked, voice neutral.

She shrugged a little, though she was looking a little hazy. "I don't know. Okay, I guess. I thought I would feel better, honestly. M' just kinda... empty."

He nodded just a little. "Okay. You got it solidly in your brain-space that he's dead, yeah?" he confirmed.

She glanced back at DeWitt's mutilated corpse, and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. I do."

He nodded just a little, putting a hand on her back and guiding her out. "Let's go get you a hot shower and something to eat, okay?"

"Yeah," she agreed, letting him nudge her out of the room. She was going to sleep well tonight.

He nodded to cleanup to enter as they passed, and got her into the elevator and up to their flat- his flat- oh what the hell. He left her in the bathroom to clean up, and started making something for them both to eat.


	37. The Playboy Holmes

DeWitt's murder helped. Her sleep was instantly improved, and only rarely did she have moments on jobs where she felt that same acrid fear. About three and a half weeks after she'd slaughtered the man in the basement, she was reading over her latest job in the living room, and was surprised when she came along a familiar name. Well, this job was going to be interesting to say the least. "I can't use a cover name for this next op," she said as he passed by, with a mug of what she assumed was coffee. "I know him. Doesn't matter, though, we're friendly, I'll make it work. Christ, though, it's a long one."

He frowned, walking over as he tipped a shot of whiskey in with his coffee. "That Sherrinford bloke you were going on about? How long are you assigned? I haven't gotten around to today's updates.."

She flipped through a few pages. "A month, or two, depending on how long it takes for him to really trust me. Oh, for fuck's... he's Sherlock Holmes' _brother_. Christ."

" _What_?" he asked, sitting down next to her and taking the file, reading through it. "You're shitting me... who knew there was another Holmes? What the hell... ah, now I see. Well, this is certainly going to be an interesting operation..."

"Who knew he was that deep into government operations? You can't tell by looking at him. A _spy._ I didn't think he was smart enough. I guess he hides it well," she shook her head, sitting back. "I start tonight. I wonder if I have any pictures of myself from a few years ago, it might help to wear my hair like that..."

He flipped through a few pages. "Won't be for long and then my team takes over. Looks like your job is to keep Mycroft and Sherlock off the hound trail as it were. Doesn't look like they have a good relationship with him but given that he's likely a goldmine of secrets on them..."

"Well, we're fucked if Mycroft or Sherlock sees me," she snorted, standing up and heading for the bedroom to start getting prepped. "Last two times that happened, we ended up getting tortured."

"I assure you that won't be happening," he snorted. "Jim and I will keep them busy. Does this mean you'll be living off-site for a while?" He didn't exactly like the idea.

"Most of the time, probably. Maybe not in the beginning. We'll see. I'm going to rent a hotel room tonight, just in case, and get a suitcase in there," she said loudly from the bedroom, already packing. Honestly, she was just a little bit excited to see Ford. She hadn't really had the chance to talk with him for years, and he'd been just about the closest thing to a friend she ever had. A friend with benefits, but still. Who didn't she sleep with.

"Right... well... don't get killed, then," he said, nodding a little and watching as she packed. It was odd. A year ago, if someone had told him he'd miss someone sharing his flat, he'd have told them they were batshit crazy and probably have shot them for good measure.

"I'm generally pretty good at not dying, but I'll try harder, if it makes you feel better," she chuckled, turning to the closet to grab herself some fancier clothes. She had a pretty big suitcase for a reason. As much as she would miss spending her time with Sebastian, it was fun to go on these missions; low risk, a lot of parties, some good old-fashioned lying...

"Right, yeah," he says, nodding a little and walking over to the kitchen to find something to eat. "Then have fun, I suppose."

"Thanks," she called, packing up the rest of her things and heading for the door, before hesitating, and ducking into the kitchen with a smile. "Try not to get too fucked up while I'm gone, huh?"

"When do I ever get fucked up?" he asked with a smirk, leaning against the counter with a banana. "I won't be distracted for a few weeks. Jim'll be thrilled."

"Yeah, I'm sure he will be," she chuckled, then waved and turned, heading for the door. "I'll come back in when I can. See you."

* * *

The party was a little ridiculous. Most of the younger 1% were in attendance, which at least meant she blended in fairly well. The idea of Sherrinford being here, though, as a government agent with secrets worth a few million quid, was even more ridiculous. He'd lived above her own shitty flat at one point, in the bad part of town, and even though he'd always been clean and a little healthier than the rest of the building's tenants, she never would have suspected he came from this. It seemed all of the Holmes brothers had a hunger for justice, or politics, or whatever they might want to call it. At least Ford wasn't a good reader, if he was a reader at all. Lorna smiled, excused herself from a conversation with a particularly boring group of well-dressed frat boys. The quicker she found her mark, the better.

Ford smiled at an old classmate, raising his glass in their direction, before taking a sip and looking around for anyone else he knew. This wasn't his favorite type of party. It was better when the room was small and the good friends were close. But it certainly had its upsides, and he was enjoying himself.

The movement caught her eye, as it was bound to - he was tall, like his detective brother. Handsome, but not as striking, whether you could say it in a good or a bad way. She guessed that might make his job a little easier. Slipping through a small throng of chattering guests, she sidled up to his side, sipping at her champagne with a smirk. "Ford. I never expected to see _you_ here."

He turned to her with a polite smile, searching her face, before his eyes widened. "Lorna!" He let out a laugh. "I could say the same! What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

She grinned. It would be easy to lie to him, even with how well he knew her. In fact, it would only make it easier. "I attached myself to one of these idiots, walked right in. I got bored, you know me. Always looking for something new to do. But I do kinda belong here now," she shrugged, giving the obnoxiously decorated room a slight roll of her eyes. "That's what inheritances are for, right? How have you been?"

"I've been alright," he chuckled. "Travelling, drinking, fucking... You?" He looked her up and down. "You look good..."

"I know I do," she smirked, taking a sip from her glass. "And I've been pretty much doing the same thing. Except now I have money. And I don't live in a place where I have to fight the rats for my breakfast every morning. You look good, too. Even better in that suit. Who knew we could look so _classy?"_

He laughed. "Certainly not me. Used to scorn the suit-wearers, but I'm finding I like it on this side of the playground." He smirked. "How are you liking the party?"

She shrugged. "It's alright, I suppose, as far as these things go. A good portion of the people in here are boring as _hell,_ though, Christ. If I hear one more conversation about Cambridge's unspoken hatred of Oxford I might need to start a fight. You know me. I like my evenings lively."

He snorts slightly into his glass, eyes sparkling with amusement. "I know that feeling. Their noses are so high I can count nostril hairs." He nodded towards the corner. "Why don't we catch up?"

"As long as you're not going to make me look up anybody's nose, sure," she agreed cheerfully, linking her arm through his and starting through the scattered crowd.

"God no. I'm sick of doing it myself." He sat down on a couch, pulling her gently down beside him. "So, unveil for me, Ms. Harrison. How the hell did you get from fighting rats to peering at nostril hairs?"

"Well, the thing about heroin is that rich people like doing it," she quipped, smirking, then rolled her eyes a little. "And don't pretend to be surprised, I know you knew what I was doing when I lived under you. How could you not? Anyway, I'm told I'm really quite pretty. I did a little piggybacking off of some wealthier men to get here, I'll admit it. But look at my _dress,"_ she laughed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Normally she wouldn't be playing so fast and loose with conventions, but Ford was magnetized by the unusual, the out of place. Even if he worked for the government, he couldn't have changed his taste in lovers that much.

He leaned forward slightly, lips parted in a small smile as she spoke. It developed into a smirk as she mentioned that he knew, and he nodded just a little but let her speak.

"I am looking at that dress. I'm not sure I've stopped looking at that dress since I saw you, if we're being honest."

"Oh, we can be honest. I've had about half a flask of whiskey, I think I'm loosened up enough," she said wryly, finishing off her flute of champagne and setting it on a side table absently. "Honestly, probably a little too much, for this crowd. God, there's not even any dancing."

"No, there isn't," he sighed. "You know what? I don't like this party too much anyway. Want to go hunt down some dancing?" he asked with a grin.

"That would be a relief, to be honest," she grinned back, rising to her feet. _God, Ford, could you make it any easier? Jesus._

He laughed, standing and offering her a hand up. "Come on, then. Let's ditch the nose hairs."

* * *

She, of course, got Ford into bed without an issue. Fortunately for her, it was familiar territory for them, so she woke up in a pretty good mood. It was a good start towards getting the information she needed from him. But he wasn't going to offer that shit up just because they were fucking; she was going to have to earn his trust, going to have to make him emotionally dependent on her. If she could win Sebastian Moran's heart, she could win anyone's. This would be simple.

She rolled over, yawning, and buried her face in his bare shoulder. "Y'made me sore. And here I was wondering how much you remembered from the good old days."

He groaned softly, an arm wrapping around her. "I have made it a very high priority to never forget those particular good old days, thank you very much," he sighed, smiling. "I was crushed when I had to leave. I would have packed you if I could have."

"I'm pretty portable, I'm surprised you didn't even try," she chuckled sleepily, stretching a little before relaxing into him. "Where'd you go, anyway? I heard you were off in South Africa or something. That's quite the change."

He shrugged. "I got a job offer I couldn't refuse. I was all over the place for a while. Then shit got sticky as shit is wont to do, and I came back here to get away from it all for a while. So now I'm back."

"Mm. Sounds... a little stuffy, to be honest," she teased lightly, yawning as she sat up, pushing a hand through her hair. "You can tell me about how glad you are to be back in London over breakfast, yeah?"

"Sounds great to me," he said, smirking and sitting up, reaching up to comb his fingers through his hair. "Not sure I commented last night, but this is a nice hotel room you've got here."

"I have very particular tastes, when I can afford them," she hummed, getting out of bed with a bit of a groan. He'd definitely marked her up good. Normally, she didn't really like the thought of getting that carried away with a mark, but Ford was a little bit special. He'd been maybe her first and only good friend, despite how little they'd had in common. "Call room service and order up something unhealthy, will you? I'm going to shower, I need to smell a little less like sex."

"Will do!" he said, saluting cheerfully. "Still a french toast fan?" He reached for the phone, dialing down.

"You bet your ass I am," she called from the bathroom, fiddling with the over-complicated shower controls before finally getting the water on. She was going to need to learn how to use these if she was in this for the long game.

When she came out a few minutes later, he was sifting through breakfast trays. "What do you want? We've got coffee, tea, french toast, a variety of berries for said toast, ham, beans, bacon, cheesy eggs... "

"Christ, Ford, how much are you planning on eating?" she asked with a chuckle, sitting down next to him and grabbing a slice of bacon to munch on. "So, do you have some job to get to, or do I get to have you all to myself for the day?"

"No, no job at the moment, just taking a bit of time off. I've got some savings to burn through before I consider working again." Which wasn't exactly true, but the government contract funding his recovery time was almost the same idea.

"Oh, cool, we can totally abuse room service," she said through a mouthful of toast, leaning over the small table to get the perhaps overly sophisticated-looking menu, scanning over it. "Where you staying? Or did you just get back into town?"

"I've got an apartment down by Leicester Square," he said, starting to make himself a cup of coffee. "It's just small, but I like it."

"Mm. I like small places, too. What the hell am I going to do with space, you know? Get a dog? That would end in tears for everyone," she snorted, waiting until he was done with the pot before pouring herself a mug and drinking it black. On her job, she was used to just trying to get caffeine into her system, not worry about to taste too much. She demolished another slice of toast. "Christ, I can't believe we were both at that party. Fucking crazy, right?"

"Very. My lucky night, though," he said, biting into a strawberry. "It went from the prospect of an incredibly boring evening to spending the night with you. It is a hell of a coincidence, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she agreed, laughing. She was almost genuinely having fun with him. She certainly had last night - he was a good dancer, besides what he knew in bed. It was a shame he had to be related to that prick Mycroft, a shame he'd ended up on this side of the fence. But then, if he had taken the path she had, would he still be the same? Still laugh at her shitty jokes? Still spend the night with her without pulling rank, or putting up walls, or threatening her life? It was hard to say. She wasn't a fucking psychic or anything.

He leaned back against the bed with a handful of berries and a piece of bacon, closing his eyes with a sigh. "So, are you still running that stuff, then? Heroin?"

Sticking as close to the truth as possible would be best, she decided. "No," Lorna shook her head, taking a sip of coffee. "No, I stopped that years back. Got out as soon as I could. Not before I got hooked, though," she snorted, a bit bitterly. "I... drift, now, mostly. I do some odd jobs, when I have a chance. It's easy hopping from rich man to rich man, though. They're always willing to believe any lie I care to tell them. Not exactly a _difficult_ life."

He smirked a little bit and nodded. "That sounds more like the Lorna I know," he sighs. "Fair warning, I am far from rich, so if that's your plan, depart at the next stop." He flashed her a grin around a blackberry.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, I've got enough to coast on for a little while," she smirked, setting her coffee down and heading to her suitcase so she could pull out some clothes. The less he saw of her in the light, the better. She didn't want him getting curious about her scars.

He laughed. "That's the pair of us then, coasting from job to job on savings, doing whatever the hell we want in between, and somehow running into each other all over again."

She shook out a looser spring dress - it wasn't really warm enough for it, but she had coats - and set it on the bed before diving back in for some clean underwear. "Really not too shocking, when you think about it. We were bound to run into each other eventually. We have similar tastes."

"I suppose," he says, nodding a little and sighing, sitting up to take a sip of his coffee. "Can I ask something?"

She glanced back at him as she started to get dressed, raising her eyebrows. "Yeah, sure."

"Look, I've been around the block, we both have. But those scars you've got... what the hell causes that? No offense meant, just honest curiosity."

She looked away, pulling her dress over her head, jaw tight. "You don't want to know, Ford. I wish I didn't know."

He was surprised by that, eyebrows shooting up, but he didn't push. "Hell... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked, none of my business." He was quiet for a minute. "You're okay, though?"

"Mostly," she sighed, sitting on the bed and combing a hand through her hair. She shrugged. "I don't know. I went through some pretty fucked up shit. The memories are starting to fade, but I still get nightmares, once in a blue moon. But I've always been a little fucked up, one way or another. You remember."

"So was I," he reminded her, smiling a bit. "What's the fun of not being fucked up? No one who's normal ever gets movies made about their lives. If we want to be rich on royalties we've got to start somewhere, right?" He set his empty cup aside.

"Oh, no, they're not ever going to make a movie about my life. A _porno,_ maybe," she snickered, rising back to her feet. "C'mon, get dressed. Let's go do something ill-advised."

He smirked, rolling out of bed and heading for the shower. "All I've got is my suit from last night. What kind of ill-advised is this?"

"I don't know. I haven't decided yet. We'll just have to see what's out there, won't we?" she chuckled, beginning to unpack her stuff into the small dresser pushed against the wall.

He got dressed, walking over to pull her around and give her a kiss, hands sliding down her sides, (a subtle check for weapons). "Shall we, then?"

She grinned, slipping her hand into his and starting to tug him towards the door. "Let's."

* * *

It wasn't until two weeks later that she made it back home to Sebastian - Ford was out meeting a friend that she really knew was another government agent, and he wouldn't be back until late at night. She slipped into his flat an hour after texting him a warning, collapsing on the sofa with a huff. She was sore. A good sore, but a sore that Moran probably didn't want to know too much about. Things were going well with Ford, but not well enough. He didn't _trust_ her. He was right not to, but still, it was frustrating.

He heard her come in, and entered from the kitchen, giving her a smile. "Hey there. Almost didn't recognize you in your old age," he snorted, sitting next to her. "The hell took you so long to check in?"

"Ford isn't exactly a real workaholic, right now," she shook her head, leaning back into the sofa with a tired sigh. "And I'm pretty much staying with him, and _I_ don't really have a 'job', so there's just no really getting away. I would have, just couldn't."

"Yeah, yeah, excuses excuses," he sighed, standing up. "Come on, you want something to eat?"

"Yes, please," she agreed, standing up a little stiffly and following him into the kitchen to also sit a little stiffly at the kitchen table. Knowing him, he'd notice, but she was hoping he wouldn't say anything about it. "You and Jim running circles around the elder Holmes brothers? I feel so out of touch."

"Jim's been... recovering, mostly, still. He's frustrated, but he's getting better slowly. Which isn't at all his speed." He pulled out the makings of pad thai, starting the noodles boiling. He'd noticed her stiff movement, and wasn't surprised. Given the amount of time his surveillance indicated she and Sherrinford were spending at one or the other of their rooms, he was shocked she could walk at all. He saw no reason not to rib her a little. "You know, for someone so used to fucking, you'd think you'd walk a little better sore."

She groaned, leaning forward to rest her forehead on the table. "I can't help it," she complained, allow it was with a little bit of laughter. "Normally I wouldn't be, but he remembers how I like it, and _Christ,_ does that start to take a toll after a few too many rounds. I'm exhausted, Moran. Exhausted."

"Sorry you were so starved for good sex," he muttered under his breath, starting to stir together the peanut sauce perhaps a touch to vigorously.

She sat back up, frowning at him. "What? Sebastian you've come maybe like a millimeter away from making me black out from orgasm, okay? I was _certainly_ not starved. Not hungry at all, actually. I did tell you that I really had no interest fucking anybody else outside my job, didn't I? You're not Malcolm, I don't actively lie to you about that shit. This is just work."

"Mhm," he muttered, starting to chop up vegetables. "Well, I'm glad that you can enjoy your work. It's a good thing he remembers how you like it and all," he sneered. "I'd hate for you to be bored."

"What the fuck's wrong with you? This is my job, Sebastian. So I've known Ford since I was a lowly little drug mule. So what? Besides the fact that he's a goddamn government spy, he's a fucking Holmes. This is my _job._ I fuck who I have to. You've never had a problem with this before."

"Who said I had a problem with it? Lay off, Harrison, I'm just screwing with you. Take a fucking joke," he snorted, tossing the vegetables in, irrationally irritable.

She didn't say anything in return, giving him a sidelong glance. She wasn't quite sure she believed him, but she wasn't so used to Ford that she would risk pushing it. "Not a very funny joke," she said finally, thumbing at a scratch on the table. "You need to hang out with Jim less. He's really not a comedian."

He rolled his eyes. "You've been around civilians too long," he snorted, pouring the sauce and the rest of the vegetables in, adding egg, and chicken from the other pan, and started to stir it together. He wasn't sure why he was so angry. Harrison was right. This was normal. It just didn't feel normal. That was all. She'd been gone longer than usual.

He dished out the food onto plates, handing her hers. "Want something to drink?"

"Anything non-alcoholic, if you want to help me avoid liver failure for as long as possible," she sighed, taking her plate with a nod of thanks. She had missed his cooking. Ford wasn't really the cooking type. "Thanks."

He returned with two glasses of grape juice and sat across from her with his own plate, starting to eat quietly.

She was about halfway through her meal before she spoke again, clearing her throat a bit. "It's good to see you."

He glanced up, then nodded a little. "It's good to see you, too. You were gone longer than I thought you would be."

"I didn't mean to be. He's just never busy, and he doesn't fucking trust me at all," she shook her head, sighing into her glass of juice. "He checks me for weapons, thinks I don't notice. I got to come up with something to try and speed this process up a little."

He sat back, sipping at his juice for a moment. Then, "Let him find what he's looking for. Not a weapon, obviously, but something that you're hiding from him. Some connection to someone you didn't want him to see, or a job. Let him think you were worried he wouldn't approve."

She made a little bit of a face as she thought it over, trying to think of something that would work. He couldn't know about her current work, and he knew about her drug days. Eventually she rubbed her eyes. "I can't think of anything. God, I need more sleep..."

He nodded a little. "Finish eating and go to bed. We can discuss it more tomorrow."

She looked mildly uncomfortable. "I... can't. As much as I want to, if I don't get back before he does, he's going to have some questions."

He grit his teeth slightly, but nodded, not letting the emotion carry to his face. "Well, can't make your warden uncomfortable, can we?" he asked, standing and walking over to the counter to get a pencil and paper, sliding it across to her. "Bullet everything you've told him about your past, fact and fiction. Figure out what you could have him 'discover'."

She nodded slightly, picked the pencil up, and spent maybe four minutes on the list. When she finished it ended up looking something like this:

 _Fact_

 _\- Drug mule_

 _\- Criminal parentage_

 _\- Heroin addiction_

 _Fiction_

 _\- Gold digger_

 _\- Traveled for fun_

There were a few things beneath both lists that she had crossed out, because she didn't think they were important enough to mention. "And he's asked about the scars. The beetle ones. I told him he didn't want to know."

He glanced over the list. "Heroin addiction- is that past or present? Same with the drug mule business. Is that over with, or are you still doing it?"

"Past. I knew him during, and I look a lot healthier now than I did then. For both, really. Didn't want to run the risk of him asking for any, either," she muttered, shaking her head.

"Alright, fine," he said, sitting back. "Then here's what you'll do. Stay here tonight. Get back early tomorrow. When he asks where you were, cover, but leave him a bit suspicious. You know the line. Do it a few more times over the coming weeks. When he finally presses you for answers, tell him you're in debt. We'll fix up your accounts. You had to pay some money to a few gangs and now you need money badly. You were going to scam him but you lost heart on it, so you're out fawning over older men and frisking them. You didn't want him to know about all of it. He ends up feeling like the hero and being reassured that you're too taken with him to do anything to him."

She nodded, turning it over in her head for a moment. Ford really did have a bit of a hero complex, it wouldn't be too hard to pull off. Hell, this was right up her alley. "That's good. That will work. He's not going to start leaking secrets or anything, but it's a hell of a good start. And I can sleep here tonight, that's a bonus."

He nodded a little, standing up to clear his mostly empty plate, not quite hungry enough to finish. "There you go. Gives you something to work with at least."

"Thanks. I start getting a little fried, when I'm out in the field so long," she mumbled, standing up after another moment to follow suit, haven't scraped her plate clean a few minutes ago. "I don't see this taking more than another month and a half, though. It's only been two weeks, after all."

"Good. I want him in here and under control as soon as possible," he said, starting to wash up.

She leaned against the counter, stifling a yawn. "God, I hope Mycroft has a heart attack. Fuck him."

He glanced over at her. "Agreed, but any particular motivation to that statement?"

"Motivation? What, you mean besides having us tortured and me raped, or are you asking if I have a new one?" she snorted, then shrugged, a little more mildly. "I don't have a lot of people I actively wish death on, but he's one. Grifting a Holmes reminds me of it a lot. It's good motivation."

He nods just a little, setting the plates aside to dry and starting in on the pans. "Just seemed a bit random. But I understand where you're coming from." He glanced over at her. "Go sleep."

"Yeah, alright," she agreed in a mumble, pushing off from the counter and shuffling into the bedroom, where she stripped down and crawled into bed with a comfortable sigh. His bed just smelled like home, now, and it felt good to be back. Careful not to roll onto any particularly tender bruises, she burrowed into the pillows and slipped into a light doze.

He stayed up a long time after she went to bed, trying to sort his head out. Finally, however, he gave up. He knew it was a job, but it didn't seem to matter. She was enjoying herself. Not in the usual way, not the job, but... her time there. Or she seemed to be anyway. Hell if he really knew.

He climbed into bed a few hours later, shifting possessive arms around her, and fell asleep.


	38. Implosion, Part Four

Playlist: Blink-182 - Even If She Falls

* * *

She woke up in the morning tucked up against him even closer than usual, her face buried in his warm shoulder, legs tangled up with his. She didn't bother shifting, just sighed in contentment. Ford was easy to be around, but Moran just felt good to be around.

He woke a few minutes later when light from the window hit his eyes, and took note of how tangled they were. That was a bit of a balm and he squeezed her just a bit, warm under the blankets and content to keep her close for a few minutes.

She wrapped an arm around his neck, a sleepy noise escaping her. She burrowed further into him. "I can probably stay for breakfast. I'm going to even if I shouldn't."

"Okay," he said, the noise managing to drag a small smile out of him. "Sounds good to me." He wanted her to stay longer. To call Sherrinford and tell him that she was out shopping and would be back later. But that wasn't an option and he had no illusions about his personal whims mattering in the grand scheme of things.

"Cool," she murmured, then sighed, rolling away from him a little reluctantly. "I need to shower. You can come, if you want. I'm stealing your shampoo either way."

"Definitely coming," he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows but sitting up next to her anyway.

She chuckled, sliding out of bed and heading lazily for the bathroom. It was nice to be back in a space that she felt safe in, one she didn't have to worry about having hidden surveillance equipment in it. "So how's Kelly holding up under the weight of my absence?" she asked, loud enough for him to hear.

"Wonderfully. Honestly I'm not even sure why we keep you around," he said sarcastically, standing and following her. "How do you think? He's set less fires than usual, admittedly, but he's too nervous about being in charge to be any good at it."

She snorted, stripping out of the few clothes she'd kept on in bed and turning on the shower. "Yeah, I'm not surprised. I'm a little surprised the building hasn't been burned down in my absence, but his grace under pressure is really just not that good."

"He really does need to work on that if he's going to get to the point of being close to useful in the field," he sighed, stripping down. "Honestly. If you couldn't keep a cool head under pressure you'd been dead so many times over. Same for me."

"No fucking kidding. I have a few people who are actually useful in the field, but none of them can fill out a sheet of paper to save their lives. There's a reason I took over the department so soon after I got here," she rolled her eyes, stepping into the shower with a quiet hiss, and fervently hoped he didn't try to 'joke' about the handprint on her hip, amongst other assorted bruises. She really had to tamp down on that a little. "The paycheck was a nice incentive, though, I'll admit it."

He nodded as he climbed in. "Got to hand it to Jim, he makes it worth the while." His eyes settled on the bruises over her body, and his gut twisted slightly. He was going to enjoy tearing into this weasel once Harrison brought him in. Those were _his_ marks to make, not fucking Sherrinford, and seeing them there felt like a slap to the face. Which under normal circumstances, he would kill over. As it was, he stepped forward slowly, a hand covering the smaller (which gave him a tinge of pride) mark on her hip as he kissed the back of her neck.

She shivered, despite the hot water, and leaned back into him a little. "And I got to start working with you, and look how that ended up. Me in a shower with you. That's got a few perks."

"Just a few?" he teased with a smirk, teeth scraping her skin as his lips moved forward over her shoulder.

"I may or may not have a list, but I don't think right now is the best time to go over it," she murmured, reaching up behind her to slide a hand into his wet hair. "You know my vocabulary starts to suffer when you do that thing with your teeth."

"I know. It really is entertaining," he chuckled, nipping her ear lobe and pressing his body to hers, grinding his hips against her arse just slightly.

She arched back into him, stifling a small sound, just so he didn't think it was that easy. It was, when he did it, but that was besides the point. "I hope _entertaining_ isn't the only word for it."

"No, I think there's a few others," he sighed, biting into his lip for a moment as she pressed into him, smirking and pushing her forward just a little towards the shower wall, his free hand sliding forward across her abdomen and down her thigh.

She scraped her nails across his scalp. God, it felt good to touch him again. Ford was a handsome man, there was no doubt about it, but she didn't want to climb him like a tree like she did Sebastian.

He slid a hand between her thighs, fingers tracing soft skin, the other hand moving from her hip to wrap around her waist, holding her against him as his lips continued to trace her neck, careful for once not to leave marks.

She let out a soft moan that was almost lost in the sound of the shower, rocking back against him, one hand bracing on the wall in front of her, just in case. She didn't want a bloody nose.

He smiled, fingers brushing against her heat slowly, teasing, the arm around her waist loosening slightly, hand sliding up to massage her breasts slowly. He ground against her again and let a soft moan escape near her ear.

"I'm on the pill, you can fuck me," she breathed, shivering again as the sound of his voice sent a pulse of heat through her. His touch always felt like it was going to burn her skin in the mark of his handprint.

"Good, because the alternatives I was thinking through weren't nearly so appealing," he sighed, nipping her ear gently. He slid his fingers into her, exploring and stretching, his other hand sliding up to brush against her throat, pushing her head back enough that he could bite under her jaw.

She gasped, a pleading noise making its way out of her mouth before she could lock it down, grinding back into him in the process of trying to get a little more friction from his hand.

He groaned in her ear as she ground against him, smiling at the noise and letting out a bit of a growl as he let the heel of his palm brush against her clit. He was rock hard. It had been far too long since he'd had her like this, wrapped up in his grip, hot on his fingers.

" _Fuck,"_ she moaned, hand tightening in his hair before she had to let go to let it slap onto the tile beside her other hand, helping to keep herself from toppling over, since her legs felt like they were thinking about just giving up for a little while under his ministrations. " _Sebastian."_

"I missed you," he murmured in her ear. "Missed hearing you saying my name like that..." He hooked his fingers inside of her, pressing into her walls, his hand gripping her neck a bit more firmly, keeping control. "I want to be inside of you so fucking badly..."

She felt like her heart was going to hammer its way out of her chest, if not just fail entirely, need starting to build up in her, urging for more. Ford was good in bed, but Sebastian played her like a fucking instrument, left her a panting mess of want. "Fuck me, then," she gasped, arching further back into him, pushing up onto her toes, ignoring what might be considered safe shower sex. " _God,_ Sebastian, _please."_

She slid upwards against him as she went up on her toes, and he groaned, not wanting to hold back further. He withdrew his fingers, both hands finding her hips. He lifted her just slightly as he lined up with her, his knees a little bent, and pushed into her with a groan of pleasure, pulling her back against him.

She muffled a cry of relief into her shoulder, dragging her nails soundlessly against the wet tiles on the wall before she realized how much she was relying on keeping herself up that way, especially with the way she was up on her toes, trying to accommodate. This wasn't ideal, but fuck if she was complaining, not when he was already filling her up, making her ache in the best possible way.

He held her hips up, giving her a little stability as he immediately began to move, his feet planted wide so as to minimize slippage on the wet shower floor. She was hot and tight around him, her body warm where it pressed against his, and he growled in pleasure as he rocked his hips against hers.

Normally she would have rocked against him as hard as she could, but now as she could do was attempt to stay still, just give him the power. Fuck, had she missed this.

He leaned forward, bracing a hand against the wall over hers, the other still holding her hips to his, the warm water making her skin slick under his as they moved, breath coming in short gasps.

She couldn't keep herself quiet, and, vaguely, hoped she was waking O'Hare up through the wall. This was what they had, and what O'Hare didn't. The thought was gone almost instantly, because Sebastian hit a particularly sensitive spot and she shouted, very nearly losing her footing before bucking back into him.

He swore as she did that, her scream sending fire along his spine. This position was becoming more and more challenging, and finally he pulled away, reaching out to turn her around almost roughly, lifting her in his arms and pushing her back against the shower wall as he slid into her again, eyes on her face as his hips locked with hers.

She adjusted, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, nails drawing pink lines across his skin, and immediately leaned forward to kiss him, with maybe a little more teeth than necessary - she couldn't fucking control herself anymore.

He tasted blood- he wasn't sure whose- as they kissed, and it only served to spur him on, his thrusts driving her just a little further up the wall with each movement, hands gripping her arse firmly, though some part of him had enough presence of mind not to mark her too badly.

She had to break away from kissing him a few moments later, dropping her forehead to his shoulder to gasp for breath, her breath hitching as he started to drive her a little closer.

He shifted the angle he was entering her at, trying to find the spot that had made her scream again, biting into his lip to keep from biting her, grunting with exertion.

He found the spot he was looking for without too much difficulty, and she muffled her cry into the crook of his shoulder as she came, only barely remembering to hold onto him lest she start to fall, fingers scraping at his water-slicked back.

He groaned as she cried out, and kept moving, swearing under his breath as he started to get close. Christ, he'd missed her. Her fingers dug into his back and he arched slightly at the touch. " _Fuck_ -"

She was relieved and a little thankful that he didn't drop her, still clinging to him, letting him wind down on his own time. She might have tried to get her footing, but her legs were telling her they weren't sure they were ready, so she decided not to risk it.

He panted quietly for air as his body slowly relaxed, and gently set Lorna down, still offering support as her knees wobbled slightly. He pressed his forehead to the shower wall beside hers. "Christ, I missed that."

"Me too," she replied, a little winded. "I.. wasn't sure you would."

"Why in hell would you doubt that?" he asked with a smirk, straightening slowly and stepping under the hot water to rinse off.

"You've always been kind of big on the personal space," she shrugged, ducking under after him. "There was a chance you could have considered this a little vacation."

"Yeah, well, you don't count, apparently," he muttered, stepping back and leaning against the tile.

"I'm.. well. I guess we're both a lot of exceptions for the other," she said quietly, turning and grabbing his shampoo, partially because she liked the smell of it, and partially because she needed Ford to notice it.

He nodded a little, barely acknowledging that comment. It was pushing an unspoken line.

She fell silent after that, because she wasn't stupid. She knew better than even look at the walls he had up.

He got out of the shower a few minutes later, drying off and walking back into his room. Lorna's phone was blinking. "Your boyfriend's concerned," he said, not even bothering to check the message.

She sighed, drying off her hair with one hand and sending back an apologetic text about a family emergency with the other. "I should get going before he really gets his panties in a bunch."

"Too much information about his undergarment preferences, not that that's very surprising," he smirked, pulling on an undershirt.

She chuckled, shaking her head as she dropped the phone on the bed and started getting back into her clothes from the night before. "He's into some pretty freaky shit, I don't know if I'd be surprised if that turned out to be one of them. Hey, I'll try to visit again in a few days, yeah? Maybe I can swing this 'I'm in debt' sham by the middle of next week."

"Don't rush it," he warned. "If you blow this, you're screwed. But you know what you're doing." He waved off the conversation and headed into the kitchen to start making breakfast.

She really did. Ford was almost shockingly easy. Their history had made things even smoother than she could have hoped for, despite Ford's constant suspicion. She wandered out into the kitchen a few minutes later, looking just a little rumpled.

He passed her a plate with an omelet and sausage. "If you get in trouble at some point, don't hesitate to call extraction."

She nodded, sitting down at the table. "I won't. I value the state my ass is in far too much to risk it."

"Good. Because I would be exceedingly annoyed at you if you decided to play things risky," he muttered, walking over with his own plate.

"I guess I won't point out that sometimes that's what I have to do, because you made me an omelet and I have an appreciation for the culinary arts," she hummed, already half through said omelet. She flashed him a grin.

" _Exceedingly_ annoyed," he repeated, shooting her a glare, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly upwards.

"I get it, I get it. I'll keep my ass in tip-top shape," she smirked, forking another bite of omelet into her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

"Good," he muttered, starting to eat his own omelet. "If you start laughing I'm going to stab you, also."

She swallowed her bite and then clapped her hand over her mouth, immediately getting out of her chair and trotting out of the room. He could hear muffled laughter coming from the bedroom.

He rolled his eyes, finishing his food and letting her have her laugh. "You'd better go back to your lover soon," he called, rolling his eyes. "He's probably pining."

She came back into the kitchen, wiping her eyes, and wolfed down the rest of her food before nodding. "Yeah, yeah, I should," she agreed, rounding the table to bend down and give him a kiss. "I'll see you in a few days, yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding and swallowing a sigh. "Don't get killed."

"I won't. Seeya," she waved, and in the next moment, was out the door.

He watched the door close, then stood, walking across to the liquor cabinet to pull out a bottle of whiskey. He needed at least a drink before work.

* * *

Lorna slipped back into Ford's apartment 25 minutes later, knocking on the door as she opened. "You uh, you home?"

He stood from the couch as soon as she entered. "Lorna," he said, looking relieved. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm so sorry," she huffed, raking a hand through her hair. "My brother kinda- ugh, he's so stupid, I'm just... Christ, sorry, I really should have said something to you last night, I'm sorry if I worried you."

"No, it's fine, I just got home and you weren't here... That sounds really creepy. I'm sorry." He gave her a small smile. "Do you want something to eat?"

"Oh, my brother just made me an omelet. Thank you, though," she smiled warmly, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek and giving him a one-armed hug. "Now, I really gotta get out of these clothes, I've been wearing them all night."

He nodded a little, taking in her odd smell but figuring she'd probably borrowed her brother's soap. "What happened, anyway? With your brother. It doesn't seem like you to get rattled."

"Someone who he owed money to came around last night," she shook her head, slipping past him towards the bedroom. "He needed my help negotiating for an extension. Eric. Don't know where he got his brains from," she shook her head, ignoring the slight pang she felt. She'd killed him herself, without a thought, to save Sebastian. She didn't regret it, but she mourned the fact that he had been so foolish, so arrogant.

He paused a moment, surprised. "I thought you said you lost your brother?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her retreating back. "Sorry if I'm wrong, I'm sure I'm just confused..."

"Hm? No, I don't think so. You sure it was me?" she shrugged, passing into the bedroom, mentally checking over the things she'd said. She knew that Eric's death had never reached the police, let alone the papers, and she was almost certain that she'd never made such a slip. Had she gotten really drunk one night, or had he done some looking into her?

"Must not have been. Sorry," he said, heading into the kitchen to make himself a bagel. "Glad he's okay."

"Yeah, me too," she called, then came back out a moment later, looking much more put-together. "Really sorry, again, I should have called or something. Not used to having to make sure someone's not worrying."

"It's fine, really. I'm not mad," he said, giving her a smile. "I'm just paranoid."

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't be the first boyfriend," she snorted, leaning against the counter. Then her eyes grew a little wider. "Ah, if that's what this is. I didn't mean to label, it's just, ah- my brother saw you messaging and he jokingly said... Forget about it."

He glanced over at her, surprised, but then smiled. "I could see being your boyfriend. If you were interested in that sort of thing."

She rubbed the back of her neck, looking a little sheepish. "I, um.. could make an exception for you."

He laughed, gave her a broad smile, eyes light. "Well, I am pretty damn exceptional," he said with a wink, turning around as his bagel popped up. "Am I your boyfriend, then? Is there a ceremony for exceptions? Do you have to knight me or anything?"

"Okay, don't push your luck, just take your damn title with grace," she replied curmudgeonly, though she was smiling anyway. "Eat your fucking bagel."

"Does this mean you're my girlfriend or do I have to fill out a form?" he asked innocently, smiling at her as he buttered his bagel.

She lifted up her shirt, showing him his handprint on her hip, and smirked. "You mean that form?"

"Oh, that's right, you already got my fingerprint," he smirked, picking up his bagel and taking a bite, leaning back against the counter. "Seems we're all set then."

"Yeah, we are," she snorted, still looking a little embarrassed. That was one hurdle cleared. Now to start reeling him in.

* * *

A week and a half later, she collapsed on Moran's sofa. Tomorrow she was planning to reveal she was 'in debt', and she needed to stay away for the night. Plus, it was nice to see him, even if he was a little draining.

Moran came in an hour or so later, stiffening as he saw someone on his couch, gun instantly in hand, before relaxing when he saw it was Harrison. "He finally let you out of bed, then?" he smirked, tucking his gun away and stepping inside, shutting the door.

She groaned. "No, he finally let me leave his _sight._ He always has new things he wants to do. Like, taking me places. Not just the bed stuff. Though the taking me places also now involves _taking_ me places, so still no, no beds."

"My my, aren't we the adventurous lovebirds," he snorted. "Next you'll tell me you tried it with the lights on." He headed for the liquor cabinet. "You want a drink?"

"Yes," she replied simply, unsurprised by his lack of sympathy. She wasn't even sure why she told him these things anymore. "Something strong, please."

He returned with the bottle of bourbon he was currently working his way through, pouring them both a glass. "How's the operation going?"

"It's alright. He still doesn't trust me where it counts, which is frustrating, but there's nothing I can do to speed that up," she sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "If tomorrow doesn't loosen him up the rest of the way I don't know what to do. We might have to bring him in early, in some mockup. Make him think I'm getting beat up in the other room, too. Maybe then he'll be willing to spill _something."_

"Then we'll do that. We can be flexible, that isn't a problem," he said. He downed his glass in a few sips and reached out to fill it again, sitting back to take this one more slowly.

She did the same as soon as he put down the bottle. She wanted to get a little tipsy before she went to bed. It usually meant she slept a little more deeply. "How's it going around here? Jim getting back to his old self?"

"Getting there, slowly and angrily," he snorted. "But everything else has been running fine. Kelly is- very slowly- becoming less useless. No fires this week at all, which I think breaks even your record."

She chuckled, sipping from her drink and then resting it on her thigh. "Hey, look. If we do have to do the mockup, don't tear into Ford too bad. He's not a prick like his brothers, he's alright. Just on the wrong side."

He looked up at her sharply, jaw tightening as he scrutinized her expression for a few moments. He sat back, eyes still on her as he took a slow sip of bourbon. "Is that so?" he asked quietly.

She noticed his change in mood immediately. Of course she did; she spent all her time trying to manipulate men into doing what she wanted. But if she backpedaled too much, she thought somehow he would try to spin it against her. "He's just, you know, not fucking terrible," she shrugged, biting the inside of her cheek. "Ah, just forget I said anything, okay?"

"No, no, this is an interesting line of conversation," he said, unmoving except for a slow rubbing of his finger along the rim of his glass. "How easy should I take it? Would you prefer if we just chatted over drinks? Maybe I could take him dancing."

She shifted, a little uncomfortably. "You know that's not what I meant. I mean, you know, not fucking cutting out his tongue or some shit, alright?"

"That would be very unhelpful by way of extracting information," he pointed out dryly, taking a sip of the liquor. "What's his best quality? His eyes? His attention to detail? Does he compliment your shoes?"

She grit her teeth. So he was determined to make this difficult. _It's probably the way he can let shit go._ "Can we talk about something else, or are you set on making this unpleasant?"

"I'm sorry I'm so hard to be around," he snorted, smirking a little. "I'm just surprised. Never thought I'd see the day you plead a case, especially not to me."

She was silent for a good minute, a muscle in her jaw jumping as she tried to think of a way to resolve this without blood being spilled. Because he was fucking right; he was hard to be around, he was hard to talk to, even at the best of times. Finally, she set her glass on the table and stood, looking down at him with thinly veiled anger. "I said, forget that I said anything. I'll just sleep in my flat tonight. Goodnight, Moran," she said coldly, and turned for the door. If he tried to stop her she wasn't sure she could keep herself from hitting him.

"Why bother staying here at all?" he asked as she turned away. "No need to sell him a lie. You're head over heels. Here I was worried he wouldn't trust you, but low and behold. Go back to him. I'm sure no one will mind if you play this one a little longer so you can protect your precious Sherry."

She turned back to him, not bothering to hide her anger anymore, grinding her teeth together until it hurt. "What the fuck do you want from me? _What?_ Because god forbid you _tell_ me, right? Would that just be too _easy_ for you, fucking speaking your mind instead of this sarcastic shit you throw at me every time you have some problem that isn't immediately resolved with rank?" she hissed, barely keeping herself from raising her voice, hands curled into fists at her side. "What do you _fucking want?"_

He set his drink aside, standing slowly, looking down at her. "Speaking of rank," he said calmly, coldly. "It would be inadvisable for you not to repeat that little display. And what I want, Harrison, is for you to do your job, without getting emotionally invested, and without attempting to dictate how I run my operation because you enjoy sucking the mark's dick. Are we clear?"

She let out a harsh laugh, putting her hands on her hips and looking up at the ceiling for a moment, shaking her head. "And there you go, fucking doing it again," she snapped, not an ounce of humor left in her voice. "What the fuck are you going to do to me, at this point, Moran? Are you going to kill me? Because you already _tried,"_ she spat, jutting her chin up so he could see the thin scars that crossed her throat. "Are you going to call this, whatever the _fuck_ this is, off? You and I both know that no matter what the fuck you do to me I'll come crawling back in two months, and because you like how I _suck dick,_ you're going to take me back. We're fucking stuck like this. So pull your fucking head out of your ass and let me know what the hell you want from me, because obviously this isn't it. Doing my _job_ isn't it."

"You aren't doing your job," he said, eyes cold, anger thrumming loud just below the surface, straightening his body, tensing muscles, ready to strike. "You're compromised. You care about him."

"Yeah, I do," she replied harshly, "I do. He's the only friend I've ever fucking had. I knew him during the same time DeWitt was singlehandedly turning me into the thing you see before you today. I don't know if I would have made it through that period of my life without Ford there, keeping me grounded. So I care, okay? I care. But that doesn't mean I'm not doing my job. I know that what I'm doing is going to do will hurt him, and do you see me slowing down? I am fucking speeding _up. YOU_ told me to slow down. I want this job to be over, Sebastian. I want it to be behind me. Because I care about him and because I care about _you, arsehole_ that you are."

"I dare you," he said suddenly, firmly, eyes lighting up a little with angry, malicious excitement. "I dare you to tell me _exactly_ the extent of your feelings for him." He had no doubt of what she was going to respond, and it was so vindicating to finally have her.

She opened her mouth and shut a few times before she could work out any words. When she finally spoke, all the anger had drained out of her, and she was quiet, and tired. "I think if things had ended up differently, I could have loved him. But I don't. I'm not delusional. If he knew who I really was, what I was really doing, he'd put me away without a second thought." She let out a long sigh, shaking her head just a little. "Sebastian, I... Christ. I love _you,_ you fucking moron."

It was only years of training that kept his face expressionless. He blinked once, taking in her expression, his breaths slow, even.

 _Fuck._

That was the first word that came to mind, and it seemed appropriate. He was in so much deeper than he'd imagined. Jealousy was one thing, but this threw everything to the complete opposite end of the court.

"Get out." His voice was as expressionless as his face.

She turned and left immediately, wordlessly, with no hesitation, not even hurt or surprised. She'd known as soon as the words had left her mouth that this would happen, but the alternative had seemed just so much worse. He'd pushed her to this. She crossed the hall and slipped back into her apartment, and started getting ready for bed.

He stood where he was for a moment, before walking over to the couch and picking up the bottle of bourbon, foregoing the glass as he took a long sip. He didn't have to report in for almost ten hours. That was plenty of time to get completely shit-faced and sleep most of it off. He'd found in the last month that he worked better on a slight buzz anyway.

* * *

Playlist: Miiike Snow - Genghis Khan

Fall Out Boy - HOLD ME TIGHT OR DON'T


	39. Everybody Hates Fire

The next morning, Lorna entered back into Ford's flat, looking and feeling worn out. Sleep had been surprisingly hard to come by with no warm body next to her. She was a little surprised to see him waiting for her, sitting on the living room sofa, resting his elbows on his legs. "Hi, Ford."

"Where were you last night?" he asked tiredly, skipping the foreplay. "This is the third time in two weeks you've been just... gone."

Lorna sighed, leaning back against his door. She took a deep breath. "I.. I was trying to get about 400 quid off this guy... I don't know what his name was, I just.. needed the money."

He frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "What do you mean? What guy? Why do you need money?"

"I'm.. pretty deep in debt," she breathed, raising a hand to rub at the circles under her eyes. "I've been trying to get out of it, I- I rob rich guys, you know? The morning after? I... fuck, I was going to try and do it to you, Ford, but I just.. I couldn't."

Things were starting to click into place. "Your brother didn't have a problem," he sighed, nodding a little. He wanted to be angry at her- she'd just admitted to trying to con him- but something held him back, and he sighed again. "Come here."

She nodded, walking over and crawling into his lap, like she did with Sebastian. She forced that thought from her head. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, curling her fingers into his shirt. "I didn't want you to know."

He held her close, taking a slow breath. "I'm angry," he said quietly. "Or I'm trying to be, but not really, I suppose..." He shifted a little so that she was settled more comfortably, holding her against his chest. "I wish you had just told me."

She let out a bit of a broken laugh. "I didn't know how to tell you. How are you supposed to bring that kind of thing up? I'm so sorry, Ford. I fucked up."

He didn't say anything for a while. "Who are you indebted to?" he asked finally, voice soft.

"Lots of people," she shook her head. "I.. have a list, somewhere. I've never been very good at managing money."

He sighed. "Are you in trouble?" he asked quietly, hand rubbing slow circles into her back as he held her.

"I will be very soon if I don't get the money I need," she mumbled, curling her fingers into his shirt.

He closed his eyes, held her a bit more tightly. "How much do you need?"

"Almost nine grand," she whispered, as if afraid to say it any louder.

" _Jesus_..." he breathed, letting his head fall back. "That isn't a few wallet grabs, Lorna, that's a fucking bank heist!"

"I've... I've actually made quite a dent," she cleared her throat, shrinking down a little. "It's just... finding the right wallets."

"How much did you owe before?" he asked, eyes still shut, taking it in.

She cleared her throat again, shifting a little. "...Fifteen."

He didn't respond for a few minutes, taking a few breaths. "Okay. Okay, well, you've made progress, that's good... How the hell did you get this far under?"

She'd given a lot of thought to this answer, of finding something that would elicit only sympathy from him. "I had to pay off a lot of people to get out of the drug hauling. They... they don't want you to walk away, once you're in there, you know?"

He took a long, slow breath. "Okay, then," he said quietly. "Then I'll help. We'll figure this out."

She let out a long, shaky breath. "Alright. Thank you," she whispered, and leaned back a little to press a kiss to his cheek.

He nodded just a little. "Of course. I understand that this must be a frightening position to be in... I want to help."

She nodded, swallowing audibly. There. Now he had what he'd been looking for - the thing she'd been 'hiding' from him. The rest of it shouldn't be too difficult, and she wouldn't have to see Moran until the mockup. She sighed. That would not be fun.

He just held her close for a while, slowly relaxing, his suspicions eased. "When do you need the money by?"

"A few months from now," she replied. That meant that he wouldn't be in a rush, and she would be done with this job far before then.

"Okay," he says quietly, nodding. "We'll figure it out. I promise. You'll be okay."

"I know," she smiled slightly.

* * *

Two weeks later they were snatched off the street. She'd tried pushing a little, tried getting him to give up something about his work, about the people he went off to meet, but he was like a rock. She needed the extra push, despite the fact that it meant she would have to see Moran again.

Ford struggled against whoever it was that had him, trying to get the bag off of his head. There was someone struggling beside him. "Lorna?" he asked, kicking out at whoever held him and earning a muffled swear and a sharp blow to the head. He reeled slightly.

"Yeah, I'm here," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. They'd put on her restraints a little more loosely, had only put on the bag after she nodded. They knew better than to rough her up too much, not until she gave the say so, or until they really needed to sell it.

He grunted as they were both shoved roughly into a van, his shoulder ramming into something as he stumbled blindly. "Are you okay?!"

She huffed as Johnson picked her up and set her down a little hard, jostling into Ford's side as the van door was slid shut.

"Lorna, are you alright?" he repeated, keeping his voice calm. This wasn't the first time he'd been abducted, but he was edgy that she was being taken as well.

"I'm not hurt," she shook her head, purposely making her voice crack with fear. It was a little tiring, but she wouldn't have to keep it up long.

"Hey, hey, it's going to be okay," he said, shifting enough that his shoulder could rub against hers, the best he could do when his arms were tied. "Did you recognize anyone?"

"No," she shook her head, just so he could hear the rustle of burlap. Johnson, from his spot on the other side of the van, kicked Ford's leg.

"Shut up."

He did, in no mood to antagonize anyone.

* * *

Moran was waiting in the garage as the van pulled in, arms behind his back, eyes cold, waiting. He'd been even more of an emotionless robot than usual lately. He was giving Jim a run for his money.

They were unloaded with little ceremony. Ford was immediately dragged off, though he was saying her name, asking where she was. Johnson let her get her footing, and unbagged her before letting her out of her restraints. She met Moran's gaze for a moment without flinching, then rolled her shoulders, sighing. "Alright. Get it over with, then. Try not to break anything."

He stared at her for a moment calmly, then nodded, drew back a fist, and let fly, catching her across the face with no restraint, hitting her so hard she fell a few steps backwards and landed on her ass and elbows. There was a startled stir among the crew, and those that had remained quickly trickled away at the look in Sebastian's eye.

She groaned, laying back on the floor for a moment just to try and let the stunned feeling pass, and then she sat up, letting out a long breath. "Thanks. That should look spectacular in a few hours."

"Probably. Let me know if you want more. Happy to help." His voice was neutral.

"Aren't you a joy to be around," she muttered, rolling her eyes as she stood and dusted herself off. Without another word she turned and made for the elevator. She really didn't want to keep talking to him.

"Harrison," he called sharply. "Did I miss myself dismissing you? Give me a report of what I'm walking into down there. Weaknesses, strengths, triggers, and what the hell he thinks about you at the moment."

"He has a big fear of fire, and losing extremities. He won't respond to threats about family, financial issues, or simple beating. He's got a weak spot about reputation, probably has to do with his brother. Right now he's not suspicious about me, thinks I'm really his girlfriend. Nothing exciting."

He nods just a little. "I'm not going to take it easy on him, Harrison," he said, walking forward. "Are we going to have a problem?"

She met his eyes with a dry expression, though she felt like slapping the shit out of him. Really? He was really questioning her, after that night two weeks ago? That was insulting. "You can kill him, for all the fucks I give."

"I'm probably going to have to," he said levelly. "I was just checking in. I know he's a friend." He gave no special emphasis to the word, his manner not quite as stiff.

"I killed my own brother, Moran, I'll remind you," she snorted, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't care anymore. It's too much energy."

He nodded just a little. "Fine. Then let's get to work." He headed for the elevator. "If we need to make you look any worse we'll tie him up so he can't touch you and your makeup department can handle the rest."

"Alright," she agreed evenly, stepping in behind him. There was a time when she would have fled for the staircase, but now it just didn't seem worth it anymore.

He hit the button to descend to the cell block. After a moment he said "I'm glad you're back safe." He didn't look at her, but his tone wasn't rough, either.

She cleared her throat, shrugging a little. She didn't look at him either. "There was really no way for it to go wrong. The debt play was a good call. He fell so hard it was like he tumbled down a flight of concrete stairs."

He smirked just a little bit. "I wish I could have seen that. It's always fun to watch their well-placed suspicions traipse out the nearest window."

She snorted. "Probably a little bit too sappy for your tastes. It was like a Spanish novella in there."

He laughed, shaking his head a little. "You're probably right. I despise dramatics."

She held back the _And yet you have no issues going into a jealous rage and then completely shutting down, but that's none of my business,_ and just shook her head. "Believe me, I know. What do you want me down in the cellblock for?"

"We might need to show you off a few times to get him talking. I'm not sure. If we don't need you within the hour I'll let you go do whatever."

"Cool," she said, gently touching the beginnings of the swelling on her cheek. "I'll probably drink myself into a stupor."

He shook his head. "I need you sober in case I need you to come in. You can get drunk after we kill him."

She sniffed slightly. "Speak for yourself. You smell like a liquor store. But alright."

"I do not," he muttered, casting a glare in her direction. "Besides. I'm torturing. That doesn't require full dexterity. Acting does."

"Maybe for you it does. I've been acting for two weeks nonstop while drinking hard liquor. I'm a goddamn professional," she snorted, stepping out as the elevator finally dinged and opened up. "I'm going to have maintenance look at this thing. I feel like it's slowed to a crawl," she said under her breath.

He nodded in agreement. "It's not a matter of your acting ability. It's a matter of you coming in from supposedly being tortured smelling like, as you so aptly put it, a liquor store." He headed down the hall.

She walked with him - he hadn't told her to go anywhere else - and sighed. "Half this building smells like a liquor store, but whatever. Just let me know when his heart stops beating so I can do what I want to."

He nodded in agreement. "Do what you want for now. Just stay in the area for an hour or so and keep off hard stuff."

She nodded and peeled off at the next hallway, heading for the lounge most of the cleaning folks hung around in. They didn't mind if she smoked there.

He walked down to the cell where Ford was holed up, and pushed the door open. "Sherrinford Holmes. Glad we've finally got our hands on you."

Some part of him was relieved. So this wasn't about Lorna, after all. The rest of him was very concerned. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"Well, you're an interesting man," he says, walking forward and lighting a cigarette as he did so, taking a slow drag. He wasn't one to smoke except for fun, but this certainly would be. "Interesting family; bit of a black sheep there, but you've gotten involved in their messes anyway, haven't you?"

He grimaced at the cigarette smoke. He hated them; mostly because his brothers were such heavy smokers themselves. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, glaring up at the man, wondering where he'd seen him before. A picture, maybe?

"You might not, but I do. Two years in Pakistan, another year and a half in Afghanistan, some time bouncing from country to country faster than an announcer at the Olympics... quite the track record." He noticed the wince and walked over to where the man was tied to a chair, blowing a stream of smoke in his face.

He coughed, and would have waved a hand in front of his face if he'd had his hands free. "So I fucking travel? If you've seen the family I come from you know that's not exactly _unbelievable,_ we're an adventurous sort. Where is Lorna? She's got nothing to do with this."

"Why, are you worried about her?" he asked with a broad smirk, making no move to redirect the smoke he was exuding. "And it's not so much travel as reconnaissance, wouldn't you say?"

Ford stopped playing dumb. There was too much risk to keep going along that path. His gaze hardened a little, sweeping up and down the man in front of him. "You're Sebastian Moran, aren't you? I've seen your picture. You looked better in it than you do now. What happened to your face?"

"My employer wasn't impressed with my performance. That's how we do things here. If you perform up to expectations, you don't get hurt. If you're a sassy little shit..." He pressed his cigarette slowly into Ford's arm. "You get scars."

He shouted in pain, arms jerking in the restraints. Already he was thinking about what he could give up - after all, how many of those secrets were really his? How many did he really have to protect? " _Fuck._ Let Lorna go."

"I'm thinking no," he snorted, keeping the cigarette pressed where it was, watching it slowly smoke as it cooled. "She's really very pretty, I get what you see in her. I might have to try it out."

"Don't you fucking touch her," he gritted out, muscles clenched to keep himself from moving and making the burn on his arm worse. "Don't you fucking dare."

"I bet she feels good," he smirked, grinding the butt of the fag into Ford's arm slowly. "Maybe I'll let you watch."

"She'll claw your fucking eyes out," Ford snarled, eyes blazing with fury and pain. "Don't even fucking _look_ at her, you fuckwit."

"Not if she's tied up," he said with a shrug. "Which she currently is. And bruising nicely. We had a bit of a chat before this. She's worried about you. But I told her she didn't have to worry, because you're going to be smart. Right, Ford?"

Ford spat in his face. He'd gotten the more emotional end of the stick than his brothers had, and occasionally it made him do irrational, stupid things. " _Fuck you._ You won't get jack _shit_ from me, threatening her."

He stood, wiping his face off and tossing the butt of the cigarette into Ford's lap. "Fine," he said, smiling. "Why don't I go talk with her for a while, then?" he headed for the door.

"I fucking _mean it._ Leave her out of this!" he yelled through his teeth, jaw clenched in fury. He'd gotten the stubborn streak, too.

"Alright, fine, for now I will," he sighed, walking over with a smile and pulling out a box of matches, starting to stick them under Ford's strapped-down arm so that about half of them remained out in open air. "Why don't you tell me what you were doing in Afghanistan, Ford?"

He sucked in a breath. He'd gotten what he'd wanted for now, he could relent, he could avoid some of that fucking fire. "Deep cover missions. Infiltrating the fringes of a criminal network."

"What criminal network?" he asked, not faltering. That information was hardly specific enough to be useful, and they both knew it. He placed his eighth and final match for the time being, pulling out one more and inspecting it for a moment before striking it.

"Some asshole named Keenan Mallory headed it," he said, a little hurriedly, eyes on the match, wide and fearful. "Runs it out of New York."

"And what was your mission there?" he asked, watching as the match burned slowly down, bringing it over to the first match under Ford's arm. "Details, please. This is getting boring."

"I had to gather information, get up as far as I could, see what they had on our government, if we needed to send in somebody to take care of them or if we could let them operate, within reasonable bounds," Ford rattled off, staring down at the little flame as it slowly approached his skin. "They're mostly harmless to the government, but they had a lot on other networks, like they were planning a takeover, or some hostile move, I don't know. Put it out. Put it out!"

He let it sit there for a little longer, just a breath away from lighting the first match, but let it burn out. He reached for another one. "Good. See? If you just keep answering like that I think we're going to get along well."

* * *

Ford did not have a fun next few hours. He gave up a lot about his brothers, about their childhood habits, their likes and dislikes. He gave up everything on his brothers. But he held onto the secret he'd been entrusted with. Moran could sense he was holding something back, but he couldn't give it up. He couldn't.

Moran watched as the remaining hair slowly curled and burned off of Ford's arm before letting the lighter close with a sigh. "I feel like we aren't connecting anymore, Ford. Communication is important in any relationship, as I'm sure you know."

"Fuck off," he said tiredly, shaking his head. His arm throbbed with the pain that only burns could bring.

"You know what?" he said, smiling and nodding a bit. "I think I will. I'm a bit pent up. But I think a little solid fucking is exactly what I need. I'll be back in a bit, Ford. Take a breather. I hope we aren't too loud," he said with a smile, heading for the door.

He grit his teeth, biting into the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He couldn't say anything. He couldn't give this up. This was so much bigger than him or Lorna. _Christ, Lorna, I am so sorry._

He laughed a little as he walked out into the hall, closing the door behind him and reaching up to tap his earpiece. "Someone get Harrison down here."

She showed up a few minutes later, pulling off the hoodie she'd grabbed since arriving and dropping it outside the door, raising her eyebrows at him expectantly. "What do you need me to do?"

"I've just threatened that I'm going to fuck you," he said calmly, eyes on her, gauging her reaction. "He's holding out on something big. I need it. The best option would be to bring you in there and threaten to do it in front of him, but I don't want to make you act that out if it's something that's going to bother you. So that's your call."

She stiffened just a little, maybe going just a little pale. "What if he still doesn't talk?"

He nodded just slightly at that. "Good point. I don't want to have to follow through on that. In that case, go make yourself look appropriately bedraggled. He's tied up, he won't be able to touch you. Have fun with it, alright?" He tried to keep his voice calm, reasonable. "We'll go from there."

"Fun, right," she muttered, turning away with a rolling sensation in her stomach. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Unzip your trousers or something."

He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder before she could walk away, though he dropped it as soon as she stopped. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have suggested that. Let's just get through this, I'll touch you as little as possible."

She half-turned back to him, rubbing her eyes with a deep sigh. "You're not going to be the problem, Moran. I'm just going to have to put myself in that mindset. I have to go upstairs and remember how I put myself back together before he stuck me back in the cell," she shook her head. "Look, just, do what you have to. I've been for weeks, this isn't that much different."

He nods just a little, sighing and stepping back. "Okay. Let's do this, then."

She turned away again without another word and disappeared down the hall. Six minutes later she was back, looking appropriately wrecked, several new bruises brushed onto her skin, a rip in her shirt that hadn't been there before. "Alright. Let's make this quick."

He nodded in agreement. His shirt was untucked, now, trousers left undone, part of his slightly-longer-than-military cut sticking up. "Scratch my face," he said, after giving her a look-over.

She shook her head, reaching up to make his hair a little flatter. "No. Why would I have had my hands free? We have plenty of muscle in this place who would have held me down for you," she said expressionlessly, dropping her hands. "Let's go, okay?"

He hesitated, but nodded a little, reaching out to take her arm roughly. It took him a moment to get his heart into it. It felt so wrong and he was beginning to regret ever using this as a threat, however effective.

He focused on getting his revenge on Ford, and managed to let out a laugh. "Come on, you little cunt, let's not keep your boyfriend waiting," he said, loudly enough to be heard through the door, though he opened it a second later, shoving her inside.

She took what looked like a bad fall, though she had an annoyingly high amount of practice stunt falling, so it was painless, and immediately turned on the waterworks, sobbing as she curled her legs underneath herself, bent over on the floor. " _Ford."_

"Lorna," he breathed, shocked, before he immediately started struggling, fighting against the restraints. "Let her go!" he shouted angrily at Moran. "You fucking bastard! Let her go!"

"Oh, I will," Moran said, smiling and walking forward to toe Harrison's side. "As soon as you tell me what I want to know."

"Ford, _please,"_ she said brokenly, another ragged sob heaving through her. "What's _happening?_ Please, please, just-" she melted into another wave of crying, letting Moran take over.

He knelt down, carding his fingers through her hair, smiling. "Come on, Ford, what do you think. Should I have another go at her?"

" _No,_ no," Ford said in a rush, pulling futilely against his restraints again, then he hung his head, letting out a pained breath. "I'll... I'll fucking tell you, alright? Just leave her alone. There's- there's an op building to take out a good number of the bigger networks, this one particularly. Moriarty's. My brothers really, really don't like your boss. They're trying to coincide the time with the push the other network is doing. There's a mole in here, I know. I don't know his name. He's recent, that's all I know. Let her go. Please let her go."

He smiled as the fountain was opened. "What are the details of Moriarty's operation?" he asked, bending down to pull Harrison's head back, stroking a finger along her neck.

"I don't know shit about Moriarty. Never was assigned here. Just leave her alone. Please. Please."

He considered him for a moment, then smirked. "What do you think, Lorna, should I let you go?" he asked, releasing her hair and offering her a hand up, tone playful.

"I think you owe me a stiff drink," she snorted, the tears gone, and took his hand, hauling herself to her feet. She started wiping at the fake bruises, grimacing. "Sorry, Ford. Nothing personal."

"I... What?" Ford asked meekly, not quite piecing it together yet, confusion all over his face.

"I think that's a fair assessment. I've still got some of that scotch Jim gave me. You want to come over once I've finished here?"

"If I'm not still barred," she rolled her eyes, running a hand through her hair to calm it a little. She ignored Ford, who was looking like a cog had fallen out of his head. "If I am, I'm going to need my clothes back. Some of those are expensive as hell."

"You weren't ever barred," he said, snorting. "I needed a few minutes to- you know what, we can talk about that later. Would I be inviting you if you were barred? No."

"Lorna..." Ford said quietly, starting to make sense of things, the reality of it settling into his expression. "The whole time?"

She turned to Ford, sighing. "Yeah. I'm sorry, Ford. but... a job is a job. You should know that." She made a bit of a face at him. "By the way, little pissed that you could deal with me being raped in another room but doing it in front of you was what broke you. Nice. That's not weak, or anything."

He swallowed, but didn't respond, looking away.

Moran stepped forward, pulling his knife. "Alright, well, I'm going to have a little fun and clean up. I'll see you upstairs soon?" he asked, looking over to Harrison as Ford paled.

"If you take too long I'm going to break into the scotch without you," she warned, turning for the door without another look back.

"Fair enough," he said, smirking and turning back to Ford. "Alright. Now I get to have a little fun. And trust me, I've been looking forward to it."


	40. Amends

An hour later he showered off before heading upstairs, leaving cleanup to deal with the body. It hadn't quite been long enough, but he didn't want to keep Harrison waiting too long, so he'd compromised.

She'd showered and changed into some decent clothes, and was on the couch holding an open bottle of bourbon in one hand and a cold compress held to her face in the other. "You satisfied now?"

"Enough," he said, shutting the door behind him and walking over to the cabinet to get the scotch. "How are you holding up?"

She shrugged. "I'll be alright. Not the best day ever, but not the worst. I'll be better when I have some scotch."

He nodded, walking over to sit next to her and pouring a glass for them both, leaving the bottle on the table. He sat back. "I'm sorry about all of that. I didn't think."

She leaned forward to set the bourbon down and exchange it for the glass of scotch. "It's alright. It worked, didn't it? I saw the matches. He really hated fire. If that wasn't doing it, there wasn't much that would."

He nodded. "I was having fun with that. It's rare I get so much for so little." He took a sip of scotch, enjoying it.

"Ford was never real big on the pain," she snorted, shaking her head and downing a good portion of the beverage. She'd had a stressful day, and it likely wasn't over yet. It was a little disarming to have him so friendly again.

He smirked just a little. His buzz had worn off hours ago and he was eager to get back to cruising altitude. "So... you're back."

"You've got a real good grasp of the obvious. Anyone ever told you that?" she raised her eyebrows slightly. She just couldn't relax with him yet. Christ, after what he'd pushed her into saying, she was surprised she was even in his flat at all.

He snorted and rolled his eyes, but didn't comment otherwise. He wasn't sure what to say. Finally he decided to suck it up and go for the obvious. "What you said. That could get us both into a lot of trouble."

She sipped at her scotch. "Why do you think I was keeping it to myself?"

"Fair enough. I forced you into it." He had no problem admitting that, it was the truth. He tossed back the rest of his scotch, deciding he was definitely not drunk enough for where this conversation was heading. "It took me by surprise."

"Why? Because you expected me to say I was in love with a fucking mark?" she sighed, glad the compress was on the side of her face closest to him, because it gave her an excuse not to try and look at him. "Look, we don't have to talk about this. I don't see any reason to."

"I..." He paused, considered his drink. What was he _doing_? Expressing his feelings? Yeah, right. Good one, Moran. "That's fine then." He took another long sip.

She was silent for a little while, though she knocked back two glasses in a row. She always gave him an out when it came to this shit. The alternative just felt worse.

He was pleasantly warm a few glasses later, and the silence was becoming incredibly uncomfortable. He stared at his glass, watching it swirl around. "I don't mind trouble."

She glanced over at him, set the cold compress down in her lap with a slow sigh. It felt like her chest was attempting to crack open. She nodded, silent only because she didn't feel like she could get any words out. Why was she so mute all of the sudden? Wasn't this good news? Maybe she just didn't know how to cope with good things coming from him.

He looked her way when she didn't respond, and the look on her face wasn't encouraging. "Sorry, shouldn't have said that," he muttered, knocking back the rest of his glass and standing up. "I'm just drunk. I think I'm going to..." He motioned towards the bedroom and headed that way.

"Sebastian, wait," she got out, finally, though it was a little weaker than she would have liked it. "Look, I... I'm just... not sure how to deal with this. I just expect the worst from you, you know? I know it's not really fair, but the majority of our relationship, working or otherwise, it's.. it's been the safest bet. I'm not equipped to handle good news from you. I'm sorry. It's... just been a bit of a rough day."

He paused when she asked, leaning against the wall, listening. "I know," he said when she finished. "It's been a long day for you. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"We were going to have to talk about it eventually," she shook her head, downing the rest of her scotch and standing, feeling a little small. She rubbed her eyes. "I just want to go to bed, honestly."

He nodded just a little. "Do you want to stay here?" he asked, his voice completely neutral. _Please stay_.

"Yes," she whispered, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "If that's okay."

"Yeah, it's fine," he said a bit too quickly, heading for his room then, starting to get changed.

She followed him in silence, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible as she changed into sleeping clothes and slipped into her usual side of bed. It was strange to be back, strange knowing she wouldn't have to leave in the morning. A good kind of strange.

He used the bathroom and then came back, turning out the lights and climbing in on his side. He hesitated a moment, but damn if he hadn't missed her, and finally he rolled over and wrapped himself around her.

She curled into him, enormously glad to have this again. "I missed you," she said quietly, into his chest.

He held her a little tighter, and sighed. "I missed you, too," he admitted quietly.

She curled into him a little more, wrapping an arm around him and letting out a slightly shuddering breath. "I didn't know if you were going to call this off."

"I didn't know either," he grumbled. "You can't just spring things like that on me, Harrison. I'm getting old. My heart's just going to give out on me someday and it's going to be all your fault."

She smiled in the dark. "To be fair, I did tell you right after you nearly got yourself killed, because I was upset and emotional, but you forgot it. And you don't look old, so shut up."

"Was that when I was high as a kite?" he asked, smirking a little. "If so, then you really need to work on your timing."

"It was part of a death threat, I wasn't exactly thinking any of it through," she chuckled, burrowing into him a little more, just because she was happy to be able to again. "So... how much of what you did to Ford after I left was because he left marks on me? Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"That must have been an interesting death threat," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her question. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said with a smirk, a hand shifting to cover her hip.

"Sure you don't," she snickered, shifting to place a chaste kiss on his throat. "You can be possessive all you like, long as you don't force me into confessing feelings again."

"To be fair, my exact phrasing was 'feelings about him'. You were under no obligation to say anything about me," he snorted.

She rolled her eyes, despite the fact that there was no way he could tell. "How else were you going to let it go, let alone believe me? You are a stubborn man, Moran."

He nodded proudly. "That I am, Lorna. And damn proud of it." He kissed the top of her head. "Now shut up and get some sleep."

"Yeah, yeah, alright," she mumbled, letting out a long, content sigh. Within the minute she was fast asleep.

He fell asleep shortly afterwards.

* * *

His alarm went off way too early, and he groaned, fumbling around to shut it up, but dragged himself out of bed, head pounding. He grumbled, heading off towards the bathroom.

She shifted, confused for a moment as to why Ford had an alarm clock. That thought jolted her awake. _God, don't fucking say that in front of Sebastian._ She sighed, and started to wriggle out of bed. _Coffee._

He brushed his teeth, showered, and shaved before heading out into the living room. He glanced at the bottle of scotch on his way to the kitchen, before walking over to take a few sips from the bottle to take the edge off his hangover. Then set it down and walked into the kitchen to find something for breakfast.

She was standing over the toaster with a cup of coffee, looking like she'd been smacked in the face with a bowling ball the day before. The most she could ask for out of her day would be that Kelly didn't aggravate her headache. It was a lot to ask, she knew.

He glanced her way, wincing a little at the bruising. "Sorry. That was probably a bit excessive," he grunted, pulling out a box of cereal.

She shrugged. "S'fine. Nothing I haven't dealt with before. I'll just take a few aspirin or something," she yawned, jumping a little as the toast popped up. She always did. "I might just take the day off. Kelly doesn't need to know I'm back."

"Fair enough," he said, shrugging and walking over to pour a bowl of cereal. He grabbed the milk out of the fridge.

She gingerly put her hot toast on a plate and set it down at the table before capping the scotch on the counter, glancing at him skeptically. "Did you just drink out of this?"

He glanced up, taking a bite of cereal. "Nope. Must've left it there last night," he shrugged.

"It's a good thing you don't have cats, leaving it here uncapped," she snorted, disappearing briefly to put it away in the liquor cabinet before returned and sitting to eat her breakfast.

He gave a non-committal grunt, mouth full of cereal. A few moments later he stood, dumping his bowl in the sink and walking off to get dressed. He glanced at the cabinet as he passed, but didn't touch it.

Lorna watched him from the corner of her eye. He seemed just a little off. Why had he smelled like liquor the other day? "I'll see you later?"

"Yup," he called from where he was getting dressed. He straightened his tie, heading for the door. "I'll see you then."

She sighed as the door shut behind him, eating her toast in silence. She needed to get back into the swing of things by the end of the day or it was going to smack her in the face a bit like Moran had yesterday.

The flask in his pocket was far lighter than usual, but he hadn't been able to fill it when Harrison was there, guarding the cabinet (whether she knew it or not). This was going to require some creativity. As a result, however, he was in an even fouler mood than usual, rooting out any stumblings, waiting for a call from his mostly-silent employer. It had been a while since Jim had asked to speak to him personally, but he figured it was just a matter of time.

Jim had been inactive, as of late, concern over botching something too spectacularly weighing on him, holding him back. But there was only so much silent watching he could do before he needed to discuss his plans for the future, so, the morning after they'd strewn the bits of Sherrinford Holmes' body across London, he sent a message to Moran, summoning him.

He glanced at the text and smiled slightly, taking a breath and heading for the elevator. Within five minutes he was knocking on his boss's door.

"Come in," Jim said neutrally, shutting the book he was reading and setting it aside. He waited until Sebastian had entered and closed the door behind him to speak. "Did little Sherrinford spill anything particularly interesting, last night?"

"A few things, sir," he said, nodding. "We have two separate organizations planning strikes on us. One is an Afghan terror cell, the other is Mycroft Holmes's web. Holmes is attempting to overlap with the cell's attack, catch us with our trousers down as it were. That, and apparently we've got another mole."

"Another one. Brilliant," he said sarcastically, shaking his head in disgust. "I'll start making preparations to guard us against any attacks. Start stockpiling supplies, just in case, and keep some in a safehouse. We've dealt with cocky networks before, we can do it again. As for the mole... I trust you'll handle it."

He nodded slightly. "Of course, sir." He sighed slightly. "I'm a bit concerned about how this keeps happening, to be honest, sir. Our vetting process is extreme. I'm going to go over it, try and figure out where the holes are."

"Hm. Maybe it's time we stop hiring from the existing criminal pool," Jim muttered, mostly to himself, then glanced back up at Sebastian. "Do look over it. You're right, this is unacceptable."

He nodded in agreement. "If I may ask how you're feeling, sir?"

"Better. Good. No headaches. But I'm still... _foggy._ It drives me mad, how I have to struggle for things," he sighed, gritting his teeth a little. "I feel average. But I was told I would improve, so..."

"I'm sure you will, Boss," he said, nodding. "In the grand scheme of things, it's a hell of a lot better than it could have been."

"You are extremely right on that account," he muttered, scrunching up his nose. "To have died from something so stupid... Right. I ought to get back to what little work I can fucking manage."

"Shooting yourself in the head is rather a legitimate reason to die, boss," he pointed out dryly. Then he nodded, saluting. "Let me know if you need anything."

"I never hesitate to," he snorted, then looked up. "Before you go: How was Harrison's performance? This was her biggest job since you pulled that little stunt of yours."

He straightened a little. "Exceptional, sir," he said, without bothering to ask which stunt. It could be any of a number. "She gave us the information we needed and didn't hesitate or stumble at any point that I am aware of."

He nodded, smirking a little. It was lucky for Moran that his weakness was so good at her job. He didn't feel like starting up that conversation. Another testament to his slow recuperation. "Alright. Dismissed."

He nodded a little, and headed out quickly, glancing at his watch. He sighed, stepping into the elevator and pulling out his flask, taking a long sip. Time to go have a little fun with some of their live-in torture victims. He had a few greens to educate on proper methods.

* * *

It was a few days before she noticed his habit. She might not have, if she hadn't started looking for it. As they were starting to get ready for bed, she sighed. "How often are you completely sober these days, Sebastian?"

He raised an eyebrow, pulling the shirt he was holding over his head. "What do you mean?" he asked, giving her a puzzled look as he headed for the bathroom to brush his teeth.

"Don't play dumb, you know what I'm talking about," she said just loud enough for him to hear, careful not to be confrontational. "I was - am, still, kind of - an alcoholic. I know what the beginnings of it look like."

He made a face when his back was turned, but shrugged as he stuck the toothbrush in his mouth. "I 'ink you're exa'erating."

"I'm not saying you have a problem. I'm saying you might be on the way to one," she shook her head, getting into bed. "I'm not telling you to stop. Telling you to do things doesn't work, I'm quite aware of that. I'm just saying... you know. Don't get as bad as I did. I really rather not see you get taken out by the D.T.s if we ever get caught again."

He was silent until he finished brushing his teeth, considering her words a bit grudgingly. He knew she was right, but that didn't mean he had to like it. The warmth of the liquor was the best thing he had to get him through the day recently. It would be better now that she was back (as loathe as he was to admit it,) but he felt like he could work better. It kept the paranoia at bay.

She pulled up the covers a little, sitting with her back against the headboard. She knew better than to try and fill the silence with inane chatter. He needed time to mull things over by himself sometimes.

He walked over, turning off the light and climbing into bed. After a moment he said "I'll avoid letting it get past practical limits."

"Alright. Thank you," she nodded, just a tad relieved. Christ, if she had tried this months ago... She shifted down onto her side, stifling a yawn. "So, you been ramping up security or something? The guards on duty have seemed particularly on edge the past few days."

"We have a mole, the second one in less than a year," he muttered, rolling over to curl up next to her and pulling the blanket up over his shoulder. "So I'm fixing the problem."

She shifted over a little closer, though giving him the option to move away if he wanted a little space. "As long as the fucker gets caught..."

He nodded in agreement, wrapping an arm around her waist. "We'll get them. I've been having all communication in and out of the building monitored."

"Good. I've had enough of being tattled on. I like knowing that the criminals I'm working with are all on our side," she snorted, shaking her head a little and settling in a little more. "Let me know if you need me to grift someone in the office. I know that can't be done through normal channels."

He nodded in agreement. "I may do just that," he said quietly. He knew better than to give her any more information until after he'd gone over her background and communications again. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, it was that... well, no. He didn't. Not completely. Just more than most.

She made a sound that indicated she'd heard him and then curled up a little more. Within a few minutes, she was out cold.

* * *

A bit more than a week later he was sitting on the couch with a fifth of whiskey and a list of the possibilities for their mole problem. He took a long sip, considering, eyes buzzing down the still-too-fucking-long list. At least Harrison had cleared.

She wandered in from the kitchen, munching on a bowl of pretzels. "Is that top secret or can I ask what you're frowning so intently at?"

"No, I know you're most likely not the mole now so you might as well help," he sighed, holding the list out in her direction. "These are suspects. There's far more than I'd like."

She stepped forward to take it, scanning down as she swallowed a mouthful of her snack. "Mmph. Not Trevor Williams. He's in my department, and he wasn't hired in the usual channels. Someone went out and found him, he didn't come to us. And he can't lie to women, it's a little embarrassing. I've put him on the gay marks."

He smirked, but crossed the name off all the same, still scanning. "Now that you mention it, Carol Bruneski is a similar case. Sought out, didn't apply. Probably can ignore her too."

She nodded, sitting down on the sofa next to him. "I think we can probably rule off anybody in cleaning. They don't get info on jobs unless they go off-site. Anybody on here with a fuzzy history or something?"

He sighed, putting an 'x' through the list from the cleaning department. "Everyone here has a fuzzy history, Harrison," he muttered under his breath, sighing and taking another sip of whiskey as he thought. He caught sight of O'Hare's name, and something in his gut twitched, but he refused to follow the thought.

"Yeah, alright, I see your point. Do you want to try cornering a few people on the list? There aren't that many left," she murmured, frowning over his shoulder. O'Hare was on the list. Just another reason not to like him. "Listen, I know you feel bad about what happened to O'Hare, but..."

He snorted. "You think I'm not considering him the same as everyone else on here? I'll look into him the same way I do everyone else." His tone was a touch sharp.

She shrugged, a _whatever you say_ motion. "Okay. I believe you. Just thought I'd check. I really don't like that guy."

"What's he ever done to you?" he asked, glaring at her slightly before returning his attention to the page.

"He's confrontational, and insubordinate," she replied shortly, popping a pretzel in her mouth. "N' he's lucky I didn't take off his fucking remaining fingers. What does he even _do_ here?"

"He works for Jim," he says shortly. "I've asked, Jim hasn't answered, and that's the end of it."

"It's not, though. We have to know what he's got access to, if we're ever going to rule him out," she sighed, shaking her head, and picked up the bottle of whiskey to take a swig. "I'm not, like, out to get him. I just trust him the least out of the people I know on that list."

He took a moment to curb the anger that was bubbling. She had good points and he knew it. "I owe him the benefit of the doubt, but unfortunately my position doesn't lend me that leniency."

"Yeah, I know," she murmured, shrugging a little. "But fuck, Moran... we've done nothing but tear down the people we owe. It's how we got to the top. All the people we've done that to have been fucked up or killed. The only difference with O'Hare is that he came back to haunt you."

"That isn't- That's not comparable," he said quietly, shaking his head. "I don't want to discuss O'Hare right now, alright? You know we aren't going to agree on anything. I said I'd look into him."

She sighed, but nodded. "Alright. Well, I need to go downstairs and manage a mission, so text me if you need me to do something."

He nodded, reaching out to grab the bottle of whiskey, eyes on the list, planning. "Right. Have fun, good luck, all that."

"Mm. I'll pass it on to the field agent," she hummed, standing and heading for the door, and slipped out with a last wave.

He vaguely waved back, setting the list aside and leaning back on the couch with the bottle, staring at it as he thought.

 _O'Hare..._


	41. The Fox And The Hound

When she came back three hours later, feeling like she was going to tear her hair out from having to watch somebody else struggle through the job that she would have been through in twenty minutes, she found Sebastian in almost exactly the same position. "Did you move at all while I was gone?"

"I'm thinking," he muttered, considering the dregs of the whiskey. "How did the mission go?"

"It went alright. I wanted to kill myself, watching how long it was taking, but it went alright," she muttered, shaking her head and sitting next to him with a long huff.

"Not everyone can be quite as quick as you," he snorted, sitting up a little to give her more room and offering her the last few sips of the bottle. He'd probably had enough.

She took it and knocked back what was left. "I know. Doesn't make it any less painful to watch. Come to any conclusions while I was gone?"

He shrugged. "That I should really get a grip on myself and stop giving such a fuck about O'Hare, but you already knew that."

She smiled a little. "I have the advantage of perspective. It's kinda cheating."

"Mmm," he grunted, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh. "You said he'd been insubordinate?"

"He talked back to me, made a threatening movement. I think if was actually capable of it he might have hit me. He thought better of it, though. Especially after I reminded him of his place," she snorted, looking just a little disgusted. "If he hadn't been hired by the boss himself I would have given him a bloody nose without thinking, the way he was talking about you."

Part of him had no desire to know, but the rest knew information was vital and won out. "And what was that way, exactly?"

"He didn't think you were as tough as the man he knew in the army. Said that you having this job so long meant that you'd grown complacent, soft. I told him that it meant you were tougher than any other son-of-a-bitch in this goddamn building," she growled, still a little defensive about it. "And he felt inclined to _argue_ with me."

He smirked slightly, eyes still closed. "Thank you for coming to my rescue," he snorted a bit sarcastically. _He's right, though, and you know it_. He shook the thought off, and opened his eyes, standing and glancing longingly at the liquor cabinet for a moment before heading into the kitchen instead.

She had no such qualms. She got up and headed for the liquor cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of inexpensive vodka. "So I'm going to get smashed, if that's alright with you."

"Oh, thank fucking god," he muttered, coming back into the room a few minutes later with a piece of leftover steak in his mouth and two glasses.

She relieved him of the glasses and set them down on the table to pour them each a generous serving. "So. Remember that night off we took maybe... I don't know... Two months back, now? Maybe more?"

He didn't really have to think, they didn't take too much time off. "The one at my apartment?" he asked, taking the glass and tipping back half of it with a sigh of content.

"Yeah," she nodded, taking her drink a little more slowly. "We're doing that. The whole relaxing thing. Just fucking forget about work, all that shit, yeah? You're wound up tighter than a Jack-in-a-box. You need it."

"What, now?" he asked, glancing over at her with a raised eyebrow. "We've got some rather important things going on at the moment, Harrison. It's my job to be wound up."

"But you don't need to stress about this all night. If nothing has jumped out at you yet, it's certainly not going to in the middle of the night while you're getting drunk," she pointed out. "I'm saying just take the night. Just the night."

He glanced at her, then sighed. "Fine. Just the night," he muttered. He felt like getting shit-faced anyway.

"Good. Thank you," she smiled, tilting back a good portion of her vodka, just to try and catch up with him a little. "I'll even give you a massage, if you want. Whatever relaxes you. I honestly have no idea what does."

He smirked slightly, taking another sip. "Having someone at my back that I can't see well doesn't really do it for me, oddly enough."

She chuckled. "Yeah, I thought you might say that. That's why I'm telling you to speak up about shit that does relax you. That's right, I said telling."

He glanced at her over his glass. "Someone is feeling sure of themselves this evening," he deadpanned, tilting the last of his glass of vodka back.

She smirked, following suit and leaning over to grab the bottle of vodka, pouring them both another glass. "I never claimed to be lacking in self-confidence."

"Self-preservation, on the other hand," he snorted, nodding his thanks as she filled his glass.

"I have plenty of self-preservation. How do you think I got to be so good in bed?" she laughed, cheeks a little pink with the drink. She'd had a flask of something old and strong on the job, and it had given her a surprising amount of boost. "Anyway, I figure at this point, I'm either the Grizzly Man or I'm safe."

"I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean, but I'll take it," he muttered, pouring himself a tall glass and offering her the bottle.

"The Grizzly Man was this guy who tried to live with bears. Kodiak bears, I think. He kind of managed it. For a good while. So he thought he was good, you know? He was succeeding, all that. Then bam. One day, grizzly mauls him, eats him," she shrugged, taking the bottle and topping her glass up. "Really hoping I'm not him."

"I suppose time will tell," he snorted, smiling just a little. He was definitely drunk now, tempted to toss back a few more and sink into cheerful oblivion until morning.

"I'm getting drunk too fast. You have orange juice, right? I need to juice this down a little," she hummed, lurching up off the couch and heading for the kitchen. "You want me to bring the whole container?"

"Sure, yeah," he sighed, considering his glass. Then: "I don't really do much to relax...Or rather what I do do, you wouldn't enjoy."

"What do you do?" she asked as she came back in, brandishing the juice. "Vigorous exercise?"

He grinned a bit, downing about half his glass so there was room for juice. "Ah... sometimes?" He set his glass down, waiting for her to pour juice into hers before reaching for the carton. "More often I have a bit of fun with the basement live-ins, work on a few new techniques or something. And you tend not to like torture as much as I do. Either that or I go shooting."

"Who says I don't like torture? I don't like _some_ torture. And this isn't about me relaxing, anyway, it's about you relaxing. You wanna go cut up people? We'll go cut up people. Or shoot. I don't care," she chuckled, sipping at her drink and then raising it a little. "I'm drunk."

"I am, too," he sighed, smiling a little and sipping his drink. "A bit too much so to properly torture or shoot, to be honest."

She snorted, leaning back and propping her bare feet up on the table, perilously close to the open bottle of vodka. "Okay, well, what do you want to do, then, O Man of Steel? Do you want to make a prank call? Throw spaghetti at the wall?"

He rolled his eyes, elbowing her lightly. "I don't know... What do you do to relax?" he asked with a sigh.

She shrugged a little. "I don't know. I used to go clubbing, actually. These days it's a lot more sitting around daydreaming about getting my hands on the people I hate the most," she shook her head, though still just a bit amused. "I guess we're really not that good at unwinding."

"No, I guess not," he sighed, reaching up to rub at his eyes a little, smirking. "Though, to be fair, neither of us are really the knitting and Parcheesi type."

She laughed. "No, no, we're really not. I don't think those kinds of people get our jobs, you know? They're more the accountant type."

"True," he agreed, sighing quietly. He was silent for a few minutes. "I saw you doodling the other day, can you draw?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I'm never going to be a famous artist, but I get by. Supposedly my dad was pretty good at it, so I guess I got it from him."

He nodded for a few moments, taking another sip. "Think you could teach me sometime? I'm awful at it."

"I don't see why not. I can't guarantee I can do it, but I can try," she shrugged. "I never learned any real techniques, you know? Though I did manage to teach my brother some things."

He nodded just a little bit and sighed, setting his glass down and flopping sideways on the couch, head in her direction.

"Do you want to watch a movie? Something like, stupid, I don't care. Fox and the Hound? I'm in the mood to watch small animals," she hummed, knocking back the rest of her drink and setting the glass down on the table.

He shrugged, stretching a bit and kicking his feet up on the arm of the couch. "Never seen it."

"Wh- _How?"_ Alright, we're definitely watching it, I'm going to go get it right now," she shook her head, and hopped up off the couch. Within a minute she'd blown out the door and come right back in, brandishing the DVD. "Get ready for this trip."

He shrugged a bit. "I didn't have access to a wide variety of entertainment as a child," he muttered dryly, smirking slightly as she dashed out and reaching out to pick up his glass again, maneuvering so he could take a sip without spilling it everywhere before setting it aside and flopping back down.

"Okay, I guess I can't argue with that," she muttered, popping the DVD into the DVR and turning on the TV before sitting down by his head and pulling him into her lap. "If you cry I totally won't judge you."

He snorted. "I don't cry, Harrison. That is a dangerous insinuation to make." He thought about objecting to the fact that she'd just pulled his head into her lap like he was a puppy, but he was comfortable and decided he didn't care.

"I know," she chuckled, "I was just joking. Now shut up and watch the movie."

He rolled his eyes, but turned his attention to the screen as the movie started.

* * *

They got two-thirds through the movie before Sebastian made a noise she didn't quite understand. She looked down at him (lit only by the screen, since she'd gotten up to turn off the lights like an hour ago) and tried to make out his expression, feeling a little choked up herself. Christ, why had she picked this movie? "You, uh.. you doing okay there?"

He started slightly at her voice and reached up to scrub at his eyes a little quickly. "Fine," he muttered gruffly, resisting the urge to sniffle, his nose tickling.

She _did_ sniffle. "You are a stronger person than me, then," she mumbled, wiping at her own eyes and trying to remember why the hell she'd decided to make him watch this. Fuck, why did she _own_ it?

He was asking himself the same thing. "Isn't this a kids movie?" he asked a few moments later, reaching up to rub at his eyes again.

"It _shouldn't_ be. Oh my god, _Bambi_ is fucking _tame_ after this shit," she breathed, shaking her head a little, dewy eyes back on the screen.

"Never seen that one either," he said with a weak laugh, shifting a bit further into her lap and trying to ignore how his throat ached. It was a fucking cartoon, for Christ's sake.

"It's a lot less traumatizing," she said faintly, carding a hand through his hair absently, as much to comfort herself as it was to comfort him. "Even _Jim_ would find this heartbreaking."

He laughed just a bit. "I seriously doubt that. In fact, he'd probably shoot u- you, for crying," he snorted.

"He's seen me cry before, I think I'd probably get away with it," she replied weakly, almost relieved as the credits started to roll. "Good god. It's over."

"Mmm," he muttered in response to the Jim comment, letting out a sigh of relief at the darkened screen as well. "What the hell sort of idea was that?" he asked, reaching up to rub at his eyes one last time.

"I was just thinking about all the pretty animation," she sniffled, pretending she didn't see what he was doing. "I forgot how _awful_ it was. Oh my fucking god. I can't go to bed like this, I'll just wake up in the middle of the night crying about small animals."

He rolled his eyes, sitting up and hoping the darkness was enough to hide his red eyes, pulling her into his lap as he leaned back against the arm of the couch, reaching for the remote to change the TV over to television channels, leaving it on whatever gameshow it turned onto in the background.

She curled up in his lap, silently reminding herself that none of it was real, for god's sake. "Okay, I'm never allowed to pick the movie again."

"Never," he agreed quietly, tucking her under his chin so there was less chance of her seeing his face. "That was bloody awful."

She nodded a little, and fell silent for a while, attention half on the obscure gameshow on the screen. "You have to admit you got a little sad," she mumbled finally, clearing her throat a little.

"I'll admit to no such thing," he muttered, smirking just slightly and poking her side.

She snickered. "Alright, I won't make you say it. You're lucky I'm so cool."

"I thought you said it was self-preservation?" he shot back, rolling his eyes as she laughed and nipping the tip of her ear gently.

"That too," she chuckled, suppressing a shudder at his teeth, as she always did. "I have a lot of virtues, let's face it."

"I'm not so sure I would call them 'virtues,'" he sighed, watching with interest as goosebumps appeared along her neck and smiling, one hand around her waist sliding back across her stomach slowly, fingers brushing against her skin where her shirt had risen up slightly.

"You better be calling them virtues, with your wandering hand," she muttered, though without any bite to it. She was always careful to watch her tone when he started getting... frisky.

"I don't know," he smirked, lips shifting to brush against her neck. "'Virtues' seems so... goody-two-shoes, which is not a phrase I would use to describe you..."

"Oh yeah? What phrases would you use to describe me?" she challenged, still in the mood to be just a little contrary. That meant ignoring his lips on her neck, though, which was not completely possible. She shifted a little.

"That's an interesting question," he sighed, fingers trailing under the waistband of her trousers. "Cunning... sinful... alluring..." he murmured, moving his lips up along her neck as he spoke.

She bit her lip, breath hitching just a little. "Christ, how do you do that so easily?" she muttered, trying not to feel so utterly overwhelmed _already._ The fact that she was drunk was not helping.

"Come up with descriptions?" he asked innocently, his fingers shifting under the waistband of her pants and wasting no time in sliding between her legs, eager to watch her struggle. "I guess I'm good with words.

"That wasn't- what I meant," she gasped, a hand curling into his shirt. She'd meant about how fast he could shift her mood into this, but when he did speak, she had to admit that he had a little flair. "I'm going to rip the stuffing out of your sofa again, y'not careful."

"I've sort of given up on the sofa," he said, smirking. "And I knew exactly what you meant, it's just amusing to watch you try to concentrate." He reached out his free hand to cover hers, smirking at how tight her fingers were on the fabric of his shirt as he brushed his own fingers across her core gently, feeling her starting to grow warm.

She thought that maybe if he didn't always catch her by surprise she could concentrate better, but his moods were as unpredictable as a toss of dice, so that wasn't happening any time in the near future. "You're a real big fan of the toying with me, huh," she muttered, biting her lip as he brushed her clit. "And I did not fuckin' mean that as a pun."

"I'm a man who tortures for a living, love," he chuckled in her ear, voice a bit rough. "If you didn't think that sentiment was going to carry over, then I imagine you're going to keep making these very obvious observations." His teeth scraped the shell of her ear gently and he curled his fingers just a bit.

"That's exactly why I call you a sadist," she teased, then let out a soft moan, rocking up into his hand despite the little voice in her head reminding her about his power plays, then, in reaction to that voice, shifted back to grind her arse into his lap.

"Does this seem like sadism at the moment?" he asked, smirking, though his breath caught slightly as she ground backwards, already well on his way to being hard, her arse not slowing the process remotely. He circled a finger against her entrance in retaliation.

She shook her head immediately. God help her if he just stopped because she sassed him. "No," she murmured, "But when you do bring it out I tend to enjoy it."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," he agreed, sliding a finger into her slowly, the other hand gripping hers. He pulled her a little more firmly against him, and sunk his teeth into the side of his neck.

She arched off him a little with a gasp, her free hand lifting up behind her to slide into his hair and get a grip, chills shooting down her spine. "Fucking hell, Sebastian," she groaned, nails scraping through his hair. "It's unfair, what you do to me."

He slowly released his toothhold. "Well, given the fact that you're forced to put up with really disappointing sex on a regular basis, it does seem fair that you enjoy yourself every once in awhile." He smirked.

She made a snort of amusement. "Alright, point taken. Would you like me to melt in silence or are you appreciating the sass?"

"Oh, no, the sass is always appreciated," he said with a smirk, his thumb brushing against her clit again in response.

Her fingers tightened on his shirt, her breath hitching just a little. "Yeah? That why you wanted to fuck me again after Italy, or was that just because I'm pretty?"

"That was mostly because you're a damn good fuck," he retorted, unable to help grinding up against her arse just a little as he slid a second finger into her. "But the sass and pretty factor helped."

She couldn't speak for a moment, the only sound that left her a small, quiet moan. "That's good," she said, when she got her voice back, "I like to think that I'm a _little_ charming. But I'll take being a damn good fuck any day," she muttered, rolling her hips back into his lap, smirking slightly.

He took a sharp breath at that, giving up on subtlety and grinding up against her again, letting out a soft moan. "Fuck, Lorna," he sighed.

"That's the idea," she breathed, not quite making it out as a quip. "You wanna move this somewhere else or you wanna make it work?"

It took him a moment to consider the question, before he finally sighed, slowly withdrawing his fingers. "This isn't exactly an ideal location," he grumbled against her shoulder.

She shifted a little and stood, turning to haul him up by the wrist. "Alright, c'mon then. You've made me antsy."

He grinned, standing as she grabbed him and following after her as she headed for the bedroom. "Glad to help."

"Yeah, I bet you are," she snorted, smirking and letting his wrist go after she'd backed up till her knees hit the bed, and pulled her shirt off over her head.

He walked over, pushing her back onto the bed and reaching out to pin her hands. He smirked, and was just about to resume his activities when the intercom buzzed. He swore quietly, took a breath, and straightened, reaching up to fix his shirt a bit despite the fact that it was audio only.

"This had better be good."

There was a slight pause, then "Sir, we've got a contractor here demanding that he see the chief of staff. We've tried to tell him to leave-"

"What's his name?"

"Carl Harrison, sir."

He frowned at the last name. "Stand by." He turned to look at Lorna, raising an eyebrow. "Harrison?"

She just frowned for a few moments, wracking her head. Then she frowned deeper. "It better _not_ be."

"Better not be who?" he asked, finger still on the intercom button. "Who am I dealing with here, Harrison?"

"My biological father," she said tightly, sitting up and sliding off the bed to go find her shirt. "I haven't seen the fucker since I was five, six, maybe. I only know his name because I seriously considered trying to change my name when I was 18, but realized it would be stupid to put myself in the system. I mean, I _knew_ he was in this line of work, but I fucking thought he was _dead."_

He frowned, but made the call and pressed the intercom again.

"Send him up to my apartment."

"...Sir...?"

"Are you really sure it's in your best interests to even insinuate that I should repeat myself?"

The line went dead.


	42. Carl Harrison

"How the fuck did he even find out about me? Why the fuck would he ask for _you?"_ she asked, with no hope of receiving an answer. She tugged on her shirt, and tried not to look completely murderous. "Couldn't have fucking waited until tomorrow _fucking_ morning, could he..."

"I'm chief of staff," he said, straightening out his own clothing. "It's possible he knows nothing about you and just has a problem with his contract or men. Alternatively, it's possible he wanted to find out more about you before approaching you."

She nodded, raking a hand through her hair, still a little agitated. She didn't like this, not one bit. With Eric dead, her familial ties had all been severed - there was almost no one left in the world that someone could try to hurt her with. And now a man who just happened to have contributed to her a significant portion of DNA had appeared in the lobby, and he was headed _here._ "Fuck. Alright, whatever, this is fine. If he's here for me, I'm just not dealing with that shit tonight. Night _off._ Not doing it."

"Go to your apartment if you like," he said, pulling on his shoulder holster and then his jacket. "How much shit are you going to give me if I end up killing him? Not that I care, just assessing."

"Zero shit. No shit at all. The man left home without so much as a cheery goodbye, and he didn't come back. My mother said he went off to go climb the criminal corporate ladder. Sounds like he didn't make it as far as he'd hoped," she snorted, heading for the door to the living room. "I'm going to hide in your kitchen with that bottle of vodka."

"Don't get too cozy," he muttered, heading for the door as someone knocked. "I might need you." With that, he watched her enter the kitchen, then pulled the door open.

Carl Harrison was standing on the other side. It was immediately evident where Lorna had gotten her good looks from; lingering vestiges of sexual appeal still clung to his aging form, and he had the same grey eyes and sharp chin as his daughter. He'd only heard about her in the network, _Moriarty's_ fucking network, that very morning, and he still wasn't quite sure what had made him drive in to the main headquarters, and demand to see the man who was widely rumored to be sleeping with her. But still, he had some sense left in his head, so when the (frankly, imposing) Sebastian Moran opened the door, he quickly came up with something to say.

"Hullo, sir," Carl said, nodding a little. "I was informed today that my daughter works in this building, and that you..." he coughed a little, trying to edge around the limits of what was acceptable to say to one's superior. "That she might be with you."

He smiled slightly. It wasn't friendly. "Is that so? And because of this you felt it necessary to insist upon seeing me at this hour? When was the last time you saw your daughter, Mr. Harrison?"

He was undeterred, though he felt a small surge of contempt in his chest. "When she was a child, sir. That's why I felt compelled to take the chance on seeing her again."

"I see. And you feel this couldn't have waited until the morning," he said, sighing a bit mournfully, though his expression was mocking. "How touching. Please, by all means." He motioned for the man to enter, eyes challenging.

Carl was perfectly aware of the irritation the other man was feeling. He just didn't care. He wasn't a subtle man. He spent his days killing people, brutally and simply. People weren't really his area. "Thank you," he nodded, stepping over the threshold, eyes immediately roving the small flat. He could at least approve of the utilitarian furnishings. "Is she here?"

"How did you find out about her working here, Mr. Harrison?" he asked, not allowing the man more than a few feet into the room and deliberately ignoring his question. "I don't appreciate loose tongues in my organization."

"I do contract kills. Mostly low-brow targets. Sometimes I get called in for interrogation tactics," he shrugged, looking around the flat again. "She live in her own place like this, too? She's doing well for herself. Not the life for her I would have wanted, but... hmmph."

"But you weren't around," he said with a small smirk. "I'm well aware of your daughter's record, Carl. I keep a close eye on the records of all of my valuable employees. You left when she was five, was it? Six? Where you went I'm afraid I don't know, I haven't had a chance to glance at your records."

He knew that was a dig at his worth, but Carl was remarkably good at not letting things get to him. He killed a lot of people with his bare hands. You had to have a tough skin for that sort of thing. "Six," he nodded, as if that were a perfectly normal thing to do. "I didn't think I should be bringing crime into the house. Then Katherine went and married that drug dealer. But what can you do?" he snorted, looking back up at Moran. "I'm not exactly pleased Lorna decided to follow along those lines."

"I'm sorry to say I disagree with you. She's made a startlingly good grifter," he said with a smirk. "Though given your diplomatic skills exhibited so far, I'd wager she got that from her mother."

"I didn't mean her career, though I'm less than happy with that. I meant her choice in bedmates," he said dryly. Before the situation could escalate (because how could it not, with the way the conversation was going) Lorna stepped out from the kitchen, leaning against the wall with the bottle of vodka hanging loosely from her hand.

"So were you planning on belittling my choices to my face or is your boss good enough to serve that purpose?"

Moran's hand was on his gun, but he relaxed it as Lorna stepped into the room, taking a quiet breath. Not yet. That deserved better than a quick kill.

Carl's attention was immediately on her. "Lorna," he breathed, walking over towards her slowly.

She immediately made a face at him, taking a swig from the vodka before shaking her head at him. "Why the fuck are you approaching me? Uh uh. You stay where you are. Father or not, you're a foreign annoyance who interrupted my sex life tonight. You come any closer and I'll bean you with this bottle, I'm not kidding."

"How much of that have you had?" he asked, making a bit of a face as she took a swig. "And you really think that fucking your boss is the best thing to be doing? I'm approaching you because I haven't seen you in years and I'm trying to say hello."

"One: A lot. But less than I used to, so I don't give a shit what you have to say about it. Two: Yeah, I do. Besides the obvious boost to my job security, he's hot and I like him. Three: I literally do not give a shit." She paused to take another drink. "You left _me._ I didn't toddle my little ass out the door without so much as a 'Seeya, kiddo,' and I sure as hell didn't fucking miss you. My stepdad was pretty cool. Bit of an ass, but I liked him. He was more of a father to me than you ever were."

"I left because I was trying to protect you," he said, a small touch of anger entering his voice, though he tempered it. "Evidently it didn't work as well as I'd hoped."

"As far as I can tell, _Dad,_ our whole family consists of criminals. You thought you could just, what? End that? You and Mom didn't even have me in a hospital, so I wouldn't have a fucking birth certificate, so I wouldn't be in the system. If you'd been realistic about it, you would have stayed, you would have tried to give me a head start. But I guess I didn't fucking need you to. How long have you been a contractor for this network? A year? I started here three and a half years ago. Guess I'm good at the family business."

He frowned just slightly, but nodded. "Not what I would have hoped for you, but I suppose I should be proud of what you've accomplished.

"You should be," she muttered, walking over and setting the vodka on the coffee table before she turned and made for the bedroom door. "I'm done talking, I'm way too drunk for this. Go fucking sleep in my flat or something. It's unlocked."

"Why the hell is it unlocked?" both Carl and Moran asked at the same time, before glaring daggers at each other. Carl had the good sense to look away a moment later, then head for the door. "I suppose I'll... sleep there then. Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," she waved a hand in his direction, disappearing into the bedroom. She waited until she heard the door shut before she answered Moran. "I had to go in earlier today to grab a few things for my department. Mostly makeup."

"So you lock it again, especially when there's a leak," he snorted, walking over to join her in the bedroom. "Fuck, I hate him. If you hadn't walked in I would have killed him right there."

"Best I did, then. You never would have gotten the bloodstains out of the rug," she sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'm not crazy on him. I wish he'd just stayed away."

He nodded just a little, starting to undress. He was tired and any good mood he may have been in was long gone.

She watched him for a moment, then stood and moved to unbutton his shirt as he got out of his shoulder holster. "You can kill him, if it makes you feel better. This is your night off, remember?" she reminded, just a touch of amusement in her voice.

He sighed a little, smiling a bit as she worked on his shirt. "If I see him again, I honestly just might."

"And I will give you zero shit for it, I promise," she chuckled, pushing the shirt off his shoulders and leaning up on her tiptoes to nip his shoulder playfully. Every once in awhile, she was good at defusing him. "Now let's go to bed, yeah?"

He took a slow breath, smiling just a little as she bit his shoulder. "Is that an invitation or an order?" he asked playfully, hands reaching out to smooth over her sides.

She raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. "When have I ever successfully ordered you into doing anything?" she asked, shaking her head. "Here, how's this. I cordially invite you to the mattress, Sire. Too much?"

He snorted, picking her up and tossing her gently onto the bed, grinning as she bounced and flopping down next to her. He reached out to poke her side. "A bit too much, yes."

She wriggled away from him to ward off any more pokes and leaned over to turn off the lamp in the process. "Alright, I'll try to tamp down on that one in the future. Try not to have any dreams of me in Regency clothing."

"It'll be a struggle, but I think somehow I'll manage it," he snorted, smirking as he reached over to pull her into his arms firmly. _His_. Fuck what her father thought.

She pressed into him a little more, shifting a little until they were in their standard sleeping position, which usually left enough space on the bed for a refrigerator, if refrigerators ever suddenly became inclined to lying on soft surfaces. As she started to drift off she couldn't help but think how much about how much she cared for Sebastian, and how little she cared for her father. Blood really didn't amount to much, in the end. Soon after that, she was dead to the world, and fortunately, avoiding Regency dreams.

* * *

He really did make a valiant effort to sleep, but the less angry he got, the more he reverted to his original state, which was turned on as all hell. Coming as close as he had to taking a shot and then stopping hadn't helped either, and he was bottled up in every sense of the word. Finally, an hour or so later, he decided tossing and turning wasn't worth it, and shifted over to curl up beside Harrison, kissing the back of her neck slowly, tongue tracing her spine.

She shifted sleepily, waking up slowly, and not sure why for a moment. Then she shifted again, a little less sleepily. "Mmm. Couldn't sleep?"

He heard her wake up and smirked, adding teeth for just a moment, before returning to his tongue. "How'd you guess?"

"I would say your breathing, but I think the tongue and teeth are what really sold it," she mumbled, arching back against him a little with a yawn, not completely awake yet.

He smirked, shifting back away from her. "Snarky even when mostly asleep," he muttered, ducking under the covers, hands finding her hips as he rolled her onto her back. "Let's see if I can't wake you up some, hmm?" He found the waistband of her trousers, and pulled them down slowly, along with her pants, shifting her legs gently apart as he pressed his lips to the inside of her now-bare thigh.

Boy, did that wake her up fast. "Yeah, that'll do it," she agreed a little weakly, although with a lot more alert. "You in the mood to make me get loud or somethin'?"

"Wouldn't be a downside," he chuckled, breath playing across her skin before he leaned forward and drew his tongue across her heat.

Time ceased to exist after that point. So she had no idea how long it was until he had her arching up off the bed, hands too busy holding on to his hair and the sheets to muffle her cries. "Fuck, _fuck, Sebastian,"_ she practically screamed, a little thankful that he was holding her hips down with one hand, because it was impossible for her to stay still. Then came the hard knock at the door, and she swore for another reason. "Who the _fuck_ is that?"

"Better be something good," he grumbled in annoyance as he emerged from under the covers, hair up on end. He grabbed the knife from under his pillow and pulled on pajama trousers, walking over to pull the door open. He frowned in annoyance as he saw it was Carl. "Yes?"

Carl looked irritable. "If you could refrain from fucking my daughter while I'm right across the hall, that would be fucking _great."_

He bristled, but smirked, teeth bared. "I'm sorry, were we making you uncomfortable? You're welcome to head back to wherever it is you call home." He made to shut the door.

Carl jammed his foot into the frame, jaw set, eyes angry. "I wasn't asking, son."

He blinked, momentarily shocked by the blatant disrespect. It had been ages since someone defied him so fearlessly.

There was a reason for that.

He opened the door again, reaching out to grab Carl by his throat in one sudden motion, pulling him forward at the same time as his knee found the man's gut. He shoved him to the floor, shutting the door almost softly as he knelt, knife in hand and at Carl's throat, breaths slow. "What was that?"

If it wasn't already obvious, Lorna got her infrequent hot-blooded bursts from her father. Except _usually_ , she knew when to be careful. Carl Harrison did not possess an ounce of caution in his body. "I _said,"_ he growled, wheezing a little, "That I wasn't _asking._ Keep your hands off my daughter."

He let the knife drop slowly away from the man's throat, the hand at his neck twisting him around until Moran could shove him onto his back. He kept him pinned there by his throat, a knee shifting to pin one of his arms, the knife returning to rest against his pulse. He could see the slight throb of the skin reflected as blurred motion on the blade. His breaths were still slow. "I've been wanting to do this so very badly..."

It was then that he seemed to finally grasp the danger he was in, trying to struggle out from under Moran's grip, trying to unpin himself. Maybe, at his peak, he could have made the sniper work for it. But now, it was hopeless. That was when Lorna appeared in the doorway, her mouth half open to ask what hell was taking so long. She halted there, mouth closing.


	43. Heart Failure

Sebastian could see Lorna out of the corner of his eye, but his attention was as far from her as it had been in a long time. He shifted the knife downward, the tip digging into Carl's throat just a bit, dragging a line down over his clavicle and through his shirt. He watched in fascination as blood welled up, his lips parted just slightly as he did so, eyes dark and focused, hands perfectly steady.

Carl shouted, struggled under the knife, only making the wound worse, deep alarm shooting through his chest, his fight or flight response kicking in. But once the tiger had its prey within its claws, there wasn't a thing in the world that would keep it from doing what it did best.

He could smell the blood, the dull, metallic scent seeping into his awareness. He could hear his own pulse thudding slowly in his ears, and could see Carl's, fluttering beneath the man's skin desperately, rapid in comparison. Begging to escape. He bent slowly to dig his tongue into the gash, to scrape it out with the rough appendage, gathering the crimson liquid on his tongue and lips, the taste filling his mouth in an instant. He let out a long, slow breath, sitting back, eyes wild compared to his calm expression, his dark, bloodied lips. He shifted to sit across the man's torso, knees pinning down his arms to free up his hands. He could hear the man's body, every cry and whimper and pulse begging him to tear it apart, to look inside, to place his hands against the warm, thriving flesh as it slowly cooled and stilled... He was starving for it, the need building up along his spine. It had been too long since he'd gotten to truly do what he wished, had allowed himself to fall to the urges.

He took the blade and, with clinical precision, began to cut and peel the flesh away from the right side of Carl's ribs, eyes fixated on his work, deaf to the man's struggles and screams.

Lorna was frozen in place, watching Sebastian dismantle the man who'd left her home years before. She couldn't move. She'd never seen Moran this way, had never once seen that look in his eye. She ought to be afraid, scared for her fucking life, but she couldn't bring herself to feel anything, _do_ anything, but stand there and watch it happen with morbid fascination.

He finally pulled back a good slab of the man's meat, leaving it hanging to the side to reveal his ribs, peering through damaged muscle, a pale pink under the oozing red. It took a well placed driving elbow to crack his rib cage, but once he did he dug his fingers in and pried it back, using his knife when necessary. The man had stopped screaming for now, evidently having fallen unconscious, but he was still breathing, the lung now in view expanding and shrinking at a fast, stuttering rhythm. He decided to wait for the body to awaken again, passing the time by starting to carve his initials into the inside of one of his rib bones.

Lorna almost jumped when her father awoke again, his desperate screams shattering the silence that had only been broken by the sound of a blade against bone. How he hadn't died from shock, yet, she had no clue, but judging by the thick pool of blood that was seeping into Sebastian's pajama bottoms, he wasn't going to last for much longer.

He leaned forward as the body began to scream again, reaching up with a bloody hand to find the man's face, cupping his cheek almost tenderly. "It's alright," he whispered quietly, amusement clear in his voice, smiling with red-stained teeth as he found the man's terrified, animalistic gaze. "I'm going to let you die soon... I just wanted to feel you begging me, that's all..." He kept his eyes on the other' man's face as his free hand pushed slowly into his chest, past his heaving lung, to find the shuddering, pounding muscle between them, the thing responsible for that elusive pulse rippling through his body. He closed his hand around it, squeezed. The man let out a shriek unlike anything he had heard in a long time, then fell still, eyes open and unseeing.

She remained absolutely still, trying to still the pounding of her own heart, which she couldn't attribute to anything in particular. What would happen now? She barely recognized him like this, feral, coated in blood. The real question was whether or not he would recognize her.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, feeling the warmth slowly drain out of the body, up through his hands and into him. Or at least, that was how it felt. He slowly became aware of the room again, of Harrison a few feet away, and made a mental note that he should probably be a bit concerned that she'd seen all of that. As it was, he didn't feel like bringing it up. He stood slowly then, his hand pulling free of the congealed blood and flesh with a low squelch. "Do me a favor and call cleanup?" he asked as he headed for the bathroom. He needed to clean up, and time to get himself sorted.

She didn't say anything, just headed for the intercom in the living room, studiously ignoring the corpse on the floor. Her voice didn't shake at all as she made the call. When she was done she sat on the sofa, mildly thankful she'd pulled on some pants before coming out, and waited for them to arrive. She had no idea what to make of all that. Some part of her was a little surprised he hadn't just come for her, too.

He closed the door tightly behind him, and locked it with hands that trembled slightly with adrenaline now that it was all over. He turned the shower on, stripping off his ruined trousers and dumping them in the bin before stepping into the water, watching the bloody mix turn the water pink as it washed down the drain. He studied his hands, opening and closed them a few times under the water as the bits of skin and flesh still clinging to them rinsed away. The air around them was blissfully silent, the pulse extinguished, and it was like scratching an itch that you'd almost forgotten about for its perpetuity.

She let cleaning in when they knocked, and their silence at the sight before them was a testament to their professionalism. Moran was still in the shower when they left. They'd done a good job; the only thing that hinted at a mutilated body being there minutes prior was a wine-red stain in the carpet. She locked up behind them and then sat back on the sofa again, unsure of what to do with herself now.

He took his time in the shower, mentally pulling himself together. He was different when he let himself get like that. Less guarded, more instinctual, and he didn't want to return to the rest of the world until he was sure he had full control of himself again. Finally, however, he turned the water off, heading out into his room as he dried off to find pajamas.

She heard him exit the bathroom, but stayed where she was, still feeling rooted in place. She wasn't sure if she would even be able to sleep; not because what she'd witnessed had been terrible, but because some part of her had been all too happy to watch, to see what happened next. That was a part of her she didn't let out to play, ever.

He came out a few minutes later, bare feet padding quietly along the carpet, avoiding the stain, unsure if it was wet or covered in chemicals at the moment. He stood a few feet away, and cleared his throat slightly.

Her glance over was a bit delayed, and she realized that she'd been staring at the stain. She coughed a little, lifting a hand to brush through her hair, just to give it something to do. She didn't know what to say. What did she normally say, after a situation like this? "Well... now we know where I got my brains from."

He smirked, though it wasn't as natural as it usually was. "I suppose we do at that..." he said, nodding a bit. He sat down slowly when it didn't seem like she was moving away. "I'm... Uhm..." he coughed slightly. "It's unusual that I behave that way. My apologies."

"Yeah, I... kinda figured," she nodded a bit, folding her hands together on her lap and twiddling her thumbs. "It's okay, I'm not.. mad, or anything. I'm... I don't know how I feel."

He nodded a little, then decided that bluntness was the best way to go. "Did I frighten you?"

She had to take a moment to answer, because she really wasn't quite certain herself. Then she shook her head. "No. I wasn't sure whether or not you were going to go for me next, but... no. I wasn't scared. Not the first time I've seen something like that."

He smirked a little, not looking at her. "We need to work on your self-preservation," he muttered. "What aren't you sure how to feel about, then?"

She was silent for a minute, because she didn't really want to talk about that little part of her that enjoyed things like that, that had been so prevalent when she'd been working under Armetti. "I'm.. not pleased with the part of me that wanted to watch that. I don't really want to go into it."

He hesitated, but nodded just a little. "Alright... Well... I'm going to bed," he said after a moment, standing.

She nodded, but made no move to follow. "I've got energy to burn, I'll just stay out here, watch some TV, do situps till I'm sore. Can't sleep this wired."

He nodded just a little, sensing her need for space and not at all interested in invading it. He was tired as all hell all of a sudden. "Enjoy," he muttered, waving vaguely and heading for his room, closing the door most of the way behind him.

She started with the sit-ups, but soon it was apparent that was not going to be enough. She got up, paced a little, wiping away a cold sweat on the back of her neck three times before she gave up, heading into the bathroom and yanking off her clothes to get into a freezing shower, jaw clenched. _Get a hold of yourself. What the fuck is wrong with you?_

 _I don't know. I don't know._

She sat hard on the floor, pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to breathe deeply.

 _Ask for one of the hit jobs. Like the ones Armetti used to give you._

 _Fuck off._

He dozed for a while, but woke when he heard a thud from the bathroom. He frowned, hand tight on his (now clean) knife under his pillow. The shower was running, and it was probably just Harrison, but it had been a loud thud. He stood, walking over to the door and knocking lightly.

"You okay?"

 _No._

"I'm fine," she said, just loud enough to be heard over the shower. She wasn't sure if she succeeded in sounding confident about it.

 _I can't stop imagining my hands coated in someone else's blood._

He glanced at the door incredulously. "That sounds an awful lot like bull shit." He considered pushing the door open, but something held him back.

"I'm just fucking wired, okay?" she snapped, gritting her teeth until it hurt. She wanted to get out and break something, but that meant she would have to get past him, and she didn't want to do that.

 _I don't remember how to make this stop. I can't make this feeling STOP._

She stood, shut off the shower hard enough for the handle to protest with a squeak, and got out, yanking aside the shower curtain a lot harder than she needed to.

He did open the door, then, deciding enough was enough. He analyzed her expression quickly, saw the conflict there, the frustration. "Lorna..." he said quietly, trying to read more detail. Her hands were clenched tightly. "Talk to me."

"What am I supposed to say, Sebastian?" she said shortly, whipping a towel off the rack to dry herself off with, shivering from more than the cold of the shower. "I'm fucked up. _Fucked up._ I- I can't stop fucking remembering what I used to do, when I worked for Armetti. I didn't use to grift for information. I fucking murdered people. But I'm sure you know that," she spat, raking a hand through her wet hair. She wasn't even angry at him - she was angry with herself, that she couldn't control this. "I didn't want to _be_ this again, Sebastian, I didn't want to feel like a fucking _addict,_ I didn't want to keep doing things that would make normal people lose their fucking breakfasts. And now I _want_ it."

He studied her carefully as she spoke, saw the same hunger that he fought with so frequently. He felt guilt twist his gut a bit. He hadn't meant to expose her like that. He would have fought the urges a lot harder if he'd thought seeing them would be a problem, or at least he thought he would have. "How can I help you right now?"

"I don't know. I don't know," she shook her head, battling the itching need to move and failing, turning in a full circle before she clamped her hands down on the counter and _made_ herself stop, taking a deep breath. "I don't want to fucking give in to this. I want this to _stop."_

He walked forward just a little, wanting her within easy reach in case he felt like he needed to grab her. "Would being distracted help? Or do you want to talk through it?"

She did her best not to tense up as he moved closer, biting the inside of her cheek instead, trying to convince herself that she wasn't going to have to fight him. "You don't want to 'Distract me' right now, Sebastian, believe me," she shook her head tersely, a muscle in her jaw jumping. "And I don't... I _can't_ talk about it. I'll make it worse. The more I bring it back, the more I'll... be like _this."_

"That wasn't what I meant by distract," he said gruffly. "I am capable of thinking of other distraction alternatives, and of recognizing that that one is likely a poor idea at the moment." He took a breath, trying to think. "Sometimes working it off helps. Punching bag, that sort of thing. For me it helps burn off the energy. It might not work with you. The other end of the spectrum is to try meditation or something of the like."

She shook her head, gritting her teeth. She knew that none of that would work. It had to be a person. She thought that he would have understood that. "No. No. I can't.. if it's not alive it doesn't help."

He nodded just a little, taking a slow breath. She was like him then. Interesting, and not something he would have called. "We have a few live-ins in the basement. It just sounded like you didn't want to take that route."

"There's a reason I'm not already down there. That crossed my mind first," she huffed, gripping the countertop harder to resist the urge to reach for him anyway, to leave bloody marks down his back, bite marks on his neck. She pushed off the counter and pushed past him, heading for the liquor cabinet.

He normally would have tried to stop her, but honestly that was probably her best option at this point. He followed her into the main room, but hung back, just keeping an eye on her to make sure she didn't do anything stupid. Talking didn't seem to be helping much, either, and it certainly wasn't his preference, so he remained silent.

She broke out the strongest thing he had, not even sitting before she was drinking out of the bottle, fingers clenched tight on the glass. The faster she got too drunk to walk, the better.

He leaned against the wall, watching her carefully, feeling progressively worse but not pushing into her space. She was an adult, she could deal with this how she pleased, so long as she didn't do anything too harmful.

"The fuck are you staring at me for?" she snapped, between drinks. He was making the back of her neck prickle, just standing there like that.

"I'm making sure you don't do anything stupid," he said, rolling his eyes but diverting his attention to a patch of wall, watching her out of his peripheral vision instead.

She almost threw the bottle at him, but she kept herself under control. "What the fuck do you think I'm going to do, Sebastian?"

"I'm not sure, Lorna," he said evenly. "But we both know your impulse control could use a bit of work. I'm not interfering, am I? Just standing here. I can sit if that would make you feel better, but I'm not leaving."

"Just fucking sit. I hate it when you stand around like that, makes me feel like we're waiting for something," she muttered, throwing back another good few swallows. She had no interest in making him leave, anyway. Now that she thought about it, there were a few things that she could do that would ruin her life. Heroin, for example.

He shrugged, though he made a mental note of that fact, and walked over to sit on the far end of the couch. "Whatever you say."

It didn't take too long for the alcohol to really start affecting her, at the rate she was going through the bottle. When she was about a third of the way through she set it down heavily on the coffee table and sluggishly moved over to curl up in his lat like a cat. She closed her eyes, to stop the room from moving around quite so much. "Mm. This s'not as good as heroin."

He sighed a bit as she clambered into his lap, wincing slightly as a wayward hand got a little close to home with some force, but not complaining, just sighing a bit in exasperation and wrapping his arms around her firmly. "This is far better than heroin, consequence-wise."

"Heroin s'lot faster," she mumbled, turning into him a little. Now that she was good and drunk her mind was quiet, tame, she didn't feel a boiling need to dig into something and make it bleed. "But you're prob'ly right."

"I'm always right, Harrison," he muttered, rolling his eyes but shifting so that she was a bit more comfortable.

"Are not," she said contrarily, then sighed. "Carry m'to bed. Please."

He rolled his eyes once more, but complied, standing up with a grunt and keeping her tucked into his arms. She was still wrapped in just a towel but was mostly dry at this point, so he headed into the bedroom and set her on the bed like that, tossing the towel aside and tucking the blankets up over her before climbing in on his own side.

She only stayed awake long enough after that to curl up against his warmth, and then she was out cold. Thank god for alcohol.

He watched her drift off, tucking the blanket around them both a bit more securely, turning over the evening's developments. He needed to be more careful around her.

* * *

When she woke up in the morning, she was horribly hungover. _Horribly_ hungover. She rolled onto her stomach with a muffled groan. God, had last night even been _real?_

He woke up at her groan, glancing over at her through tired eyes as he tried to piece together what she was moaning about. It took him a moment, but he didn't even comment once he remembered, crawling out of bed and returning a few moments later with a tall glass of water and ibuprofen.

She sat up to take his offerings, downing the pill and then the entire glass of water. "Thanks," she mumbled, setting the glass down on the nightstand and leaning back against the headboard with a thump. "God, last night was a nightmare."

"Just don't throw it up," he muttered, climbing back into the warm bed with a sigh and curling up slightly under the covers. He glanced over at her as she spoke again, and his eyes tightened almost imperceptibly. "Yeah, didn't look like a fun party."

"Mm. No. Not a fun time. There's a reason I don't talk about my Armetti days. I'm always worried I'll just... snap, you know?" she sighed, shifting down to join him under the covers, because she wasn't wearing an ounce of clothing and the bed was toasty. "You're definitely going to need a new rug."

He nodded a little in agreement. "I'll get someone on it today." He wrapped an arm around her, shifting her a bit until she wasn't cutting off the circulation to the arm beneath her. "I didn't mean to set you off," he said after a moment.

"I know," she murmured, "It's not like you knew it was a possibility. I try my best to forget its there, and my file can only say so much about my past jobs. It's not as if I get like that every time you torture a guy in front of me. It's okay. Not your fault."

He shrugged a little. "I'm usually more... controlled. I'll try to avoid letting you see that in the future."

"I appreciate it. If you can't avoid it, you might find me joining in, anyway. Sometimes it takes a while for that to settle," she sighed, lifting a hand to rub her forehead. Her headache felt lethal.

He nodded just a little. This was the first time he'd discussed that part of his behavior with anyone other than Jim (if this could be called discussion), and he'd certainly never expected Harrison to share the addiction. It was interesting to say the least, and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

She shifted to grab her phone off the nightstand, sending a quick text to Kelly before just lazily dropping the phone off the side of the bed and burying her face in her pillow. "I'm taking the morning off. I told Kelly if he has any emergencies while I'm gone to shit them out his ass."

"Poetic," he smirked, eyes closed. He didn't particularly feel like getting up either, but that was the benefit of being chief of staff. You set your own hours. Unless Jim called him in for some reason.

She dozed off again, eager to put more distance between last night and the present. Only time fixed that particular problem.

He watched as she dozed, reaching out to pull her into his arms with a quiet sigh. He was worried about her, but hell if he'd tell her that.

* * *

She stirred again almost an hour later, this time feeling a little less miserable, now that the ibuprofen was kicking in. She yawned, stretching out a little. "Mmph. How long was I out?"

He glanced at the clock. "An hour. Not quite," he sighed, releasing her and rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and reaching up to rub at his face sleepily.

"Ugh. Not enough. But I guess I'll live," she mumbled, sitting up and sliding out of bed to shuffle over to the dresser, getting herself out some clothes. "You got any shit going on today?"

"Nothing specific, no," he sighed, stretching and sitting up. "I need to figure out this mole situation, and find someone to take over Carl's contract."

She nodded, just in time realizing that she was trying to put on a shirt inside out before correcting the problem. "Well, at least you shouldn't have anybody stepping out of line today. Or for the next week. Maybe months."

"Why's that?" he asked, starting to pull on his own clothing, glancing over at her with a raised eyebrow.

She smirked a little, fixing her sleeves. "There's only so quiet cleaning can be, bringing a body down from the top floors. People knew that Carl was demanding to see you. It's a logical jump to make that you were the one to do it. People are going to be a little more careful, when they hear what was left of him."

He buttoned his shirt, and sighed. "Fair point. Which means Jim will know about it sooner rather than later. That'll be interesting. His reactions to... that... have varied over the years from anger to something I honestly might have pinned as arousal if I didn't know better," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "It all depends on his mood. Maybe he won't bring it up at all. Who knows."

"I hadn't even thought about Jim's reaction. Good luck on that one," she shook her head, heading for the door with another yawn. "I'm going to put a pot of coffee on. You want me to stick something in the toaster for you?"

He shrugs. "Not really hungry. I've got a lunch meeting with Jim today for some reason or another. I think he wants to discuss the potential hits away from any prying eyes."

"Alright," she nodded, giving him a vague wave and stepping out to go for the kitchen. "Text me if you have a job or something. I have to give a talk to my people about the correct way to fill out forms, so it's not like I'll be doing anything important."

"Oh, sounds fun," he says, smirking a bit as he pulled on his shoulder holster and then his jacket. "Alright... I'm going to go get a few things done before lunch. I'll see you tonight."

"See you then," she replied as cheerfully as possible while suffering from a hangover. Christ, it was amazing how easy this had become. It was wonderful.

* * *

He spent the morning narrowing down his list of possible moles, attempting to avoid having to deal with the one name on there he didn't want to think about.

When it came near the time Jim had set for the meeting, he sent a text to Moran to meet him in the garage before heading down himself, mulling over the back-up plans he had, mentally noting which ones would need to be checked for continued strength.

He met Jim near the chauffeur's station, keys in hand. "I figured you'd be looking for low profile today, so I grabbed the BMW, but I can change if you prefer."

"No, you were correct," Jim nodded. He'd even dressed down a little. Well. He hadn't worn a suit jacket. That, for him, was dressed down. "I want to avoid attention as much as is possible."

"I've noticed," he said, nodding slightly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Moriarty without a jacket. "Shall we?" He didn't ask where they were going, wouldn't until they were in the car.

He nodded again, and turned to get into the passenger side of the BMW, waving off the chauffeur absently. He didn't feel like dealing with that sort of nonsense. Once Moran got in, he recited the address. "It's a Mediterranean place. We've been there once before, a year or so back. You liked that there was only one window."

He nodded. "I remember it. It's secure there. Nice choice." He pulled out of the garage, starting to take a rather round-about route, intent on throwing any tails.

"I heard about Harrison's dear old dad," Jim said, about five minutes into the drive. " _Nasty_ way to go, that. I hope you have a good reason for it. He was a decent contractor."

"He had serious issues with authority," he said, eyes on the road as he slowed at a red light. "Seemed to think he could give me orders. I made a few attempts to correct that opinion. He was rather adamant."

"And what did your little live-in think of that display?" he smirked, always keen to needle Sebastian about his weaker points.

He started off again at the green light with a bit more acceleration than was quite necessary. "She wanted to participate," he said as he turned down a narrow street, keeping an eye on the mirrors.

Jim had not been expecting that answer. He raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly. He knew most of the details about her past, but her personality hardly interested him as long as she was doing her job. " _Really._ Now that's interesting. I'll have to keep tabs on that."

He decided they weren't being followed and headed for the restaurant. "I'll admit I was a bit surprised at her... eagerness. I don't believe it's a strength for her, but certainly an interest."

He snorted. It was hardly a strength of Sebastian's, but he had no interest in scolding the sniper about his bad habits at the moment, so he left it at that, and fell silent until they pulled into the parking lot of the eatery. "How many people are left on the list of suspects?"

"Four, sir," he said, parking and getting out, walking around to open Jim's door.

"And who are those four?" he asked, nodding a little as he got out and straightening his cuffs as he headed for the restaurant door. "And what do you need to do to rule them out?"

He waited until they'd been shown a back table to answer. "Errison in accounting. Jerret and Sunders in cleanup, and O'Hare." He didn't allow his voice to change on the last name, looking over the menu. "I'll need a few more days of investigation. I'm having them watched."

Jim made a noise of affirmation, not even bothering to open the menu. He knew what he wanted, as always. "Good. I want this thing pulled out by the roots. Go around those four in the security changes. I want them isolated but unsuspecting. I want them to think they've won before I have their family murdered in front of them."

He nodded slightly. "Keep in mind that in likelihood at least two, if not three of them are innocent. At least of this particular crime," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow as he set his menu down. "Not that I'm objecting to your methods, I'd just prefer not to have to deal with the aftermath of three misfired family murders if I don't have to."

"I wasn't planning on having all of their families killed before we find out who it is," Jim snorted, folding his hands together on the table as he waited for the slow waitress to make her way towards them. "When we find out who it is, and they've spat out a confession, _then_ I'll have their family killed. But before that happens, I want them to taste victory. The would-be victors fall so much _harder."_

"Of course, sir," he said, nodding a little and looking up to give his order as the waitress came over, sitting back and waiting for Jim to finish his own negotiations.

Jim gave his own order in such a tone that implied that if his food was late the waitress was going to be missing a lot more than her tip when he was done, and she left a lot faster than she came. Then he sat back, sighing. "Another network wants to take me out. Aren't they in for a surprise."

"And Holmes as well. Hardly surprising that he's involved. I hope he comes along himself. I look forward to seeing how his hand is doing, and his eyes as well. Chemical burns, nasty things." He looked up as the waitress returned with their drinks, and he nodded his thanks, taking his beer.

Jim took a sip of his water (water was the easiest thing to tell by taste if it had been severely tampered with) and smirked, the image that his mind conjured up of the hateful man delightful. "I suppose I should have seen this side of Harrison coming. I have to say, I've rather _enjoyed_ her work so far. You two would make quite the serial killer couple. You'd make _art."_

He smirked as he sipped his beer, refusing to be ruffled in the face of the comment. "We may yet, if you give me a bit of reign if you need it. Though I know you tend to wrinkle your nose at the lack of control when I get going."

"Mm. I like seeing the aftermath of it. The actual process is a little _messy_ for my taste," he drawled, falling silent as the waitress approached with their food, and only starting up again once she was half across the restaurant and a fork was in his hand. "Either way, that's not why I dragged us out here to talk. I want to discuss contingency plans."

"Mmm..." He nodded, starting to cut into his sole. "What do you have in mind?"

"A lot of things. Most are just last-ditch things, not ironed out yet. But when my old cells were being taken out last year - I know now it was thanks to dear old Sherlock - I started buying properties. Shuffled them all through, at the least, 37 different holding companies, tried to get rid of things that could bring it back to me. Most of these I haven't touched, because they're in bad spots, or somewhere that I could use in the future. But I had one turned into a safe house. Spent a good amount of money making it look unused. If we have to leave headquarters, we can lay low there. I'll be pissed as hell if it comes to that, though."

He nods in agreement. "And by 'we', sir, you mean...?" he prompted after he swallowed.

"You and I," Jim said, giving him a look that was asking whether or not he'd missed Sebastian's brains leaking out of his ears the minute prior, a forkful of tabouli halfway to his mouth. "Besides the obvious fact that you're my _bodyguard,_ you'd be a high-priority target, too."

"I didn't doubt that I would be accompanying you, sir," he said, returning Jim's scrutiny with a steady gaze. "I was merely wondering if you would be wanting some of your other higher-ups to accompany us as well. I don't know the size of this safehouse to which you're referring, nor your intent for it."

He knew instantly where Moran was trying to go with that. He gave Moran a very dry look. "It's small. _Unpleasantly_ so. Two very small bedrooms. I will _not_ be sharing my space. But I _suppoooose_ she's valuable enough to squirrel away with us. Christ."

He didn't let his expression change, reaching to take another sip of his beer. "That wasn't necessarily what I was referring to, but I'll take it. Thank you, sir."

Jim rolled his eyes, shook his head, and finished up his meal. Moran had let this get out of hand, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. Somehow her work had _improved_ after the things she'd been put through, and if he killed her just to get the mess over with, he'd be losing a valuable asset. It bothered him. But when it came to his work, he wasn't unreasonable. "If you're not finished, get it to go. We're leaving."

"I'm finished," he said, pushing his plate aside and pulling out his wallet, leaving a wad of cash on the table. He could tell that Moriarty was annoyed, and he knew that in the unlikely instance this contingency became a reality, he'd need to be careful.

He stood without further ado, and within the next minute was back inside the BMW, scrolling through emails on his phone. It was a sign that he was no longer interested in conversation.

He knew better than to try and engage in it, driving back to headquarters, once again taking a more roundabout route. He finally pulled into the garage, stepping out and around to open Jim's door.

He got out and moseyed towards the elevator with a little wave of his fingers towards the sniper, still looking down at his phone. "Go find me my mole, Sebby," he drawled, looking over his shoulder seriously, then slipping the phone into his pocket and making for the lift once more. It was clear he would be taking it alone.

He didn't bother trying to follow, leaning against the car and leveling a silent glare once the elevator had closed. "Sebby," he muttered under his breath, sighing and rolling his eyes before turning his attention to the task at hand: weeding out the mole.

* * *

It was a few days later that Lorna got the text from Sebastian at about lunchtime, asking her to come back up to the flat. She walked in a few minutes later, sliding her phone into her back pocket. "This a booty call or do you have a job for me?"

"Bit of both?" he says, looking up from where he's considering his computer, reaching up to rub at his eyes. He hadn't slept much the last few days. "I need you to seduce O'Hare. Or... talk to him, at least. Try and get some information."

"Don't refer to having me seduce other men a booty call, Sebastian, you're going to ruin the term," she snorted, then cocked a thumb towards the wall. "He home?"

He nodded a little. "Yes. You know what I need?" He glanced at his security monitors before switching over to a compilation of his information on the mole.

"Not specifically," she shook her head. "Something about him working in something 'bigger and better', blah blah blah?"

He nodded a little, setting his laptop aside and leaning forward. "Everyone else has been eliminated," he said quietly, elbows on knees. "It's... highly possible that he's our mole. Get him bragging."

She nodded, brushed a hand through her hair. "Alright. I'm going over. If I scream, you better come rescue me," she said, only half-joking, and turned to slip back through the door. A moment later she was standing in front of O'Hare's door. She took a deep breath, and knocked.

The door opened a minute or so later, and O'Hare raised an eyebrow, staring at her for a moment. "Ms. Harrison," he finally said a bit roughly, nodding. "Can I help you?"

She ducked her head a little, looking almost painfully sheepish. "Yeah, yeah, I uh... I wanted to apologize. About before. I know it was a while ago, but looking back on it... I was wrong. I'm sorry. I just wanted to see if I could make it up to you?"

He studied her for a long moment, seeming surprised at first, then a bit confused. "That's... surprising to hear, coming from you, I'm gonna admit," he said, shaking his head a little but then stepping back, letting her in.

"Yeah, I guess I can be kinda stubborn at first," she smiled a little, stepping in with a nervous bob of her head, like she was still worried about making a misstep. "Sorry, I just.. take a long time to come around to the truth of things. And I, you know, I wanted to hear your side of things."

He closed the door, considering her. "What do you mean by 'the truth of things?" he asked, still considering her a bit suspiciously.

She paused for a moment, glancing back at the wall separating his and Sebastian's apartments. "You..." she hesitated, then shook her head a little, clearing her throat. "You were right about Sebastian. I was blind to it, I got attached... but he's not going to last much longer. He's barely holding on as it is. He's soft. I should have listened to you."

O'Hare seemed to inflate just slightly at that, stooped back straightening slightly, though he tried to keep his expression neutral. "What's happened?"

Moran had thought Malcolm's idea disgusting. O'Hare might cross himself. She grimaced. "I... I found a ring in his dresser."

He was shocked for just a moment, before his expression became almost gleeful. "You're kidding... Christ, I knew it. The fucker's gone completely useless..."

She nodded again, ducking her head and rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah. Yeah. God, I was so fucking wrong. Look... you're in a pretty good position to take over for him, you know? I guess I'm just asking you not to hold a grudge against me for some stupid shit that I said."

He nodded just a little, smiling. "Of course not. I'm glad someone else is finally seeing it." He let out a bit of a laugh, shaking his head. "A ring... Fuck... You're right. He doesn't have long at all. This is beautiful... Perfect..."

She let out a relieved laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I imagine he's not going to be around much longer. You got an alcohol in here? I could use a drink."

He nodded, stepping back. "Come in. What do you want? I've got beer, whiskey, or mead."

"Whiskey, if you don't mind," she grinned, stepping a little further into the flat. It was possibly even more austere than Sebastian's was. Well, Sebastian's on-site flat. "Beer is for when there's more than two people."

He walked over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out the bottle and a couple of glasses and nodded just a bit in agreement. "So... Are you going to go to Moriarty with this information, or just wait for Sebastian to screw himself?"

"I thought I'd leave that up to you," she shrugged, making herself at home and sinking down onto his sofa. "I thought you had more of a right to decide. I've forgiven all the things that Sebastian has done to me. I kinda doubt that you have."

He snorted. "You doubt correctly," he muttered, pouring two healthy servings of whiskey and passing one her way as he sat, as well. "Fucking bastard..." He took a long sip.

She downed a healthy portion of hers. Say what she would about O'Hare, but he had good taste in whiskey. Not in much else, though. "If I'd been you, I don't know if I could have taken this job. I might have done anything to fuck that bastard over." _C'mon, slip up._

He tossed back the rest of his drink. "Why do you think I took it? What better way to fuck him over than by being right next him?" he snorted.

"Yeah, but that's a good way to get dead, if you don't play it right. Sebastian may be soft, but he's not completely stupid," she snorted, taking her glass much more slowly after the first swallow. There was no need to get drunk.

He poured himself another glass, sitting back, and smirked. "Not if you have the ace in your sleeve," he muttered, smirking over his glass.

"What, like, dirt or something? What could you have that Jim doesn't already know?" she laughed. _Tell me, you bastard. Let me hear the words come from your twisted mouth._

He shrugged just a little, regarding his glass. "Nothing important. It's more a... strategic advantage. The point is, I'll be fine."

She smirked, setting her glass down on the coffee table and then gently taking his and doing the same, shifting over and straddling his lap in one smooth motion. "What, you can't tell me?" she purred, cupping his jaw, her thumb tracing along a scar. "Do you need me to apologize a little more?"

He was shocked for a moment, eyes a bit wide at that, before they narrowed and he reached up to grab her wrists, twisting them both sideways and off of the couch. Harrison landed hard on her back and he pinned her arms, straddling her to keep her in place. He didn't beat around the bush. "How much does Moriarty know?"

She took the opportunity he was giving her with an uncovered mouth, twisting beneath him towards the door, ignoring a spasm of pain in her back. " _MORAN!"_

He clamped a hand over her mouth, swearing angrily as he drove a knee into her ribs. "Shut the fuck up!" he hissed, leaving her mouth uncovered again as she gasped for air to quickly grab a knife from his boot, bringing it up to her throat. "What does Moriarty know?!"

Sebastian looked up from where he was sitting, and swore, standing and reaching to ensure that his gun was in place, already jogging for the door.

"He doesn't know _anything!"_ she shouted, trying to yank her arm out from beneath his leg, leaning as far away from the blade as she could. Lies, of course. "We knew there was a mole, there's always been leaks, it just came down to you. Let me _GO!"_

He grabbed her head, wrenching it forward again and digging the point of the knife into the scar on her neck. "You're going to stop yelling, or I'm going to reopen this scar and make sure it does its job this time," he snarled. He looked up, however, as the door to his apartment opened and Moran walked in, gun raised and trained. "How the hell did you get in?" he asked, keeping the knife firmly in place.

"It pays to be chief of staff," he sneered. "You have good security clearance. Let her go."

"I don't think so," O'Hare snarled, and she stiffened beneath him as he pressed the blade in a little harder, feeling a drop of blood bead up and roll down her neck to the floor. "Put down the gun, or I'll kill her. If you shoot me, I'll make sure I slit her throat before I take my last breath."

He growled in annoyance, gritting his teeth and running his thumb across the safety a few times. "Not a chance. I'll put you down like a dog, O'Hare, unless you put that knife down right now."

O'Hare shifted up off her, but dragged her up and around so he could use her as a shield, knife still pressed up under her jaw, a soundless threat. "You fucking idiots," he snapped, "You-" they all looked up at the ceiling at the sound of muffled gunfire. "What the fuck is that?"

His response was a bullet. He didn't think about it, didn't think about the consequences, what it would mean. Jim was in danger, Lorna was in danger, and his target had given him a low-risk shot. O'Hare slumped to the ground, the hole in his head dribbling blood, and Sebastian didn't bother to wait past that, charging out of the apartment for the stairwell, pressing his eye to the scanner before he was sprinting up the steps three at a time to find Jim.

It was already over by the time Sebastian reached his office. Three men lay dead in the hall. One of the security guards had been shot in the shoulder, but that was the extent of it. The assassins had come woefully unprepared to deal with nearly a dozen highly trained guards. "Sebastian," Jim drawled as he came barreling into the room, sidearm still in his hand. He was standing in the middle of the room with a glass of scotch in his hand, observing the bullet holes in the walls. "Pack your bags. It seems our opponent knows our home address."

He felt relief wash over him at the sight of his uninjured employer, slowing his pace and taking a slow breath, though he had no intention of letting the adrenaline go quite yet. "O'Hare was our mole. He's dead. When I heard the shots I made a fast and dirty call."

Jim nodded a little, turning that one over in his head. Not the mole for the other criminals, then. Any mole from them would have jumped ship before the attempted hit. Holmes, then. That man was infuriatingly good at burrowing moles in his operation. "Alright. Now get ready to leave, I meant that. I can't work here until that threat is dealt with. Collect your goldfish and let's go, unless you have a better recommendation."

"None, sir," he said, nodding and keeping his gun in hand. He walked to the door, ensuring that there were still guards in place and speaking with them briefly before returning to the stairwell. "I'll be ready to leave in ten minutes sir. I would prefer if you could do the same. Is there anything you'd like me to get for you?"

"No," Jim shook his head, turning for the door to his private quarters. "I've had a bag packed for months. The place is stocked with non-perishables. I will be waiting for you in the garage."

"Understood."

He jogged back down the stairs, heading for O'Hare's apartment, looking for Lorna. "Harrison?" he called as he headed down the hallway.

She wandered out, holding a towel to her neck. O'Hare had nicked it on his way to the floor. "Hey. Jim okay?"

"Fine. We're leaving, Jim has a safehouse. You're coming. Ten minutes to get packed. There's food there." He headed back for his apartment at a brisk pace.

She shook her head a little, just following him into his apartment wordlessly and heading into the bedroom to begin packing. She always had necessities in the top drawer, so it didn't take her long to finish up and wait in the living room for him. She was almost relieved that O'Hare had been the mole. It meant her bad feeling about him had been right.


	44. Get Along in the Safe House, Or Else

He joined her a few minutes later with a duffle bag and a weapons pack. "Alright, you ready?" he asked, heading for the door. "Also, fair warning, we're going to be sharing close quarters with Jim, so if that changes your packing arrangements at all, do it now."

She shook her head, snorting. "No, why would it? I'm fine, let's go," she chuckled, dropping the towel she'd been holding to her neck and picking up her bag, turning for the door. "I'm a little surprised I'm coming, though."

"We had a discussion about it," he said, heading for the elevator. "I won." Well, more Jim had been apathetic about the outcome, but with Jim that was about as close to a win as one could get.

"So what was that noise upstairs, anyway?" she sighed, stepping into the lift as it opened. "That network Sherrinford mentioned, trying to make a move? I mean, I assume that's why the three of us are sneaking off to hide. Oh, _god,_ I'm going to be so bored."

"Yes, the network he mentioned. They didn't have a chance of getting close to Jim, from what I saw, but they had the right target area, which means this location has been compromised and we're laying low for a while."

She nodded, sighing again as the elevator began to descend. Besides the general boredom that she was facing - what the hell was she going to do with herself? - this meant she had to live with Jim. Jim _fucking_ Moriarty. It wasn't a comfortable thought.

He glanced over at her, shifting his pack so the strap wasn't sitting on his shoulder holster. "If you'd rather stay here, be my guest," he said dryly.

She grimaced. "If you think I'm a high enough target to warrant going, I'm not going to try to argue. Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

"Terribly sorry for trying to save your ass," he muttered. He honestly wasn't in the mood to deal with her complaining, and headed out of the elevator at a brisk pace, in the direction of the garage.

She sighed and headed after him with a silent shake of her head, keeping just a pace behind him. Jim was waiting for them, leaning against a nondescript black SUV. "Hi, kids. Get in the van."

He smirked, reaching up to catch the keys tossed in his direction, walking around to the driver's side. "Do you have any candy or are we just going to have to take your word for it?"

"I don't need any," he snorted, climbing into the passenger side as Lorna got into the back. "Look how easily you were lured."

"You're really bad at luring if your prey is driving the vehicle," he shot back, starting the car up. "Where are we going?"

"A block from the Mediterranean place. I'll point it out when we get there," Jim directed, buckling his seat belt. Mostly because Moran was in the car, and his bodyguard was serious about his job.

He nodded, pulling onto the road once he heard the click and starting to take a different round-about route than he had when they'd gone to the restaurant, watching for tails. "How long do you want to stay under?"

"As long as it takes to get people to New York to send that bastard a message. I've completely forgotten his name. He means that little to me. The problem is we have to _find_ him first," he snorted, rolling his eyes, as if this was unbelievable. "Until then, I'll just work from the safehouse."

He nods in agreement, not bothering to ask any further questions as he headed down back alleys. A few minutes later Jim pointed out the apartment and he pulled into a parking garage nearby.

The three of them left the garage before Jim said anything, looking straight ahead as he rounded the corner and climbed the stairs up to the flat door, keys in hand. "If you two interfere with my ability to work or sleep, I will be unhappy. I'm hoping that was already obvious."

Lorna cleared her throat. "It was, sir."

Moran watched as he keyed into the flat. "This isn't my first time in close quarters with you, boss," he said with a bit of a smirk. "I promise not to claw the couches or piss on the rug."

He smirked, leading the way into the flat. "Alright, the bigger room is, obviously, mine. But romp around the rest of the place as much as you like," he shrugged, taking his bag and walking down the narrow hall and into a room that was undoubtedly his, where he shut the door behind him. Lorna let out a long breath.

Moran walked over to the other bedroom. It was small, but not terribly so, and there was a television on the bureau. He dumped his bag on the bed, before sitting on it, considering the surroundings. There were no windows, and he was grateful for it. "It's not terrible."

She followed him in, eyes flitting across the blank white walls, the simple furniture, the cramped feeling to it all. It was almost exactly like her first flat, except for the lack of cracking plaster and a sense of lingering despair that was handed down to each new occupant as the old one left. "I've had worse," was all she said in return, moving to unpack her things into the dresser.

He nodded, staring up at the ceiling. "So have I," he agreed. "After army barracks and various prisons I've learned to stop complaining."

"Mm. Most of my bad ones are heroin dens. That's just a different class of shitty," she sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed as she finished putting away her clothes. It bothered her that there were no windows. Moran probably loved it. "God, I'm going to be useless in here. I mean, you guys, you can do most of your work through emails and shit. But god, are grifters bad at online communication."

He sneered a bit. "Really? I would have thought that would be a strong point for you lot. Post a few well-planned pictures and you can rule the world."

She chuckled. "No, no, online isn't the same. Pictures and words on a screen don't impact people as much. It isn't what you say, it's how you say it. I mean, I'm sure there's a class of incredibly talented cyber-grifters that _aren't_ emailing people as struggling Nigerian princes, but the majority of us are better at getting what we want in person. And it means there are less pictures of us in circulation. Less chance of being recognized by someone who's never seen us before."

"Mmm... I suppose that's fair," he said in agreement, sighing before standing and walking over to her, reaching out to tilt her head and get a look at the gash on her neck. "You need to get this covered up. Did he get you anywhere else?"

She was not pleased that she had to tilt her head back less sitting on the bed than she would have standing on the ground. "No, that's the only cut. I got a pretty good knee to the ribs, but at the most it's a nasty bruise," she sighed, shrugging a little. "If you have a medkit on you, cool, but otherwise..."

"Otherwise I'll be making a run to the store, because any safehouse without a med kit is a damned death trap," he muttered, rolling his eyes and heading into the adjoining bathroom. He returned, kit in hand, and set it beside her, pulling out antiseptic ointment and opening the tube, starting to spread it carefully over the cut.

Her jaw tightened a little but other than that she didn't react, doing her best to stay still for him. She didn't feel good about the work she'd done with O'Hare. She'd started out alright, had been doing well, in fact, until she'd tried to get physical. She should have known someone with that much bottled hatred, self and otherwise, would instantly suspect deceit when someone suddenly was interested. "Thanks for being punctual when I called for help. I shouldn't have tried to rush it, I just.. didn't feel like we had a lot of time. Guess I was kinda right."

"Yes, you were kind of right," he said as he wiped his fingers on his trousers and closed the tube up, grabbing some gauze and pressing it carefully into place. "What happened that made it go south?"

She snorted, shaking her head a little as he finished taping it on, reaching up to touch it gently. "I tried to seduce him. It was stupid of me, getting him drunk would have been safer," she muttered, leaning back on her hands.

"Yeah. I don't imagine his self esteem was quite high enough to play that card," he muttered, packing everything away. He was finally beginning to relax, which was really not a good thing, because with it was coming the pounding guilt of the body he'd dropped not an hour ago. A body he'd sworn to protect.

She sighed, letting herself fall back the rest of the way, staring up at the ceiling. "Sorry. That couldn't have been a fun situation for you."

He shrugged, walking into the bathroom to return the kit. "It's my job. It was fine."

"Just cause it was your job doesn't mean it was a good time," she shook her head, toeing off her shoes. "You had history with him. You don't have to like how it turned out."

He shrugged, taking a breath as he looked in the mirror. The scars across his face seemed laughable compared to what O'Hare had had. "It wasn't pleasant, no. But it was my job and that's as far as it goes."

"Alright," she sighed, not willing to push him on this. And these days, that line was something she drew herself. There was no point in being constantly afraid of him reacting in a volatile manner; she just recognized by this point that he was entitled to a little privacy, or space, or whatever you wanted to call it.

He walked over to his bag, starting to unpack it as well. When she wasn't looking he slid two large bottle of high proof under the bed. He didn't need them, but he wanted them there. No point in being sober, especially not now.

She shifted up to lean against the headboard, reaching for the TV remote on the nightstand and turning on the news, already battling boredom. Then she smirked. "They found an arm in the Thames. Wanna bet it's Ford's? Bet it's a little battered by now."

"The other Holmes brothers are undoubtedly going to be pissed about that," he smirked, moving to sit on the bed as well, legs crossed. "Even if they were estranged, I doubt they're going to let that go lightly."

"No, I imagine they'll be a little put out by it," she chuckled, dropping the remote between them, in case he wanted to change the channel. "I hope it gets under Mycroft's skin the most."

"It undoubtedly will," he said with a sigh, leaning back and closing his eyes, trying to relax. "He's the eldest and overprotective of the others, even if he doesn't like to show it."

"Good," she muttered, then let them fall into silence. He looked like he needed a break.

He appreciated the silence. The alcohol under the bed felt like it was calling to him, but he payed it no mind for the time being, deciding that for the moment, it was as good a time as any to take a nap.

* * *

It was hours later that Lorna quietly turned off the TV and slipped out of bed and out the door, making for the kitchen. She was hoping it was late enough that Jim would be squirreled away somewhere, working - she wasn't sure she could eat with him just hanging around, watching her like a hawk. She practically tip-toed into the kitchen, opening up the door to the pantry as quietly as possible. _Please stay in your room, boss..._

He watched in amusement from his spot at the breakfast table in the corner. "Trying not to wake darling Sebby?" he smirked, teeth flashing as he saw her jump.

" _Jesus,"_ she huffed, bracing a hand by the door for a second and raking a hand through her hair. "Uh, yeah, kinda. And you. Didn't know if you were the napping sort."

"Hardly," he said, smirk still curling his lip at the nervousness she exuded. "How are you enjoying my Tiger, Lorna? Is he satisfactory?"

She just shut the pantry door, convinced now that there was no way she could eat. "Yeah, he's, uh, he's my type," she shrugged a little, jamming her hands into her pockets so she didn't have to worry about what they were doing on their own. "10/10, would recommend, you know."

"Oh, I've certainly considered it," he said, smirking a little. "He'd go bottoms up the instant I suggested it. I've been distracted of late. But we're in for a bit of a boring time in close quarters..." He bared teeth in a smile that suggested he was considering various forms of murder.

She cleared her throat a little, shifting uncomfortably and trying to pretend like she wasn't stuffing down an irrational jealousy. "I'm not sure what I'm meant to say to that, sir," she settled for finally, giving him a little bit of a shrug. "I guess.. maybe warn me ahead of time so I don't disturb you?"

He smirked. "Oh, I'm not sure. I think that might be entertaining. You've grown rather attached to him, I think... A habit I really should break both of you of."

She squared her jaw a little. "Pardon my saying so, sir, but it's not as if we're not comfortable with the idea of the other fucking somebody else. It is part of my job description. And he does whatever he has to. If I'm attached, I don't think that'd be the way I'd go about breaking it."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, no, that wouldn't be to break you of it, that would be for fun. Breaking you of it would involve a much more... entertaining and creative course of action. But I haven't decided yet." He considered her for a few moments, still smiling a cold smile, before it dropped and he waved her off. "Go away, you're boring."

She turned immediately and left, trying to settle her rolling stomach. Christ, sometimes he was so much like DeWitt it made her ill. She shut the door to the bedroom a little harder than she meant too, then winced, hoping she hadn't woken Sebastian up.

He looked over when she came in- no way he was going to sleep through that- and frowned at her expression, sitting up a bit. "What's wrong?"

"Jim thinks we've become too attached to each other. And whatever it involves, it's not the fucking you. That's just 'for fun'," she muttered, leaning back against the door with a heavy sigh. "Christ, it's like living with fucking DeWitt. God, I hate those games they play."

He sat up fully, frowning a bit more. "Wait, what fucking me are we talking about?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The 'bottoms up' kind, according to Jim," she snorted, giving the ceiling a look that suggested it was to blame. "You better make some sort of noise if you fuck him, cause I am _not_ walking in on that."

"Since when am I fucking Jim?" he asked, putting his hands up a bit defensively, confused.

"I said 'if', didn't I? Look, it's not exactly as if we've exchanged promise rings, I'd get it," she sighed, shrugging a little. "It's fucking Jim. _Literally_ fucking Jim. How well would saying 'no' go?"

"Not.. not very well," he admitted, crossing his arms a bit, as he considered the situation. "Just... surprising. How the fuck did that even come _up_?"

"He surprised me in the kitchen and then asked if you were 'satisfactory'. I certainly didn't steer the conversation, believe me," she snorted, finally moving off the door to sit down heavily on the edge of the bed, grimacing a little. "I get the sense he just really wanted to bug me."

"Well, yeah, that's Jim for you," he muttered, shaking his head a bit. "He doesn't do well if he feels trapped. He gets more... hostile."

She snorted again. "No fucking kidding. What I'll really be interested to see is if he says the same sort of thing to you."

"All bets are off with him, we'll just have to see," he sighs, yawning. "What were you out there for anyway?"

"Food," she shrugged, getting up again to go to her dresser and pull out some pajamas. "Why else would I risk interacting with Jim, really?"

He laughed a bit at that. "Do you want me to go try and get something to bring in here?"

She smiled a little, turning and starting to get out of her clothes. "No, but thanks. I rather not have to face the extra snide comments because I couldn't go get food for myself. Plus, you might not come back, and I'm feeling far too possessive for that."

He smirked just a little, deciding not to think too much into that. He wasn't tired, but he got up to change into pajamas anyway. He'd have a drink after she fell asleep.

She crawled into bed a moment later, slipping between the sheets and then lying back, staring at the ceiling. She sighed. "I'm not the slightest bit tired."

He took a slow breath, hiding any frustration, and smirked over his shoulder at her. "Yeah... unfortunately the night life isn't great here. Want to watch a movie or something?"

"Or something," she snorted, slipping back out of bed and heading over to her bag, pulling out a bottle of bourbon and a half-empty pack of cigarettes. "I kinda wanna fuck up this room for anybody who tries to sleep here after us."

"Keep in mind that Jim does own the place," he pointed out. "Don't fuck it up too terribly."

"I'm not going to spray-paint my name on the walls," she shrugged, flopping back down on the mattress and tossing the cigarette pack onto the nightstand so she could open up the bourbon. "Just leaving behind the undeniable odor of rebellion. You want some?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation, the headache that was starting pausing to tilt its head and listening to the thought of approaching alcohol.

She took a good swig and then handed it over to him, leaning back against the headboard. She normally didn't pack liquor on emergencies. But she'd seen how he'd been when she'd suggested O'Hare was the mole, and she'd seen the alcoholism he'd resorted to when O'Hare had first shown up again in his life. She'd figured that it would be better if he got drunk under a little supervision. Plus, she really was feeling a little salty about what Jim had said. "I think it's the one I remember you liking. It's been a while, I'm still getting back my liquor sea-legs."

He nodded as he took a long pull, taking a slow breath as the stuff warmed his esophagus pleasantly. He handed the bottle back. "It is, yeah. Good memory."

"Be a pretty shitty grifter if I didn't," she shrugged, then smirked, a bit more of a teasing tone coming into her voice. "Plus, it helped me get into your pants, didn't it?"

He snorted slightly, rolling his eyes. "That's debatable," he muttered, smirking. "I'd say it was your catastrophic failure at poker. I had to take pity on you."

"I don't know, I think if there was any pity it was because of the really lame sex you watched me have," she chuckled, prying the bottle from his hand to take another sip of it before handing it back to him. "The poker just gave you an excuse to get off."

"Okay, well, I suppose that's fair. It was really awful sex that you'd endured," he smirked, taking another sip and considering the bourbon label.

She smirked, bringing her knees up to rest her elbows on them. "And it doesn't even make my list of top 20 bad fucks. Do normal people even keep lists like that?"

"No, not to my knowledge, but now you have me curious," he said with a snort. He made to take another sip of the bourbon, but felt her glance and lowered it again with a small snort.

What she really wanted to talk about was how he was feeling after downing O'Hare, but god knew if she tried to get him to open up he was just going to spit fire back at her. So she'd get him a little drunk, first. "Yep, I have a real list, in my flat. Haven't had to update it in a while, fortunately for me. And thank you, for failing to be anywhere near that list."

"I should hope I'm not," he snorted. "Come on, though, what are the top three?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Number three was this french guy, back when I was first grifting. We were both pretty young, so, you know, _stupid._ He dropped me off the first floor balcony. Not the American first floor, either. That was the first time I broke my arm," she grinned at the memory, taking the bottle briefly to take another sip. "Second was a woman. Only woman on the list. And she's only on it because she had these _killer_ nails. You can imagine. _Not fun."_

He made a face, taking another long drink. "Some nails are nice, but there comes a limit, and I don't have inside parts, least not that most people are interested in. That sounds hellish."

"That one was very nearly a hospital visit," she chuckled, rubbing at her eyes. "But number one... Oh boy. I had this guy in bed, and he wasn't really that good. Just.. kinda lifeless, you know? That alone wouldn't have made the list. But then his mother called. And he answered. Without stopping. I think I literally shriveled up."

"Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered, his nose wrinkling instantly. "Please tell me you're kidding... Gods..." He tossed back more bourbon. He was starting to feel warm. "Did you have to keep pretending he was sexy after that?"

"Yeah, it was maybe one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life. If he hadn't been a mark I probably would have killed him. I'll put up with a few eccentricities if the sex is fucking out of this world, but I'm not putting up with it in mediocre-at-best sex," she scoffed, reaching to take a drink from the bottle. He'd downed a lot more of it than she had. "What about you? You had any truly awful fucks?"

"Plenty," he smirked. "Some of them were hookers, which I find odd. I mean... go into a career you're talented at, you know?"

"How much were they? Only the expensive hookers are required to be good. Cheap hookers just have to be vaguely present for the deed," she smirked, shrugging a little. "Well, at least I can't say I have a lot of disappointing sex. That's what low standards are for."

"I suppose that's fair," he muttered. She was holding the bourbon hostage, but he was pretty buzzed anyway so he let her keep it for the moment. He'd taken the edge off his headache.

She sighed, resting the bottle in her lap. "Sebastian... I'm a little worried about Jim. I don't.. I don't want him to fuck this up, you know? And I'm afraid he's going to try to fuck it up."

"Fuck what up, exactly?" he asks, grabbing a pillow and shifting it between him and the head of the bed, leaning back.

She shrugged. "Whatever the fuck this is. I don't know. This.. unhealthy attachment thing we have going. I like this fucked up thing, okay? I don't want Jim to wreck it just because he's bored."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking just a bit. "I hope this isn't a bid for me to do something, because in case you haven't noticed, I don't have much influence over what Jim Moriarty does or does not do."

She gave him an extremely dry look. "I do _try_ to be straight-forward with you, you know that? I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm expressing my dislike for having my life played with like it's a game of fucking Sims. Would you like me to advertise my intentions in advance next time I speak? Warning: may contain trace amounts of emotion?" Maybe she'd had a little more booze than she'd thought. The sarcasm was getting all over the place.

He let out a sharp laugh, head tilting back for a moment as he let it escape, reaching up to cover his face with his hands a moment later. "Oh, gods, Harrison... I'm not sure what sort of company you think you work for, but if you weren't aware that your life had puppet strings the moment you signed on, you were sadly misled." He looked back at her, then, eyes dancing with mirth over a layer of darkness. "He owns us, Harrison. You signed a contract, knowing that if you breached it or decided to leave, your life would be forfeit. You signed your soul over to the devil- who as it happens, wears Westwood, not Prada- and occasionally we have to deal with the consequences. 'Express your dislike' all you want. It won't change anything and it's naive to entertain hopes of it being otherwise."

She grit her teeth, staring up at the ceiling for a moment to stop herself from just yelling at him. "I know, Moran. Of course I fucking know that. I'm not a fucking idiot. I think we've demonstrated that I'm quite aware of the depth to which Jim Moriarty owns my fucking soul. Christ," she muttered, shaking her head, suddenly tired of him, of dealing with this goddamn bullshit he spat out every time he thought she was just a little too familiar. "I'm under no illusions that things will change. I never have been. That doesn't mean that occasionally, when I'm caught in a small space with a couple of bloodthirsty predators, I'm not going to say something offhand just to relieve a little _fucking_ tension," she snapped, the calm in her voice finally breaking. She shook her head, jaw clenched and got out of bed, heading for the dresser. "Fuck this. I'm not required to stay here."

He stood up immediately when she said that, swaying just slightly as his vision lagged, but catching himself a moment later. "Yes, you are. That's an order," he said, his voice brokering no argument.

She paused with one hand tight around a half pulled-out drawer, resisting the urge to just slam it shut. "Why?"

"Because," he said slowly, evenly, though his hand clenched. "I'm your superior, and I said so. Are we going to have a problem?"

"I don't know, Sebastian, are we?" she snapped, turning back to him, anger clear on her face. "Are you going to do this every fucking time I say something that's just, what, too real for you?"

He squinted at her, trying to figure out what the hell she was going on about. "I'm not sure what the fuck your problem is. Yes, I'll have a go at you for being surprised that Moriarty's trying to fuck our lives up. He's probably out there in the kitchen listening to this and having a fucking laugh about it. Did I miss something?"

"I'm not _surprised,_ you _asshole!_ I said I didn't want him to. You know, like most people say about things they have no control over! Christ, I hope the economy doesn't get worse! Fucking hell, I'll be pissed if it rains today! For fuck's sake, Moran, you have to get fucking defensive every time I say something just a little off the beaten track for you! That's what my _fucking_ problem is. I don't know what I can fucking say to you. I don't know what's going to set you the fuck off," she snorted, raking a hand through her hair. "Just fucking let me leave. I can't fucking walk on eggshells around both you and Jim. It's too much. Let me leave or just stop getting up in arms all the time for stupid shit."

"I didn't get up in arms, Harrison," he said, a bit of an edge to his voice. "I laughed. I'm terribly sorry if that was somehow offensive." His voice was dangerous. "You want to leave? Fine. Get going. Jim will be thrilled."

"You call that laughing? You immediately jumped up to remind me - as if I _needed_ reminding - how fucked my life is," she snarled, giving in and slamming the drawer shut without taking her clothes out, frozen in place between staying and leaving, like she always was when it came to him. "When do I ask you for anything? What do I ask from you, Sebastian? _What?_ Why do you automatically assume that I'm going for a fucking _angle?"_

"Not yours, _ours_ ," he retorted. "We're in the same situation. So I'm flippant about it. I'm not going to apologize, I'm _always_ flippant, and you're toeing a hell of a line right now acting like this. I'm in charge, not you. You bring a concern to me, I handle it how I like. You want to quit? Fine. The door's there, but it would be easier if you just walked over to Jim and let him down you right now."

She snorted, waving a hand at him. "I never said anything about quitting. Christ. I don't approach Jim voluntarily, suicidal or not. Give me that bourbon."

He snorted, but held the bottle in her direction. "You leave, it's disobeying a direct order, which isn't going to end up much prettier."

She took it, and downed a sizable portion. "I don't know why you want me here," she muttered, shaking her head. She downed another swig.

"Why the fuck do you think," he muttered, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes.

She capped the bottle and moved to set it on the nightstand, running her hand through her hair and taking a steadying breath. He was infuriating. And he'd effectively trapped her here. There was nothing she could do.

He sighed, reaching down under the bed and pulling out his own bottle, standing and heading for the door. He didn't want to deal with her right now. Jim wasn't _much_ better, but at least he was a predictable kind of completely unpredictable insanity.

Lorna sighed and ran a hand over her face, staying where she was for a moment before turning and heading wearily for the bathroom. Maybe she could shower this away.

Jim was in the kitchen on his laptop. He smirked as Sebastian walked in. "That didn't take long at all."

"Yessir, thank you sir, may I have another?" he muttered sarcastically, cracking the seal on the bottle and twisting the cap off. He took a long pull, heading over to the fridge.

He let out a dark chuckle. "Don't tempt me, you know I'll do it. I guess neither one of you will mind then, if I fuck the other. I do so _love_ the tearing you apart, but that sounds like equal fun, if you get as jealous as she did. And you do, don't you, Tiger?"

He grit his teeth slightly, but kept rummaging. "What's mine is yours, sir. Always has been. And she's more yours than mine anyway. You pay for her." He gave up on finding anything he wanted to eat, and got out a glass instead, filling it with ice. "Drink?"

"Mm. No thank you. I'd rather like one of us to maintain actual use of our mental facilities this evening, and judging by the fact that I didn't hear any glasses touch the furniture and the fact that you smell like you were baptized in bourbon, it's going to have to be me," he snorted, shutting his laptop and setting it aside on the island counter he was seated at. "Either way, I want to remember how many different times you dance around the word 'whore'."

"If I had permission to speak freely, I'd probably tell you to shut the hell up. As it is, I know better," he muttered, pouring himself a generous shot. He shouldn't have said that. It was risky. But he was drunk and pissed, and Jim seemed to be in a decent mood.

"Yes, you do know better," Jim replied, just a bit of an edge entering his voice, eyes sharp on Moran. "You should be grateful, Moran. I was _much_ more _aggressive_ with your little.. plaything. But then, I do occasionally find conversation with you worthwhile. Don't waste it."

"Of course not, sir," he sighed, taking the hint to watch his tongue. He was drunk, not stupid. He set the bottle aside, leaning against the counter with his drink. "How goes whatever you're working on?"

Jim sighed, patting his laptop once. "Fine. It's not a job, it's just a hunt for information. I've been having to shake a few trees, but no fruit yet. I want this Mallory twat dead on a slab. I don't like competition. I loathe competition that thinks it's a good idea to attack me."

"To be fair, that does suggest that they're particularly stupid competition, especially given their method of 'attack'. Though they did manage to plant a mole within the organization..."

Jim shook his head, sighing. "I don't like that they found us, Moran. If we don't obliterate them soon, that information will spread. We might have to move buildings anyway, just to be safe," he huffed, pulling his laptop over again and opening it, motivated back into working. "If O'Hare wasn't the only leak, we still have to tread carefully. And the fact that he was present during the attempted hit... Comb through the list again, when you have time. No one's free of suspicion this time. Doesn't matter how long they've been hired, or under what circumstances. Anyone could have been turned."

He nodded in agreement, taking another sip of alcohol and sighing, closing his eyes and trying to think. "We may just have to interrogate people individually."

"When we can get out of this fucking safehouse, we can do the purge. For now, I just want to keep our work as insulated as possible. Keeping it in the flat, and all that," he sighed, then shut the laptop again, pulling it into his lap and then standing. "I haven't slept in four days. I'm going to remedy that. Don't wake me."

"Understood, sir," he said, nodding and watching him go before knocking back the rest of his drink and heading for the small den. He had no problem crashing on the couch.

* * *

The next day was unpleasant for Lorna. She'd almost been surprised when he had never come back to bed, and when he didn't initiate conversation the next morning when she slunk out for breakfast, she decided to follow suit. They went the whole day without speaking. He mostly stayed in the den, and she only left the bedroom for necessities. But that night, she decided she was going to have to leave the flat, briefly. If she had to go one more day without milk in her tea, she was going to drop dead.

They grabbed her on that fucking milk run. And, while she was in the van, hands bound in front of her and a bag over her head, she went through the walk, tried to see where she had made her mistake. She'd been careful, they all had. She'd gone under the cover of dark, in a loose hoodie and jeans that were too big, walking in cheap, silent sneakers and carrying no obvious bag, nothing to tempt a mugger. Where had she gone wrong? Where had she slipped, where had she alerted them to her presence? She didn't know.

Lorna didn't try to talk during the ride, though she could hear the breathing of several different people. She suspected they were men. It was statistically likely, given that not a lot of women were big enough to stuff somebody quickly and efficiently into the back of a raised vehicle. Wherever they were taking her, she was fucking screwed. The network would not be coming to save her. She was alone, and it was going to be up to her to get herself out. The prospect was not a bright one. Moran might try to find her, but without resources, how could he? That was a bad thought, but then she had a worse one. _What if he thinks I'm a traitor? That I've been playing him this whole time?_ That, out of all the possibilities in front of her, was the most frightening. Physically, there was not all that much that they could do to her to make her feel real fear, but the thought of him thinking she'd betrayed the network, betrayed _him,_ was chilling.

Time passed relatively quickly, because it didn't feel all that long later that a rough pair of hands hauled her up and bustled her out of the vehicle, only pausing to make sure she didn't fall before pressing her forward again. The floor felt dirty, even under her shoes, like a thick layer of dust had settled on top of it, and the air smelled faintly of rust and grease. An old factory, maybe? It hardly mattered, except for sating her own curiosity. Wherever she was, they didn't force her up or down any stairs, just through a few doors. When they seemed to finally reach their destination, the person that had been guiding her tugged her to a stop and turned her around, and before she knew it she was pinned against the wall. The zip-tie holding her wrists together was cut with a _zzt_ noise and then her wrists were being forced up, a second pair of hands appearing to help the first. Then she felt something close around her wrist, and she could no longer bring her hands down. Were those _manacles?_

Somebody moved in front of her. Before she could tense up, the sack over her head was plucked off. Standing before her was a man probably younger than herself, with carefully styled hair and an eyebrow piercing. The edges of a tattoo could be seen peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and his fingers were practically covered in rings. Who the fuck was this kid? "Hi there," he smiled, dropping the bag that had been over her head to the side. Christ, he was American, too. "Lorna, right? I've heard good things. And some bad things, but I don't think any of us really can get away with being perfect all the time, can we? I'm Keenan. And I'm not particularly interested in you. Now, your _boss..._ You'll be doing yourself a favor if you just tell me where he is."

* * *

He didn't care for the first hour that she was gone. By the second, he was edgy, and by the third he risked approaching Jim about it. "Harrison went out for milk three hours ago," he said briskly. "She isn't answering her phone."

* * *

Playlist: Shinedown - State of My Head


	45. Just A Few Drops Of Water

Jim looked up from his place on the sofa, shutting his laptop. "If she's not the mole we can't risk alerting the real one that we're planning to move. If you want to find her, you're going to have to do it by yourself."

He nodded just a little, taking a breath. "I don't believe she is the mole, sir, so that seems a wise course of action. I'll start looking."

"Moran, if you find her and she's not dead... I want you to make it a very sure thing that she's not playing us. I've met many, _many_ liars, but she may be the best," he snorted, shifting to pull his phone out of his pocket, starting to go through his contacts. "I'll give you what resources I deem invisible enough to give to you. Now, I would be under the assumption that the clock is ticking, if I were you."

"Of course, sir. Thank you," he said, nodding as he went to find his laptop. He had a lot of work to do, but the first was to watch the CCTV cameras.

* * *

Mallory kept his eyes on the woman, still smiling. Even in a hoodie and loose jeans, she was beautiful. If you looked closely enough, you could see the marks of her life- scars that marked her skin here and there, including strange networks of tracks across both arms, glinting pale in the fluorescent light. "Come on, we both know how this ends. So let's just skip the boring bit, shall we?"

Lorna shifted, subtly testing how much room she had in the manacles. If she was lucky, her hands were small enough that she'd be able to force herself out of them, in a real bind. No pun intended. "I'm sorry, I don't think I know how this ends," she snorted, not bothering to put on a friendly face for him. He was just a fucking kid. This was who was trying to take down Moriarty? "Usually it ends with whoever has me chained up clutching some bleeding appendage, but I guess my luck will only hold out so long."

He laughed, tilting his head back and reaching up to brush a hand over his hair. "I like you, I do," he said, smiling and nodding. "It would really be a hell of a shame- _hell_ of a shame- to have to hurt you. But I'm going to have to if you don't smarten up a bit."

For a moment a sickeningly sweet smile spread onto her face. "Aw, does that mean you think I'm pretty?" she gushed, somehow managing to make herself look comfortable and at home chained to a rust-covered wall. Then the smile slid off her face, replaced by a cold mask. "You obviously know who I work for. This is my smartest course of action."

"Oh, I think you're beautiful," he said, unashamed. "But that's your strong suit, your ace in the hole. You wait for men to trip over themselves trying to get in your pants- trousers, I suppose it is here, although I suppose pants works just as well- and then you let them fall on your knife. Correct me if I'm wrong."

Lorna rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to be volunteering a speck of information, kid, corrective or otherwise. I do have a question for you, though. You gonna fuck me up yourself or are you worried you might chip your cute little punk nail polish?"

He smiled again, seeming genuinely amused by her. "You know, I've never really been the expert at all of this, but Mark is a good friend of mine. They're going to be heading up this operation, and I'll be flying co-pilot. Teaching moment. You know. I hope you don't mind if we have to try things a few times. If at any point you'd like us to stop, you know what to do."

"Yeah, go fuck yourself," she snorted. What happened to her happened. And when it was over, she was going to get herself the fuck out, maybe just walk away from this whole mess entirely. It didn't matter. None of this really mattered.

A woman walked in a few minutes later, and Keenan smiled. "This is Mark," he said, smiling and walking over to take a car battery from the pile of equipment Mark was carrying, setting it to the side. "Most people get confused by her at first, but eventually that becomes less of a concern."

Lorna gave them both an apathetic shrug. "Big fucking deal. Look, kid, unless you're hiding some very specialized beetles in that battery, I'm not even going to tell you my middle fucking name. You're wasting my time."

He shrugged a little, putting his hands in his pockets. "That's a lot of bluster. I'm sure Mark will enjoy finding your soft spots." The woman walked forward, a bucket of water in hand, and threw it over Lorna, soaking her.

She made a face, shaking her head to get wet strands of hair out of her eyes. "Ugh. Gross. What is this, sewer water? I mean, I appreciate the whole keeping the electrocution torture from being fatal thing, but rainwater from the gutter is probably cleaner than whatever the hell you just threw on me was." Electrocution hurt. A _lot._ But there were things that were so much worse. Electrocution wasn't like a burn, and it wasn't like a mental scar. When it stopped, all it left were some temporary muscles tremors, and, if you were unlucky, a bitten tongue.

"Mark, where did you get that water?" Keenan asked curiously as the woman stepped forward, jump cables in hand.

She shrugged a bit, and smirked. "She isn't too far off, boss."

"Well, I suppose it'll have to do. Well, Lorna? One last chance before things start to get a bit messy."

She spat at Mark's feet, disdain wrinkling her nose. "Go fuck yourself."

Keenen smiled a bit sadly at that. "Mark, if you would...?"

The woman stepped forward with a grin and pressed the clamps to Lorna'a chest.

* * *

She didn't know how long it was until Keenan held up a finger and drew his phone out of his pocket. It was enough time for her throat to be hoarse from screaming, and for her wrists to be crying out, since her knees had given out a while ago. "Mark," Keenan sighed, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Something more pressing has come up. Come on. We'll be back, Lorna. Try to rest."

* * *

It took Sebastian thirty-seven hours to find her, start to finish, and while he wasn't pleased with the time, he knew he couldn't have done it any faster. So now here he was, armed with a bayoneted pistol in one hand and a Bowie knife in the other, his rifle left behind in favor of moving with speed and agility.

He'd timed two grenades to go off at the north side of the building to draw attention, and was moving in through the south. The guards were distracted and he smiled, stepping into them with brutality. The first's neck was snapped in a matter of seconds, and fifteen seconds after him his companion fell, gasping around a nickle-sized puncture through her jugular. Sebastian moved on, wiping the blood off of his bayonet as he walked.

Lorna had been left in her space alone for hours now. Wherever Mark and Keenan had gotten off to, she suspected that it wasn't close, and it was important to them. It just left her time to nurse her wounds, anyway. They had upgraded to beating at one point, of course. Mark was just too crass not to.

He left a trail of bodies, in no mood for mercy. He received a few nicks and cuts and plenty of bruises, but that was to be expected in any hand-to-hand situation, no matter how good you were. He moved quickly, because he knew that the instant the distraction was discovered to be just that- a distraction- his prey would come running. Which wouldn't be ideal, but certainly would be entertaining.

The second wave of bombs went off, and he picked up his pace, face and arms flecked with blood. Five minutes later he shot out the lock on the door to the holding cell and pushed into it, walking forward and looking Harrison over. She could have been worse, he supposed. She was alive and didn't appear maimed in any way. He bit back the relief that threatened to overwhelm him, Jim's words heavy in his mind. _I've met many,_ many _liars, but she may be the best._

He made no greeting, but holstered his gun and pulled the chain cutters out of his pack, walking forward and reaching up to close them around the manacle chain, the metal protesting for a moment, then giving in to the shears. Harrison's arm dropped, and he went for the other one. "Can you stand?"

She couldn't even really manage surprise at his entrance, although she had pulled her bloodied wrists harder against the manacles for a moment, to make sure she was still awake. Blood was streaked down her arms, but that had been her own fault. The cuffs were not large enough to slip out of. "Yes," she rasped, her dry throat resisting. It was possible she had a fractured rib - that Mark was a lot stronger than she looked - but that wouldn't impede her standing. "I'm impressed. I don't think that was two days."

"It wasn't," he returned, cutting the other chain and putting the cutters back in his bag. "We'll get those off once we're out of here. Come on."

She nodded, pushing off the wall and stumbling once before righting herself, stiff and tired. Relief was beginning to seep into her as she followed him, keeping her wrists pressed to her front to keep the manacle cuffs from rubbing her raw skin. She hadn't dared to hope for rescue. "Mallory," she started, nearly tripping over a bleeding body on the floor. "He's just a fucking kid. I don't know why I expected him to be old. He's fucking inexperienced with torture, though."

He kept her within his line of sight, never quite letting her drop behind. "Good to know," he said, eyes on the hallway as shouts sounded behind them. "But for the moment, let's focus on getting out."

"Yeah, okay," she agreed, picking up the pace a little. She had no interest in getting recaptured. A minute later and they were out in the light of the setting sun. Even that made her squint.

He walked her over to a waiting car he'd stolen a few streets away and opened her door, helping her in before walking around and getting into his own, starting it quickly and heading off down the street with a squeal of tires.

It wasn't until they were several miles away (with apparently no followers) that he pulled over, reaching into his pocket for what he needed. He got out and walked around the car, pulling the door open.

"Let me see your wrists," he said, reaching for the manacles as if to take them off. When she extended her arms, however, he grabbed them and pulled them behind her- not roughly, but firmly- linking the remaining chains with a padlock. "Okay. Just sit back and sit tight, alright?" he asked, stepping back.

"Sebastian, what the fuck?" she asked tiredly, slouching against the car seat so she could take some pressure off her wrists. But she knew what this was, didn't she? He thought she'd sold them out.

He closed the door, not responding and walking around to his side again, strapping in and returning to the road, taking a roundabout way back to the flat.

"It's not me, Sebastian. I'm not the mole," she sighed, leaning her head back against the seat, eyes out the window. "But I guess I can't prove it, can I. Christ... If you're going to kill me, I think I'd prefer sooner rather than later. You know I hate waiting."

"I'm not going to kill you," he said, eyes on the road. "At least not now. I'm going to figure this out. I'd prefer not to lose a valuable asset."

She swore, thumping her head back against the seat, her teeth grit. "Jesus _Christ._ So out of the frying pan, into the fucking fire, is that right? You know, I think I'm probably going to prefer the uninspired torture, so how about you just fucking drive me back to that fucking kid?"

He grit his teeth, but didn't say anything as they pulled into the parking garage near the flat. He grabbed a bulky coat, walking around to her door and pulling it opening, drooping the thing around her shoulders to hide her cuffed hands. "Come on, let's go."

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off," she spat, shouldering past him and heading for the exit. She knew better than to try and make a break for it. She was tired, and she was fucking pissed, but she wasn't stupid.

He walked close by, a hand on his gun, ready (physically, at least) to put her down if she tried to run. He refused to think about the situation, to allow any emotion to enter the playing field. He was under direct orders from Jim. Nothing got in the way, especially not personal attachments.

She led the way to the flat, steam practically shooting from her ears, and walked up the stairs before standing aside at the door. She gave him an expectant look. "Well, _I'm_ sure as hell not going to open it."

He rolled his eyes, pulling out his keys and unlocking it, stepping back to let her go through first. "Be pissed off all you like, Harrison," he muttered, closing the door behind them. "It won't change anything."

"I'm not a fucking idiot, Moran, but I'm going to be as pissed off as I like about this, so shut the fuck up," she snapped, shooting a searing glance his way and taking a few more steps into the flat. She was furious that they thought it was her, that after everything they'd been through he could even have a doubt about her loyalty. She understood, but she didn't have to like it. And Christ, it wasn't like her being pissed could make this any worse. She couldn't prove that it wasn't her. It was likely that she was never going to leave this flat again.

"What do you expect us to do? Trust you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he closed and locked the door. "You know better than that. If the situation were reversed, I'd have been in handcuffs as quickly as you were."

"Do you see me trying to plead my way out of this? Do you see me pulling out my service record and waving it around in the air like a fucking flag? _No._ I _understand._ How many times am I going to have to tell you I'm not a fucking idiot? I _KNOW_ why is this happening. But I don't. Have. To _LIKE IT!"_ she snarled, pulling against her restraints until a fresh line of blood rolled down her hand and dripped onto the floor, then dropped her glare to the ground, grinding her teeth. "Now where the hell do you want to do this?"

He took a slow breath. "Fine. I suppose I just don't understand your insistence on getting so worked up about the inevitable," he muttered. He pointed to the couch. "Sit. I need to go talk to Jim. Don't go anywhere."

She sat heavily and fell silent, fuming. The fact that she was going to die over something so _stupid..._

He returned a few minutes later with a key in hand. "Come on," he said, nodding to her. "We're going downstairs."

She heaved herself to her feet to follow him, not bothering to speak. She didn't know what he had in store for her, but she knew it wasn't going to be fun for her.

He brought her down into the sub-basement, where Jim had rented out a storage room. He keyed into it to find the walls soundproofed, and a table with straps in the center. A wall of shelves at the back housed equipment. He closed the door behind them, and took Lorna's arm, walking her over to the table and lifting her up to it, strapping her ankles into place before walking around to unlock her wrists.

"Great, at least I get to lie down for this one," she said dryly, having entered ragdoll-mode as soon as he put her on the table. She sure as hell wasn't going to assist him. "I don't suppose I could get a drink of water before this? I wasn't offered any by our young friend Mallory, besides the water they tossed on me for the electrocution part. You can understand why I didn't want any of that. I hear dysentery really fucks up your weekend."

He took a slow breath, but really didn't want her dying when he left her, so he walked over to the shelves, returning a moment later with a bottle of water, handing it to her. "Drink up."

She chugged it all in one go, the water an instant relief to her parched throat, and handed the empty plastic back to him when she was done. "Thanks."

He didn't respond, just set it aside and pushed her down, strapping her arms and head in place. He walked over to the shelves, starting to assemble what he needed. "This isn't personal," he muttered.

"Yeah, I know," she sighed, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before just closing her eyes. It wasn't worth it, seeing what was coming. It wasn't worth having to accidentally meet his gaze. "If I thought you were a traitor I'd do the same."

He nodded just a little, wheeling the rig over and starting to set it up above her. The tank was already attached, and he waited for a drop to fall before repositioning it, checking to make sure it fell about central forehead, before he headed for the door.

 _Oh, fuck._ She'd heard about this. Heard what it did to people. She remained silent as he left, trying not to flinch as each cold drop hit.

He closed the door, locked it, and tried not to feel sick. Tried to convince himself that this was the right thing. He took a breath. She _could_ be the mole. Could be trying to bring down their network, exploiting him as a weakness. That's what she did. But the question of what would happen if she wasn't- if she was innocent- was still nagging deep in his gut.


	46. Disintegration

Playlist: Nancy Sinatra - Bang Bang My Baby Shot Me Down

* * *

The thought continued nagging over the course of the next two days. Jim was too busy with his research to pay Moran much heed, and he was grateful for it, mostly keeping to himself and drinking to keep himself steady. Finally, in the early hours of the third morning, he was done waiting. He stood up from where he'd been trying to sleep, and showered and dressed. A half hour later, he headed down to the sub-basement, emotionless and steeled for whatever he was going to find.

Every single moment she'd been left in there had felt like a step further into hell. The restriction started to feel tighter, the drops started to feel harsher, and with every passing minute it felt like a weight was pressing further into her chest, pinning her there, helpless. Early into the second morning her tears had run dry, and she was left feeling like a scream was caught in her throat. Screaming would do her no good.

She flinched hard when the door opened, and let out a harsh breath through her nose as she reopened the raw skin on her wrists. _It's not me, it's not me, it's not me._

He walked forward slowly, taking in the trembling figure on the table. He stopped when he was by her head, waiting a few moments before he spoke. "Tell me what information you gave them about us."

"I didn't- I didn't tell them _anything,_ Sebastian," she breathed, surprised to find that there were tears in her eyes again. She shut them, clenching her jaw. "Moran, _please,_ i-it's not _me. Please."_

He observed her quietly, impassively, ignoring the part of him that was dying to let her out, to clean up the wounds which were inflamed and to get her food and water, dammit... He watched as she flinched under another drop, and pulled a knife out of his pocket, walking over to an already existing cut on her thigh which was starting to scab over, obviously infected, the skin around it bright red. He flipped the knife open, pushing it slowly into the wound, digging it into the inflamed flesh. "What information did you give them?" he repeated.

She screamed, her voice breaking painfully as she yanked against the restraints. " _NOTHING!"_ she sobbed, her breathing coming hard, the stress that had been building up in her for the past two days starting to reach the breaking point. "Please, _please!_ It's not me, it's not _me, Sebastian, IT'S NOT ME!"_

He wanted to believe her, and he almost pulled away, hands tense on the knife as she screamed. "We know it's you," he growled, twisting the knife a little. "That isn't a question anymore. _What did you tell them?"_

"It's _not_ , it's not it's not it's not!" she pleaded, the dripping water completely forgotten, all her focus on the agony burning through her leg like hot iron. "I didn't tell them anything- Moran, Moran _please,_ please _stop,"_ she begged through a broken sob, desperate for this to end, for the misery to stop. "If you think it's me just _kill me, please."_

He couldn't do this anymore. He didn't doubt a word coming out of her mouth- had no reason to. He'd seen people completely broken down before. She was there. He withdrew the knife carefully, dropping it as soon as it was free. "Okay, Lorna. I believe you. We're done. It's alright." He walked forward, pushing the dispenser away almost angrily before starting to undo her bindings. "Let's get you out of here, okay?"

If anything, she cried harder, yanking her hands down as soon as they were free and sitting up to bury her face in her hands, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes until it hurt, just trying to stop shaking like a leaf. She couldn't believe it was over. Almost literally _couldn't._

He made no move to impede her movement, giving her a few minutes of sitting there, a chance to breathe. Then he spoke. "Let's get upstairs," he said quietly but firmly. "Get you cleaned up."

After a moment she unfolded herself, sliding off the table and catching herself on it just as quickly as her leg buckled under the stress, her breath hitching. Even without Moran's interference it had hurt like a bitch, and she'd felt feverish, even under the constant drips of cold water. Without a word to him she headed for the door, sniffling and wiping tears from pink cheeks.

He followed her carefully watching to make sure her legs held up. He called for the elevator when she got there- there was no way she'd make it up the stairs. He took off his jacket and put it around her carefully to hide her injuries. They were still trying to stay under the radar, and having some nosy old woman calling the police was the last thing they needed.

She walked into the lift as soon as it opened and leaned heavily against the wall, letting out a long breath. "Since we don't have an on-hand infirmary, I might need to go to the ER," she murmured, eyes shut as the doors slid closed. Her voice was hoarse. "I think I've had a bad enough week without losing a leg to infection."

He hesitated, but took a breath, shaking his head. "I'll fix you up, we have equipment. We can't take you to the ER. You got nabbed on a fucking milk run. We'd be putting our heads on the block." He hit the button for their floor.

"S'long as I don't lose a leg, whatever," she muttered, wondering just how much booze it would take in this condition to get her unconscious. She hadn't had a speck of sleep in almost four days now.

"You won't," he promised, looking over at her as the elevator door opened. "Come on." He offered her a hand.

She sighed, pushing off the wall and glancing at his hand once before taking it, eyes finding the wall of the hall in front of her, like she wasn't touching him at all. "Let's go stitch me up, huh?"

He nodded in agreement, heading for the apartment and keying in, closing it behind them and heading for the bedroom, leading her to sit on the bed before going to get the medical equipment out of the bathroom.

It was weird, being in someplace... civilized, again. After being strapped to hard surfaces for so long, the mattress felt foreign. After a moment of sitting she got back up again to wiggle out of her ruined, bloodied jeans with a hiss, swearing as some stray threads caught in her open wound, then gingerly sat again, trying not to get filth on the sheets.

He returned a few minutes later, a few kits in hand. He set them down, then pulled out a capped syringe. "Penicillin. That okay?"

She nodded, lifting a hand to run a hand through her dirty hair. Christ, she needed a shower. And food. _Food._ _Jesus Christ, how long has it been since I've eaten?_ She sighed, making a face down at the infected cut. "This is disgusting. Well, at least you probably helped the pus out the door with the whole fucking knife thing. The twisting - uncool, Moran."

"It's my job, I do it," he said evenly, pressing the syringe into her arm and injecting the contents, before starting to pull out the necessary things to clean her wounds. "This isn't going to feel great."

"Because the last week has been a real picnic," she muttered, leaning back on her hands, ignoring a twinge of pain in her side. Cracked rib or not, it wasn't her biggest concern. She sighed again. "Sorry. Not your fault. I'm just generally miserable."

He didn't respond, just set about carefully cleaning and bandaging her injuries. He didn't want to think about it, just get it over with.

She sat through it in silence, though it hurt like a bitch. And now she was occupied with where in the hell they stood. Well, it wouldn't be too long until he told her himself, in his usual asshole way, so she didn't have to think about it too much. She tried to shake the thought from her mind. _Don't be so fucking bitter._

He stood after he finished wrapping the last injury, and started cleaning up the remaining equipment. "You need to eat and drink. I'll bring water, what sounds good food-wise?"

"I don't care. High calorie. Protein, if you can swing it," she huffed, letting her back hit the mattress. So much better than that fucking table. She wondered what Jim would say when he saw her. Probably something insufferable.

He nodded, heading out into the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with chicken noodle soup and a bowl of canned fruit cocktail, as well as a huge glass of water. "Here," he said, setting the tray down. "Take it easy."

"Thanks," she mumbled, sitting up and immediately beginning to devour what he set in front of her. Five minutes later, she set down her spoon in her empty bowl and sat back against the headboard with her glass of water, trying to get the taste of canned pear out of her mouth. She kept her eyes on the glass, unsure how to act now.

"Right..." he said, nodding just a little. "I'll let you get some rest, then." He headed for the door, closing it behind him quietly. He considered heading to the couch to catch up on some much-needed sleep, but he didn't want to be out of line of sight of her door, so he sat down next to it. If Jim asked, it was added security in case she tried to make a break for it.

Rest. God, did that sound like a good idea. She downed the rest of her glass of water and set it on the nightstand before carefully leaning over to turn off the lamp. She had no idea what time it was, but she hadn't slept in four days, and the second she was curled up with her head on the pillow, she was out like a light.

Jim appeared about a minute after Moran settled down, leaning his shoulder against the hall wall and looking impassively down at Moran. "Not her, then. That's going to be _quite_ the makeup sex."

"No, not her," he said, ignoring the second comment. "I'll keep looking. We'll find them before they cause any more problems." _And I will personally give them hell_. He didn't know what to say to Jim at the moment. He'd been loyal, unfaltering, in the last few days, but that was his job, and they both knew it.

"Good," he snorted. His eyes wandered to the door. "I'm giving her a raise. Money soothes a lot of aches. And I'll not make the mistake of this being what _does_ test her loyalty."

He nods in agreement. "Give me the figures and I'll let her know next time she wakes up. Unless you want to tell her personally." He felt empty, cold. It was almost refreshing.

"Not necessary. Just tell her to check her email," he shrugged, stepping away from the wall and turning slowly on his heel to head back the other way. "If you're worried about her running away, lock the door," he added over his shoulder, smirking, then disappeared around the corner.

He decided to pretend he hadn't heard that piece of logic, and closed his eyes, intent on catching a bit of a nap.

* * *

Lorna woke up an indeterminate amount of time later. It felt like too soon, but now that she was conscious, her unwashed state was bugging her enough to keep her from falling back asleep. Groaning, she rolled out of bed and limped into the bathroom, fumbling around in the dark to turn the shower on and strip out of her rank hoodie and underwear. The shower was painful, unsurprisingly, so she only stayed in long enough to clean her hair before she stumbled back out, similarly fumbling around in the dark to turn the shower off. She patted herself mostly dry and shuffled into the bedroom to feel around for the dresser, where she pulled out clothes that felt soft under her fingertips, and pulled them on. Why she hadn't bothered to turn on a lamp in the first place, she didn't know, but now it seemed like a bit of a moot point. She hesitated before she got back into bed, and sighed. _You're a fucking masochist._

 _Yeah, well, shut the fuck up._

She turned for the door. When she opened it to find him sitting right outside, she jumped, then swore. _"Jesus._ What're you lurking outside for? Just fucking come in, asshole."

He glanced up as she opened the door, tensing, but she made no move to attack so he relaxed. "I wasn't lurking," he muttered, studying her carefully. "I was just keeping an eye on things. Figured you wouldn't want me in there."

She turned away, rolling her eyes, and headed back to bed, leaving the door open. "Don't make me change my mind. Actually, if you're going to make me, shut the door."

He didn't know where in hell this invitation was coming from, but he certainly wasn't going to watch it pass by, and stood, heading through the door after her, closing it quietly behind him.

She got stiffly back into bed, silently curling up under the covers and letting out a long breath. It would be easier if she just tried to pretend that the last couple days hadn't happened. She didn't know if she could do it, but she had to at least try. For Christ's sake, they'd been fighting even before she'd gotten fucked up by not one, but two, different networks, the last thing that this - whatever the _fuck_ this goddamn was - needed was tension born from fucking torture.

He walked over quietly, sitting down on the side of the bed she'd left open, reaching down tiredly to pull off his shoes before he laid down. He made no move to go any closer to her, amazed that he'd gotten this far and in no mood to push it.

She just curled up where she was and went right back to sleep, deciding that as long as he was close by, further deliberations on such a confusing topic could wait.

He closed his eyes as well, exhausted, and fell asleep in a matter of moments, for the first time in days.

* * *

She woke up what felt like a long, long time later, her limbs tangled up with his, face buried in the crook of his neck. She sighed, not bothering to move for a long comfortable moment, just soaking in the irrational warm feeling her gave her.

He had woken a while earlier, and had considered pulling away from her so that she didn't wake up uncomfortable, but he really, really didn't want to, so he'd just lay still, pretending to be asleep and waiting for her to wake up, to gauge her reaction.

She moved away after a moment, when a startlingly clear image of him standing over her with his knife popped into her head and she had to clamp down on a sudden well of fear in her throat. Pretending that it hadn't happened was looking a little more difficult. She sat up and half slid out of bed before her inflamed leg told her very clearly that she was not going to do that, and she just sat on the edge of the mattress, raising a hand to rub her eyes. How in hell they moved on from this, she didn't know. Really, how the hell _she_ moved on.

He opened his eyes when she pulled away, saw the way her body tensed and her expression locked down. He sat up, getting out of bed and walking into the bathroom to give her some space. He knew they were going to have to talk about this at some point, but he didn't want to. Didn't want to have to justify why in hell he'd taken a knife to her.

She just stayed there for a few minutes, wondering how the hell she was going to occupy herself today, keep herself distracted. It bugged her, how much she depended on him right now. She wasn't going to be running any marathons anytime soon, and like hell did she want to even see Jim. What a fucking mess.

He returned a few minutes later, having cleaned up and shaved. "What do you want for breakfast?" he asked unobtrusively, staying a few feet away.

She shrugged, looking down at the bandages on her wrists. The skin underneath them hurt still. "I don't care. Whatever's available. Some ibuprofen would be nice."

He nodded, returning to the bathroom and coming back a few seconds later with the bottle of pills and a glass of water. "Here. I'll go figure some food out."

"Thanks," she murmured, taking them and throwing back a few pills, eyes still carefully avoiding him. Fuck, would this even get better with time?

He didn't let her aversion bother him, or at least, that's what he told himself as he headed for the door and out into the kitchen. He needed to make something simple that her coming-off-starvation body wouldn't have a problem with. Beans and toast would be a good start.

She carefully got to her feet as he left, walking to the dresser while putting as little weight on her leg as possible, and eventually managed to change into some real clothes before giving up on the whole standing thing and sitting back down on the bed. It was silly, that she behave this way. He'd done what was necessary. She knew that. She did. Fuck, the only other thing she knew was that she couldn't, and wouldn't, bring it up.

He returned ten minutes later with beans and toast, and a banana, and orange juice. "Here," he muttered, setting the tray down and handing her a spoon for the beans. "Try to eat everything, but don't make yourself sick."

"Yeah, I know the deal," she replied quietly, shifting uncomfortably at the awkwardness in the room before ducking her head and starting to eat, her shoulders tense.

"Right," he said, nodding. "Okay, well, let me know if you need anything." He could tell he was making her uncomfortable and didn't feel like prolonging that state, heading for the door and back into the kitchen to find his own food.

She didn't relax much after he was gone, though she did manage to stomach all of her food while only feeling mildly nauseous. The lack of windows in the room weren't helping her out much, either. A few minutes after she'd finished off her food she carefully picked up the tray and got out of bed to half-hobble to the door. God, she hoped Jim was in his own room.

He looked up as her door opened, and sighed, standing to walk over and take the dishes from her. "Is it too much to ask that you not walk around on your injured leg, please?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm to cover the concern.

She made a face at him, leaning against the door frame, just a little stubbornly. "I've kinda had enough of being chained in place on various horizontal and vertical surfaces. I'm stiff, okay?"

"That's great and all, but you're also bleeding," he pointed out with a sigh, nodding to the bandage on her leg, which was starting to show spots of red. "Figure out where you want to camp for a while, and then I'll change your bandages."

She groaned, but turned back into the room and limped her way into bed, though it was clear she had no problems being sullen about it. For once, there was literally no way any of this was her fault. It gave her a lot of emotional leeway.

He followed after her, walking into the bathroom to get what he needed. He returned and sat next to her, starting to carefully unwind the bandage on her leg. "How's the pain?"

"Tolerable. But more towards the edge of 'I'm probably going to drink half that bottle of bourbon so I'll just sleep through this awful day,'" she snorted, grimacing a little as the gauze unstuck from her bloody leg. "And that's not me asking you to stop me. That's me telling you I'm going to do that, so hide your own liquor."

"Fair enough," he said, shrugging a bit. It wasn't like he was setting a great example anyway. "Might just join you. In the endeavor, not locale," he clarified.

Lorna opened her mouth to tell him she didn't care where he did it, and then shut it again, finding that she did care. She didn't know which direction she was leaning, but she certainly had feelings about it one way or another. She cleared her throat, a little awkwardly.

He paused a moment, too, before bending down to grab his booze from under the bed and heading out the door. He had work to do for Jim before he got wasted.

She pushed the med kit to the other side of the bed and leaned to grab her bottle from the nightstand, unscrewing the cap and flicking it carelessly across the room. She wasn't going to be needing it.

* * *

It was a long day, mostly spent working on hunting down the _damned_ mole and watching his supply of liquor slowly sink as he did his best not to think about anything. Finally, however, it started to get dark, and he allowed himself to speed the process a little, the room getting blurry around him. He closed his laptop, then his eyes, letting the darkness overtake him.

She was almost relieved that he didn't seem to be coming back. Even when she was this drunk, it was hard to fight down the fear, that sudden instinct to shrink back. And it warred with the opposing instinct to seek comfort from him. Suddenly he didn't feel safe anymore. Surprised to find herself tearing up, she leaned over to turn out the light, curling up in a ball underneath the covers. She would have to be good enough.

* * *

 _They were screaming. Visceral, gutted, throat-gouging screams. He knew them, he caused them, but not in these voices... Never in these voices. O'Hare was the loudest, and suddenly he was standing in front of him. The scarred man with a bullet through his head. His mouth was closed, expression passive, but every few seconds he flickered and his expression distorted into a mess of agony. Before he could blink it would return to normal. He cringed away, trying to back up, but he couldn't, his hands drawn forwards, clawing at the bullet wound, making it grow wider until O'Hare's face was crumbling away beneath his fingers, bloody... He tried to scream, tried to pull away, heart pounding loudly, but the screams only grew to compensate._

 _He couldn't see properly, the edges of his vision dark, just enough clarity allowed him that he could see what was immediately in front of him. But there were more screams, from figures in his peripheral vision, never quite stepping forward enough, and a new voice was raising up now. Screaming, begging._

 _"STOP! PLEASE, MORAN, STOP!"_

 _Lorna._

 _He tore angrily at whatever held him, only to find himself free and armed, the knife in his hand. It was dripping blood, too much blood. A drop touched his skin and it_ hurt _, scalding his skin. He screamed and tried to drop the knife, but it was no use. Suddenly Lorna was in front of him, soaking wet, water dripping in rivulets out of every orifice, eyes locked on him, full of terror. Her mouth was open wide, water bubbling forth, and she was choking on it, but still she screamed, and the water started to tinge red._

 _You did this, Sebastian... You ruined me..._

 _Her face flickered for a moment to that of O'Hare._

 _There was pain in his hand and he looked down, and the blood was touching him again, crawling over his skin, searing him. He could smell rotting, putrid, burning flesh, and screamed again, his voice joining the others as he tried to drop the knife. The blood began to cover him in a coat, burning everywhere it touched like it was boiling. It crept up his arm, then over his shoulder, his torso, until it had covered his body and was encroaching in his mouth-_

He woke with a start to the taste of blood. He gagged as he fell off the couch with a thump, spitting out the blood as his heart raced fast enough to make him light-headed. He dropped the knife in his hand like it was molten, gagging and spitting, until his head cleared enough for him to realize he'd bitten through his tongue. He had an unwavering grip on the carpet, his body trembling. _Lorna..._

The closest she could get to sleep in the bed was a doze. She'd been trying for hours, still feeling weighed down by the alcohol, and eventually had turned into a cocoon of blankets on the bed, trying to feel secure again, to get back some sense of well-being that had been taken from her. It was so hard. Every time her doze would start to sink down into unconsciousness the ceiling of the basement room and the grimy tank above her appeared on the back of her eyelids, shortly followed by Moran's blank face, the one she knew he used when whatever he was thinking wasn't conducive to his work. It killed her, the fact that she knew she was being so unreasonable. There was no other way he could have acted, no other way the scenario could have gone, once she was suspected of treason. That didn't change the fear, though.

He staggered to his feet. He wasn't sure if he was drunk or drugged or injured, but at the moment thinking was difficult and he didn't have time to figure it out. He needed to find Lorna. His eyes narrowed down on a door and instinct- little else- propelled him in that direction. He pushed the door open with hands that still shook, fumbling for a switch to illuminate the pitch blackness.

The light was blinding, but a moment later he saw her, lying in the bed. He moved forward slowly now, taking her in, trying to gauge her condition.

She shifted unhappily as the lights came on, jolted from another brief dip into sleep, and turned over to squint at him. She sat up abruptly, sucking in a slightly fearful breath. He had blood half across his face, down his chin and flecked on his shirt. "What the fuck's going on?"

She spoke, and it took him so much longer than it should have to process that fact, and then go about deciphering what she'd said. But once he did it was like his brain had been kickstarted, and things started falling into place. _Right... Harrison is fine_... He took a step back. "Sorry... I... I thought I heard something..."

She didn't look like she believed him for a second. "Why the hell are you all bloody?" she shook her head, taking a deep breath. _It's fine, he's not here to get you. It's fine._

He reached up to touch his face then, and was unable to help the slight start when his fingers came away coated red. "Bit through my tongue..." he muttered, forcing himself to separate dream from reality. "You're.. are you alright?"

"No, I'm not _alright,"_ she muttered bitterly, raking a hand through her hair. "I was just tortured. _Again._ By two _completely separate_ parties. There is nowhere left for me to be fucking alright."

"Right..." he said, nodding just a little and dropping his hand, before heading to the bathroom to rinse his face off, not sure what else to do. _Christ_ he was exhausted. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, eyes bruised, cheeks hollow, face stained with blood, and looked down again.

She rubbed her eyes as he went into the other room, trying to lock down the violent upset that was threatening to spill over. She reached for the mostly empty bottle of bourbon, and knocked back the last dregs.

He walked back in a few moments later, taking a slow breath, tongue still throbbing. "Right. Sorry for... I'll leave you be, then." He wandered towards the door, before stopping and turning to look at her. "I had a nightmare. I just... I know you aren't alright. That wasn't how I meant it."

She shrugged a little hopelessly, a little darkly. "Yeah, I just... I had to say something. I can't bottle up all of this. If I do I'll just end up killing myself or something."

He rubbed his eyes, but nodded a little. "It's fine. That's fine, I didn't want... I didn't want any of this. But if you need to yell or whatever that's fine."

"I don't want to yell at you, Sebastian," she sighed, flopping back onto her back. "I can't fucking blame you for what happened. You were doing your job. I'm just a fucking unreasonable bitch. And my coping skills aren't equipped to handle this."

"That makes two of us," he mutters quietly, taking a slow breath. "I know it was my job. A lot of things are my job. That doesn't make it any easier, I get that."

She was silent for a moment, unsure of what to say next. Her leg was bothering her, and that wasn't going to make it any easier to fall asleep. "I can't sleep," she said eventually, her weariness clear in her voice. "It's not even nightmares. I just... can't get to sleep."

He nodded just slightly. "Is there any way I can help? Or would I just make things worse?" Despite everything, his voice was practical. He felt anything but.

She let out a shuddering breath, trying to keep herself under control. "I honestly don't know, Sebastian. I really don't."

He nodded a little, crossing his arms across his chest, the closest to hugging himself he would allow. He was on edge, her nervousness not helping anything, but he needed to be here. He decided direct was the best approach. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Yes," she whispered, her breath hitching a little. She couldn't look at him. Didn't want to see what his expression would be. "I've always been, for different reasons. This is just- it's just fresh."

He nodded, not letting his expression change. "If you want me to leave, I will. I can minimize contact. I don't want to, but I'd understand that request."

She shook her head a little, trying hard to keep herself from breaking down into tears. "No, that's... that's not what I want," she shook her head, swallowing hard, glancing at him and then away. Then she held out a hand towards him, a small gesture, but a significant one. She always came back. He'd done worse things to her, with worse intentions. She always fucking came back.

He took a slow breath, staring at the hand. He wanted to walk over and take it, so badly. But she couldn't even look at him, and that twisted somewhere deep in his stomach. "I don't want to scare you," he said quietly, voice still even. "Normally I just take what I want, damn the consequences, but..." He shrugged.

She dropped it to the covers, where it fisted into the sheets. Her eyes stung. "Sebastian, just.." she shook her head, raising a hand to wipe angrily at her tears as they spilled over. "Just come here, please. Please."

 _Sebastian, stop, please, PLEASE..._

He shook off the voice in his head, walking slowly forward to stand in front of her, though he didn't sit, taking slow breaths, forcing his expression to remain neutral.

She had to tug him down by his shirt, making him sit and then crawling into his lap, crying silently. It wasn't fair that they'd had to go through this. But it was what it was, and it wasn't going away.

He wrapped his arms around her once she was there, continuing to focus on his breathing, forcing himself to keep steady. He couldn't break here, she was already crumbling.

"I'm sorry," she murmured a bit unsteadily, doing her best not to get the waterworks all over his shirt. "I know you don't.. like this stuff. I'm sorry."

"Shut up, Harrison," he muttered, burying his face in the top of her head. He was so glad to have her close again. _Safe... she's safe..._

She turned into him, burying her face in his chest, finally breaking down into real, quiet sobs. It was okay. This hadn't been broken again, he wasn't leaving. _This wasn't his fault. How many times has he saved your life?_ "Please stay," she whispered, sniffling a little.

He nodded just a little, tucking his legs up a little and holding her pressed close to his chest. "I'm so fucking sorry," he breathed. "I wanted to stop."

"I know. I know, it's okay," she shook her head, curling her fingers into his shirt, leaning into him harder, relieved to find that the warmth of him was still comforting, that she still fit against him like a puzzle piece. She closed her eyes, taking a shuddering breath. "It's over. Never again."

"No," he agreed softly. "Never." He felt her start to cry in earnest, but made no move to pull away, not in the least uncomfortable. He was fighting joining her, though he'd never admit it, his throat convulsing painfully.

She was relieved to find that the fear that had struck her that morning didn't materialize again, that he was a comfort again. She still loved him.

She wore out quickly, coming back down to just light sniffling, and shifted a little, indicating that she wanted to get horizontal. She couldn't fight against his core strength.

He didn't object, laying back, keeping her close to his chest even then. He didn't want to let go for fear that she wouldn't come back.

She just burrowed into him, breathing in his familiar scent, slowly calming herself. She didn't know how long they lay there in silence before she spoke, her voice quiet. "How long do we have to stay here?"

"I don't know," he said after a moment. "Jim will tell us when we can leave."

She nodded, letting out a long breath into his shoulder. Facing Jim again was not going to be easy. But crowded into this little flat, there wasn't a lot that she could do to avoid him forever. At least now she knew she could at least look Sebastian in the eye.

They lay that way in silence for a while. Eventually he started tracing absent patterns on her hand with his thumb, breathing slow and relaxed.

After a long time, something swam to the surface of her mind that felt like it needed saying. "I was worried that you would think I'd turned traitor," she murmured, shifting a bit to adjust the weight on her leg. "Not for, you know, the torture reasons... Just, so soon after a job like Ford... I didn't want you to think that I could do the same to you."

His grip on her tightened a little, and he was silent for a few minutes. "I can't say the thought never crossed my mind," he said finally. "Trust is... punished in our circles."

"I know. I don't.. expect you to trust me. I'm not asking you to. I guess I was just realistic enough to realize what you would think, and just stupid enough to worry about something like that in the middle of being kidnapped," she snorted softly, nestling into him a little more, slinging an arm over his broad side. "Mallory offered me a lot of money to switch sides. I told him to stick it where the sun doesn't shine."

"Good, because you wouldn't survive a day once you'd taken it," he said quietly. "And that would have been very annoying."

"I thought about taking it, just to get out of the chains and be able to make a break for it, but I was worried about that, and the fact that they might haul me a long way away before giving me free rein at all," she shrugged. "Waiting for them to make a mistake or for you to show up were safer bets. Christ, was I glad to see you."

"Likewise," he said, nodding a little. "It was good to be out in the field again, to be honest. I've spent too much time on the wrong end of the manhunt and knife recently."

"Yeah, tell me about it," she chuckled, then yawned, stretching out a little. "I'm going to try to sleep while the alcohol in my system is still numbing my leg, 'kay?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Go for it." He tucked the blanket up around her a little more firmly. Maybe with her here he could sleep better as well.

She nodded, already dozing off, and quickly fell asleep, feeling a lot more secure than she had in days.

He fell asleep a few minutes later, his grip on her not weakening for an instant.


	47. Restoration

When she woke up, it was with the kind of grogginess she usually associated with a long, long sleep. The only clock in the room was an analog clock set by the TV on the dresser, and it was too dark in the room to bother trying to check it, even without the fact that Sebastian was wrapped around her like a python. She didn't mind, just shifted a little and muffled a yawn into his chest, enjoying the peace.

He was in a hazy in-between of awake and asleep. There was a rhythmic warm patch on his chest which his foggy brain gradually associated with rise and fall of Harrison's chest, and he smiled a little sleepily, tucking her a little closer under his chin.

If she'd been considering trying to get up, that dashed her hopes. She thought it was adorable when he did that, though she'd never even consider saying it out loud. That one, she'd take to the grave. She stifled another yawn and shifted her cold hands up under his shirt to try and soak up some warmth.

 _Warm... warm... wa-COLD VERY-_

He snorted in surprise and shoved the offending item away from him. Said offending item happened to be Lorna, and he glared at her with adrenaline-widened eyes, indignant. "No."

"What the hell are- are you good for, then?" she chuckled, interrupted mid-sentence with a yawn. She tucked her cold fingers between her thighs and burrowed under the covers a little more. "M' cold. Poor circulation runs in my family."

"Or doesn't run," he pointed out with a smirk, sighing and reaching out to take her hands, pressing them against his sides above the fabric. "Just keep off bare skin," he muttered, pulling her back in.

"What's the _point,_ then," she teased, taking the covers with her as he pulled her back over. She was feeling good. Her leg and ribs weren't in a lot of pain, and she'd gotten enough sleep to actually be alert before him for once. And they were okay. This wasn't in danger of falling apart at any minute. "I mean, I brought jeans, the least you could do is just forego the shirt entirely."

"Yeah, well, you're an icicle, so maybe we'll give that a few minutes first," he muttered, smirking.

"I'm small, I lose body heat easily, give me a break," she chuckled, curling up a little to try and get her extremities to warm up a little. "You're big, you'll be fine. Like a bear."

"Bears still do not appreciate being woken up by icicles," he muttered, but wrapped her up a bit tighter in the blanket.

"They're bears, what the fuck do they care?" she hummed, soaking up his warmth like a cat in the sun. Again, it amazed her how quickly things could change between them. Never a dull moment with them.

"Have you ever seen an angry bear? Because I have and would seriously not recommend it," he snorted, tickling her side slightly.

She let out an indignant noise and rolled away, taking the blankets with her and turning herself into a sheet burrito. " _That_ was uncalled for."

"Oi!" he muttered, tugging on the blanket. "Neither was bogarting the blankets!"

"Fuck off, I'm cold," she retorted, smirking and rolling further away, cocooning herself tighter into the covers. "Go get your own blanket. I think there's one in the living room. Unless you're going to promise to _not_ tickle me. Then I might relent."

"I could just smoosh you, but I won't, because you're injured. Take that as your only mercy," he muttered with a glare, before reaching over to pick her up, rolling her up onto his chest as he lay on his back. "There. Lorna-blanket."

"Alright, I suppose I don't have any complaints," she smirked, though wriggling a little to get a hand free, since the several layers of blanket burrito around her were warming her up faster than she could expel the excess heat. "Don't know if I'd call that mercy, but I guess that's not really your strong suit."

" _Really_ not," he agreed with a smirk, tugging a layer of the blanket unwrapped to cover his sides, but leaving her the rest.

She laughed. "To be fair, I guess it's really not mine, either. Look what I did to Malcolm. Christ, what an idiot. Don't know if he really deserved to be killed in an elevator, though. Does anybody?"

"If anyone did, it was him," he said firmly, smirking and wrapping his arms around her again. "No doubt."

"Well, if you're so sure, it _must_ be true," she grinned, then wriggled a little again. "Okay, I need to get out of these blankets. I'm baking in here. Help."

"Nope. This is your punishment," he said with a smirk, wrapping his arms around her. "Think about what you've done as your organs slow-cook."

"No no, let's not do this," she suggested, in a tone that suggested she was regretting her previous actions. "How about we let me out of this crock-pot and think of something better to do. Something like me putting on my best-fitting pair of jeans and then going to eat breakfast while you be very glad that I didn't just die of heat exhaustion right on top of you, in the not fun way."

"Finneee..." he sighed, letting her roll free carefully. "But only because you mentioned the jeans."

"Thank god," she huffed, kicking off the covers with the leg that was still fully functional and immediately sliding out of bed, desperate to be free of any residual body heat she left behind, and headed for the dresser. "Here's hoping Jim is shut away in his room. Pray for me."

"I don't know who I'd pray to, honestly. Broken most of the various overlords' rules, but if I think of anyone I haven't pissed off, I will." He stood up as well.

She snorted, smirking, and pulled a pair of jeans out of the dresser, and leaned against the dresser as she pulled them on so she didn't lose her balance. "I was more asking for the sentiment, but I'm sure I can think of something. One of the Norse gods, maybe?"

"Maybe," he smirked as he started to get dressed as well, admiring her figure in the jeans as he did so. "As for Jim, he wouldn't bother you so much if you didn't always show him your throat."

"Keep in mind my long and troubled history with my bosses. A lot of them were big on the whole being submissive thing. I'm a little too nervous to even get close to talking back," she snorted, heading for the door. "I generally try not to antagonize the man who holds my oh-so-delicate life in his hands."

"I'm not saying talk back. I'm saying don't cower," he snorted, pulling on a flannel shirt in retort to the jeans and rolling up the sleeves.

She didn't try to pretend she wasn't eyeing him in that shirt - god, did he look good in flannel - and leaned against the door. "Mhm. So what, be my normal self? I'm kinda flighty by myself, Sebastian. If you think I shouldn't cower, I've got to treat this like a job. Get a character or some shit. Sounds tiring as shit, but I guess it's better than him pulling on my puppet strings."

He shrugged. "You need to decide what the best option for you is, how to handle Jim. Or you're going to keep hitting the breaking point."

"Yeah, well..." she sighed, shrugging helplessly. "Whatever. I'll find it eventually. I'm not in a real docile mood anyway, that's for sure. Low on blood sugar and wondering how much movement I have before I bleed through the gauze and these jeans? Not planning on rolling over," she chuckled, pushing off the door and turning to open it. She really did need food. She needed to catch up on the meals she'd missed, still.

He nodded, still keeping a careful eye on her as she walked. "Seems like you're in luck, Jim seems to be in his room," he says with a grin as he heads for the refrigerator.

"Thank god," she muttered, casting a glance across the small living room towards Jim's closed door, and followed him into the kitchen to hover over his shoulder at the fridge, impatient for food. "I guess your prayers worked out. Must not have pissed off all the deities yet. Do we have bacon?"

"Yeah, plenty," he says with a nod and pulling out a tray of thick cut maple bacon imported from the U.S. They might be in hiding, but Jim still insisted on the best. "Want french toast?"

"Yes, please," she hummed, taking the bacon and beginning to rummage around for a suitable pan with which to fry them. Jim didn't seem to organize his kitchen by any sort of rules. What were the pans doing in the same cabinet as the tupperware? Why did they have tupperware? "Christ, nothing like the next three meals after you've been chained to a table for like, three days. Everything becomes fine dining."

He nodded in agreement, eyebrows raising as he stumbled upon a half a bottle of vodka at the back of the fridge in his search for butter. He pulled it out, finding a glass and pouring himself a generous serving, raising the bottle in her direction questioningly.

She glanced over, then nodded. "Yes, absolutely. Never had vodka with bacon, I don't think. Surprising, really. Anyways, some good old-fashioned painkiller would be nice," she snorted, setting the pan on the stove and turning on the gas before reaching for the bacon.

He poured her a decent helping as well, setting the bottle aside and returning to his search for french toast ingredients. He eventually surfaced with milk and eggs, and set them in the counter, pulling out a loaf of bread. "How are you feeling, anyway?"

She shrugged, the bacon hissing as she prodded a slice with a fork. "I don't know. Emotionally, I guess I'm pretty stable. Physically, I think I'm only standing up because these jeans are so tight they're compressing my leg."

His eyes tightened just slightly in concern at that, though it didn't reach the rest of his face. "Then go sit," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Don't be an idiot and make things worse for yourself."

"Why not? It seems to be my special talent, might as well make use of it," she said sarcastically, though she abandoned bacon duty briefly to boost herself up onto the counter, letting out a huff of relief as the weight was removed from her leg.

He frowned at that, but didn't comment, pulling out another pan for the french toast. "Whatever you say, Harrison."

She made a face at him. It irked her just a little when he used her last name out of a professional context, but there was no way in hell she was going to pipe up about it. "Yeah yeah, Mr. Sarcasm. You're just bitter because you know that is totally my special talent. Besides my ass game in these jeans. But it's whatever," she smirked, in an effort to keep the tone light, and twisted a little to open a cabinet above her and pull out a plate for the bacon.

"That doesn't count as a special talent," he retorted, rolling his eyes, though he smiled just a little.

* * *

It was another week before Jim broke the news, though that phrase may have been generous. In reality they woke up to plane tickets stuck to the pillow between their heads with a knife, the gate call for later that evening.

The move to New York was quiet, uneventful. They flew on a public plane (much to Jim's chagrin, but it was much harder to track), and only checked one bag (Sebastian's guns). Within two days they were moved into a place Jim had bought a few years back, which was thankfully slightly larger than the hideout in London. Then the hunt was on.


	48. I Can Live Without You

Playlist: My Chemical Romance - Famous Last Words

* * *

It was probably on the sixth day that Jim dropped a file in her lap as he passed, completely ignoring the fact that she had to jerk her cup of coffee out of the way with a startled hiss. She looked through it with mild boredom - nothing they'd done so far had been terribly exciting or seemingly effective, and this was just another routine job. Get some information from a source so many degrees away from Mallory it hardly seemed worth it. But she did the jobs the boss gave her. He wasn't one to waste time when he had a personal vendetta. Not the 'dish of cold revenge' type of bloke.

She moseyed into the kitchen, where Sebastian looked to be making a soup that smelled spicy enough to make her cry. "I gotta go grift some bloke out in Brooklyn. D'you think the bus or the tube is the better bet? Or, subway, whatever, fuck it."

"Subway, no question," he said, not bothering to look up from where he was mincing chilis. "The buses around here are foul. Nothing like London."

"Mm. The last time I was in New York was years ago, and I didn't exactly have to resort to public transportation much, _"_ she hummed, setting the file down on the kitchen table in case he wanted to look over it later. They were low on resources at the moment, and much of the information they were getting came only in the physical form. "Alright, I'm heading out. See you tomorrow. Don't put chili seeds in my shampoo or something devilish like that, huh?"

"What time tomorrow?" he asked as he scraped the chili into the soup. "And I wasn't going to, but now that you mention such a great idea..."

"Haha, no. Don't you dare." She gave him a stern look, then relaxed. "I don't know, probably noon. This job is completely routine. Boringly so. Shouldn't be anything to slow me up."

"Alright," he said with a nod, finally glancing up as he stirred the peppers in. "See you tomorrow. Don't get dead, all that."

"Thanks for the concern," she laughed, waving briefly at him before turning and slipping back out of the kitchen and out the front door onto the street. Time to go to work.

* * *

It wasn't unusual for Harrison to be late. Things happened, marks wanted another go before she left, or she had to shake a tail. As a result, Sebastian hadn't really been annoyed until around three the next afternoon. He didn't allow concern to make its appearance until well after midnight. Finally, he got up and grabbed his jacket, shoulder holster already in place, as it had been for several hours. "That's it. This is too long without contact. I'm going out after her. I'll be back in a few hours."

Jim looked up from his phone, looking like he was still contemplating something he'd read, and nodded. Despite Moran's emotional attachment to the woman, he'd started looking up the latest reports as soon as the sniper had started pacing. Moran, like most cats, occasionally seemed to possess a sixth sense about things, and it never hurt to be proactive. Either way, Harrison was worth a considerable amount of money. "Alright. Be out two hours, at the most. This is no time to be dilly-dallying."

He tensed slightly. "Respectfully, sir, finding a valuable asset with information about our plans and strategies hardly seems like dilly-dallying," he pointed out from his place by the door.

He let out a dramatic sigh, then gave a wave towards the door. " _Fine._ So be it. Stay in better contact than your beau. And don't get fucking arrested. The police force here is a nightmare."

"Yes, sir," he said, walking outside and heading for the stairs.

* * *

He didn't come back until mid-morning the next day, though he did check in every few hours. The texts looked very much the same.

 _1:47AM- Nothing. Any information?_

 _3:02AM- Nothing._

 _4:26AM- Nothing. Anything new on your end?_

 _6:38AM- Nothing. You're no fucking help._

 _9:19AM- Fucking nothing. Coming in._

When he walked back in, he headed immediately for the kitchen, brewing himself a coffee and tipping a double shot of vodka in for good measure.

Jim walked in a few minutes later, his face blank. He'd gotten almost no new information. The resources he had pointed in Harrison's direction had come back completely empty-handed. After she'd left the mark's house - and she had left it, there was CCTV proof - there was no trace of her. For all intents and purposes, she'd disappeared off the face of the earth. He still didn't know if it was on purpose or if there were other forces at work, but he could accept that he'd have to replace her. There was no finding her, not with the weak, barely-there web he had in this godforsaken city. But this did present an opportunity. A fruitful looking one. If Jim didn't nip this in the bud now, Moran would look for her, aimlessly, for days. Weeks, maybe. He didn't have that much time. The longer they stayed in New York, the more likely for Mallory to happen upon them. He couldn't risk that. "She's dead, Moran."

In books, people always seemed to talk about time slowing down for bad news, but Moran experienced no such thing. The announcement was boring, undramatic, average. One life in seven billion had ended. The insignificant life of a crack whore turned alcoholic grifter. Time moved right along, and his coffee tasted no more bitter than it had before as he sipped it.

Time should have slowed down. He wanted to savor a few minutes of mystification, an eon or two of disbelief. But they passed in heartbeats, and what settled was reality, and understanding.

It was hell.

She was dead. It took a breath, maybe two. Life was insignificant. He knew that. In his trade he dealt in fractions of centimeters and seconds. People were alive, he twitched his finger, and they weren't. It was no revelation to him, no surprise

"Right. What's our next step, then?" he asked, his voice unwavering, body unflinching.

He wanted to move, to break things, to kill the man who ended lives with words as whimsically as if he was flicking the ash off a cigarette. But he was trained better than that, and his body knew to disconnect, to ignore the clawing of the beast and to motor on in the automatic patterns it knew so well.

"I want to move in on his money-laundering business. Specifically, I want to wipe out his money-laundering business. Less income will be easier for us, down the line," Jim replied without inflection, despite the fact that he wanted to smirk. Usually, he never denied himself a smirk. This moment, however, did not seem as if it would tolerate one. "I already have the plans laid out. Let's get to work."

"Of course," he said, nodding and walking into the next room to grab his computer. He returned, and while it was booting, paled his coffee with vodka.

He had no sleep, and was soon going to be pissed. Which was the only way he was going to be able to work properly. There wasn't time to react, just to press forward.

Jim wiped Harrison from his mind as he started to get back to work. Relishing the emotional pain Moran was going through would have to wait until later.

* * *

It took Lorna a month and ten days to get back. She slipped in at 1 in the morning, damp from rain outside, her clothes haggard and torn, and a rather nasty-looking cut on her hand she hadn't had the opportunity to wrap. Her hurt leg burned with every step. After the job, she'd run into some old "friends". She'd met them during her Armetti days, and they'd not parted on good terms. And after that goddamn nightmare with Mallory and Sebastian she had absolutely refused to be stuffed into a van again. So she'd fled. Fast, and in pain from her screaming leg, she'd gotten away. But Christ, if she led Armetti to Moran and the Boss...

Armetti had been the only boss that had still been alive when she left his employ, excluding DeWitt. And he'd been a ruthless son of a bitch. One that wouldn't hesitate to take out competition the likes of Jim Moriarty. The way she had left things, it was unclear if he would still leave them be simply at her word.

They hadn't given up. She'd been followed for days, always a tail on the edge of her vision. When she lost one, another found her. She fought off kidnappings three more times before killing one of them with a broken bottle in an alley. They didn't get close again after that. They just watched. Just harried her, just kept her from making a single goddamn move. She couldn't call Moran or the boss, she couldn't get to a computer, she couldn't even think about the street they were staying on.

It was at the beginning of the following month that they began to slack off. She could tell that there was something else occupying their attention, keeping them from caring about her too much. One by one, her tails started to disappear. At first, she thought it was just a reallocation of resources. Then she found one of her shadows dead, and not by her hand. Someone was picking them off. Who, she couldn't fathom. She couldn't even really bring herself to care that much. She had to worry about getting actual meals, and sneaking into gyms to take a shower, in order to better lie and steal to get those damn meals.

Now, she was just tired. Bone-deep weariness dragged at her limbs. She pushed off of the door with a muffled grunt and fumbled her way in the dark into the bedroom, not even bothering with limiting the amount of noise she was making.

* * *

He had never hunted like this before. The prey had never been so plentiful. But the streets of New York were so easy, teeming with life just begging to be tasted. He never worked the same way twice, but he remembered each one easily.

The woman with the white necklace, white like bones on dark skin... he had slit her throat. Crouched behind her so as to throw off any guesses as to the height of the killer. Her necklace had been red when he left her. So had his teeth, but that had pushed the envelope too far, and after that, after that first, feral kill, he'd taken a step back. Knives were too tempting.

The boy with the canvas hat and the mole on his left cheek, that had been a 500 foot shot. Almost too easy, with the way the mark was leaning on the fence, talking smoothly to the girl next to him. She had screamed. Moran hadn't heard it under the noise of the traffic, but he had seen it in her eyes.

The old man in the park had been a syringe to the neck. He'd fallen asleep and not woken up, and he doubted anyone would look past the frail heart and bones to see murder.

Night after night he found them. His prey. It was so, so easy, with alcohol for blood and a myriad of weapons... As long as he did his job, Jim couldn't care less, and he liked it that way. He had missed the hunting. Missed the strategy, the plans, the days of watching, waiting for just the right moment. Then in a breath they were gone, with no answers for their families, their friends.

It was familiar.

He could make those seconds last. Could get them back.

It was hell, but he'd carved himself a throne.

Something was wrong when he came in that night. Things were out of place. The end table had shifted across the floor, and the door to his room was ajar. He didn't hesitate to pull out his gun, his hands steady despite the fact that he was well past inebriated. He walked slowly forward, breaths steady, to deal with whoever was intruding.

Lorna was in the bathroom, leaning back against the wall with one foot up on the sink so she could brace her hand on her leg and try to wrap it with just her non-dominant hand and her teeth. In the dim light of the single bulb hanging overhead, it was a difficult process, though she kept her swearing to herself. Mostly out of habit, by now. Speaking was a surefire way to draw attention, and for so long now she'd been desperate not to be heard, nor seen, nor even thought of. It would take her a while to break herself of that.

He sighed in mild annoyance when he saw her, lowering his gun. He'd dealt with a few hallucinations the first few nights- absinthe again- but he'd thought he was past that. He tried to think what might have triggered this one as he reached out to swipe it away, but stopped that train of thought to turn his attention to his hand, which was pressed against a warm, solid shoulder.

Okay, interesting.

She was alive. So, either Jim had been mistaken- unlikely- or Jim had lied. Much more likely. But Jim had lied and would continue to lie for a long time. That was unimportant. He moved on. Where she had been and how she was alive were likely relevant questions, but judging from the fact that she had stopped to dress wounds rather than urgently seeking out him or Moriarty, they weren't urgent. He decided all of this in the space of a few seconds, then nodded to himself. "There's blankets for the couch in the cabinet by the kitchen. We'll talk tomorrow."

She raised her eyebrows at his entrance, then frowned slightly at his considerably less than warm welcome, and said nothing, returning her attention to getting her cut taped up to hide the hurt in her eyes. No questions, no sign of any emotion whatsoever. Had she done something wrong, somewhere? "Alright," she said finally, shutting the first aid kit a little harder than normal and moving by him quickly, jaw clenched.

He watched her go, and part of him- a tiny part now, starved for attention, called after her. He ignored it and headed for bed.

She got the blankets out of the cabinet mechanically, got undressed stiffly, and collapsed onto the sofa and into a small ball. This was too much. Surviving like that on the street, leading those assholes in circles around New York to keep them from sniffing out the two of them, and now this- this inexplicable cold shoulder. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and willed herself to go to sleep.

He fell asleep easily, alcohol knocking him out as soon as he lay down, unhindered by the ghostly presence in the next room. His dreams were dark.

* * *

She woke up after only a couple hours of light sleep - another habit from living on the street - and decided to spend the rest of the time sitting on the kitchen floor with a bottle of half-finished whiskey she found sitting in the back of the fridge. By seven, she stopped herself, sliding the bottle a little ways away on the floor, and then just sitting back with her eyes closed. She was drunk enough not to think for a little while.

He woke up when the sun hit his eyes at around 8:30, and rolled out of bed with a grunt, fumbling around for a moment before he found the flask beside his bed. A few sips later and the hangover lost its edge, and he got to his feet, heading for the kitchen. Lorna was there, sprawled out, a bottle a few feet away. He walked past her to the fridge and started making himself breakfast.

She cracked her eyes as he started to bang around, giving him a mildly resentful look through slitted eyelids. "So you gonna tell me what crawled up your ass and died while I was gone or are you going to make me play a game of fuckin' charades?"

"Just surprised to see you're alive, that's all," he said bluntly as he headed for the stove with some Canadian bacon. "That contradicts the information we had." His voice was careful. Controlled. He didn't look at her.

"That fucking bastard," she spat immediately. Of course it was fucking Jim. Of course. What else could have happened? "I work my ass off keeping goddamn Armetti off the operation, off of you assholes, and what, he writes me off? How long did it take? Did he even give me 24 hours before he declared me dead without a speck of evidence? Fucking _Christ."_

"He might have had conflicting information. I don't know. I looked for you, you were in the wind, and then he said he'd gotten intel." He didn't elaborate. Didn't want her to have a shred of information about the tailspin that that had sent him into.

"Whatever," she snapped, leaning over to snag the bottle again, taking a long swig before standing and slamming it down on the counter, too strung out to be bothered with control. "Can I go get some fucking fresh clothes to wear or am I just completely barred from that room now?"

"Go ahead," he said mildly, nodding. "Make sure you change that bandage too."

"It's fine, fuck off," she snarled, only getting angrier the longer he remained so fucking passive, so _lifeless,_ leaving the room as fast as her various ailments would allow. Her leg was still a wreck, and she'd gotten almost used to the feeling of infection, though every step was agony and there had been a few nights where the fever had gotten so bad she hadn't been sure she would make it to sunrise. She'd done her best to keep it clean, but living in the same filthy clothes and sleeping in rank alleys undid all the work she put into cleaning it. There was a reason she'd just stripped out of her jeans in the living room, and now that she was in front of the dresser, she got a pair of shorts cut high enough to let the disgusting thing breathe. After she threw on a shirt she grabbed a bottle of vodka off the dresser and locked herself in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the yellowing porcelain tub and trying not to scream as she doused the wound in alcohol.

He waited until he heard the door close, and shut his eyes, taking a slow breath. That was a mistake. Even that tiny bit of relaxation started the foundations he'd been holding solid crumbling, and the next breath hitched hard. He forced the next one to be steady, no matter how much his chest burned, eyes now shut tight, hands gripping the counter hard as he fought savagely for his blessed control.

When she judged it was as clean as it was going to get (or, more likely, she couldn't take one more goddamn second of that torture) she just sat in the tub, rubbing at the tears on her cheeks tiredly, the now mostly-empty bottle left by the hand she dangled over the edge of the tub. She didn't know why she'd come back. She wouldn't have, if she'd known Sebastian would be like _that._ He'd never been that way. Even when they'd first met, and she'd been nothing more than an employee to him, he still had fucking inflections to his voice, had some kind of personality beneath the hard exterior. But she'd wasted it, that one golden opportunity to get out. To run away to some far corner of Canada or some shit, to have them think she was dead. Then again, how far would she have made it, with an infection this severe? She sighed, sagged further into the tub. Thank god this bathroom had a lock. It meant she'd be undisturbed for a good long while.

He finally got a hold of himself, made breakfast, and forced himself to eat as if nothing was wrong. He had no appetite. Eventually he headed for his room to get dressed, glancing at the closed bathroom door before sighing slightly and going to clean up in the bathroom in the hall. Once he was shaved, he headed for Jim's door, knocking quietly on the off chance that his employer was asleep.

"Come in," Jim sighed, not looking up from his laptop when Moran stepped in. "I heard talking. She's alive, then?"

"If I had to guess, sir, you never thought otherwise," he said as he stepped inside. There was no bitterness or anger in his tone. He was just stating fact.

" _Bingo._ Do you want a cookie? You would have insisted upon looking. We don't have time for that nonsense. Plus, it was just a _liiiittle_ fun watching you turn into a serial killer over a slutty girl," he snorted.

"I don't particularly care, sir. I'm glad you were entertained. Do you have any more information on our progress with the money laundering?" He held Jim's gaze. That was the best revenge he had. Being as uninteresting as possible.

Jim gave him a mildly disgusted look, rolling his eyes. "No. Go away, you're being boring. I hate being bored."

"Of course, sir," he said, voice inflectionless as he headed back out the door, shutting it behind him quietly, keeping any tension out of his arm. He wouldn't be able to keep this up for long, but for the time being...

Jim returned to work feeling a little more irritated than before Moran had entered. Oh well. Harrison might not last long, anyway. He had no doubt that she was likely very unhealthy.

He headed back to his room and lay down, figuring if there was nothing to do he might as well catch a nap. He glanced at the closed bathroom door after a few minutes, however, and frowned, mentally calculating how long she'd been in there.

He stood, walking over, and knocked on the door. "Harrison?"

There was no answer. She hadn't heard him. She'd been out cold for eight minutes, and she'd been relieved to feel herself slipping into unconsciousness.

* * *

MARINA - You

Fall Out Boy - Wilson (Expensive Mistakes)


	49. Fever

He waited about ten seconds, then knocked again. "Harrison?" Still nothing. "Respond, or I'm going to assume something's wrong," he said, just a hint of tension entering his voice. He counted to ten, muttered "fuck it," and stepped back, driving the heel of his boot into the door just below the handle. It flew open with a loud crack, and he stepped inside to assess the situation.

" _Fuck._ "

He moved forward quickly, the control left at the door as he hauled her out of the tub and laid her out gently on the floor, heart pounding as he checked her pulse. She was burning up under his fingers, but alive, and he cursed himself for letting her out of his sight.

Her cheeks were a bright shade of pink, and there was a slight sheen of sweat on her brow that had no place being there, not dressed like she was. There was also the strong scent of alcohol in the air, and it would be difficult to judge how much of the vodka she'd actually swallowed. All in all, it wasn't a situation that looked encouraging.

He tried to think. They couldn't bring her to a hospital. That left it up to him. He needed to get the fever down. He turned the water on in the tub, as cold as it would go, and turned her head to the side in case she vomited. Then he started stripping her clothes off, trying to assess the damage. She was filthy, that was for sure, and the wound on her leg was dangerously inflamed, oozing milky fluid and smelling rotten. He looked over at the remainder of the vodka, and then poured it into the tub in the hopes that it would kill anything in the water. Then he turned the water off and lifted her in, ignoring how the cold water made his arms ache.

She woke up with a slurred swear, going tense in the cold, painful water, hands gripping the edges. "Wh- What the FUCK, Moran!"

He held her down as she thrashed, swearing under his breath. "Hold still, dammit! You were fucking unconscious and you have a fever! I need to get it down!"

She made herself relax, sinking into the water with chattering teeth, looking resentful and very miserable. "J-just get me an advil or something, for god's sake. Fuck, this is cold."

"You can't mix that with alcohol," he said, "And you smell strongly of it. I didn't know how much you had. I did the best I could, dammit, so stop complaining and work with me!"

"I stopped the struggling, what more do you want from me?" she muttered acidly, squeezing the edge of the tub to keep herself from reaching for her leg, which felt a spasm away from falling off entirely. "I think I've earned a little verbal saltiness, okay? Christ."

He didn't have a retort, so he sat back, one hand still on her arm, keeping tabs of her temperature, his face a touch pale as he took a slow breath.

She fell into a sullen silence, refusing to look at him. At least now he seemed a little more human. She glanced towards the door. The door was kicked in. He'd been in too much of a hurry to go find a key, then.

A few minutes of horrid silence later, he felt her fever drop, and sighed, reaching out to pull the tub stopper. "Just be glad I didn't use ice," he muttered with a sigh. They weren't out of the woods yet, and he knew it, but it was a start. "Come on. Let's get you out of here and I'll look at your leg."

She gave nothing but a grim nod and stood, silent except for a sharper breath as her leg thought about giving out. She'd survived worse this past week. And hell if she was going to show even the slightest bit of weakness in front of him.

He took careful note of her reactions, downplayed as they were, and reached out to steady her without comment, letting her step out of the water on her own, as much as he wanted to just carry her stubborn arse.

She grabbed a towel and wrapped herself in it without bothering to dry off her hair, and then looked at him dryly. "Where do you want me, doctor?" she asked, with liberal use of sarcasm.

He took another slow breath, though he wanted to snap back. "The bed will do fine," he muttered, pointing to the bedroom as he stooped down to haul out the large medical bag.

She nodded and managed to walk out of the bathroom without limping, making it over to the bed and simply letting herself collapse on it. Wow. She'd forgotten how great these things were.

He walked in a moment later, setting the pack down, still mentally ripping himself apart. Why hadn't he noticed last night how underweight she was? What if he'd just let her be? He could have woken up to find her dead, not unconscious.

 _The what-if game never helped anyone._

 _Neither does drinking. You planning on canning that one, too?_

He shook off the mental battle and turned his attention to pulling out what he needed to clean the wound.

She stared up at the ceiling, deciding that it was better not to see what was coming. There was nothing that was going to make it hurt any less. But tensing up would certainly make it hurt more. Either way, it was a good distraction to thinking about him. That was bound to hurt just as much. She'd put that one off as long as possible.

He didn't give her any warning, knew better than that, and just set about starting to clean out the infected area to try and get a better look at what he was dealing with. He sighed. "You're gonna need more vodka," he decided, standing.

"I'm inclined to agree with you," she replied in a strained tone, hands fisted in the sheets, knuckles bone white. Then she jerked a little. " _Not_ for the leg, right? _Right?"_

He sighed, and considered her for a moment. "Never mind. I'm giving you morphine," he muttered, turning to the bag and pulling out a small bottle and a glass syringe. "I'm going to have to cut away the dead tissue."

Lorna grimaced. Opiates, just what she needed at a time like this. But he was right. There was no way she was going to get through him taking a knife to her without seriously fucking it up if she wasn't drugged to hell. "Fine," she sighed, holding out her arm for him.

He took a breath as he prepped the syringe, glancing at her. "I'm sorry about this," he muttered, before pressing it into her arm and depressing the plunger, sitting back to let it work.

It took maybe 20 seconds for it to take full effect, and then she was feeling considerably less angry and a lot more... floppy. "I think it's... I think I'm good now," she mumbled, waving her fingers vaguely in the direction of her leg.

He nodded a little, giving her another ten seconds or so for the drugs to fully reach her extremities before he picked up a scalpel and got to work as efficiently as he could.

She could feel, numbly, something happening to her leg, but for the first time in almost two months she was in no pain. That was blissful. "So I guess... you were'na the one killin' my tails? Mm. Wonder whooo..." she sighed, starting to shift a little and then remembering she had to stay still.

"No, it wasn't me," he said distractedly, though he filed that information away for later. "What happened to you?"

"Armetti... Saw some of his people. They saw me, too. Tried grabbing me. Had t'run. Couldn't lead 'em here, either," she shook her head, trying her best not to slur her words and partially succeeding. "Tails started t'disappear. Started finding some dead. Rest dispersed. Think they were afraid. Dunno what they told Armetti. Dunno if they told him _anything._ He's volatile. More-so than Boss. Crazy, right? _And_ crazy, I guess."

"Sounds like a mess," he muttered, finally setting the scalpel aside and pressing a compress hard against the wound to stem the bleeding.

She laughed. "Yeah, I know. I know. Missed you. Feel kinda stupid 'bout that now. Super rude last night. Y'raised in a barn?"

"You caught me off guard," he muttered, starting to pull out suturing equipment with his free hand. "I thought you were dead."

"I think the _acceptable_ response was probably 'I'm glad you're not dead'," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "Even 'have a drink', or, 'nice to see you.'"

"Just shut up, okay?" he said a bit harshly, tossing the compress aside and threading the needle.

She fell silent with a quiet sigh, struggling to get back into the murky pleasantness the morphine offered. It was surprisingly difficult. Again, she wondered why she'd come back, willingly entered this madness again.

He started to stitch up the wound, feeling awful, his hands shaking slightly. He needed another drink. He'd thought for a moment he was going to lose her again. He was still worried. "Just don't fucking die on me again, okay?" he muttered, barely audible, as he worked.

"Alright," she murmured, sitting up when she felt his wrist brush her skin one too many times and gently prying the needle from his hands, taking over. "I'm a former drug addict. My hands are steadiest when I'm high. In case you wanted t'protest."

"Fine," he muttered, sitting back and watching her carefully. He was itching to go hunt, to get away from this, to think, but he didn't dare leave her like this.

"For what's it's worth, I'd be super pissed if I'd gotten back and you were dead. Probably would dig you up from whatever hole Jim buried you in t'give you a stern talkin' to," she mumbled distractedly, squinting down at her work as she finished stitching herself up and held out a hand towards him for scissors. "Also, this is gonna be _ugly._ Ugh. Why do bad things happen to pretty people."

He watched her work, then took the needle when she was done, and started dressing the wound. "We'll get it cleaned up once we're back in London. Get rid of most of the scar," he said quietly. He started wrapping her leg. "I got fucked up, Harrison. I pulled out of it, but I'm not going back to how we were. That isn't an option."

She bit her lip, hard, but the morphine took away the pain and it ended up being useless. "Yeah, I kinda figured," was all she said, waiting until he was finished wrapping her up to slide towards the edge of the bed. "Just lemme grab my shit, and I'll pass out on the couch."

He reached out to shove her backwards gently but firmly. "You're sick and injured. I have the couch." He stood, grabbed a bag and started packing his stuff into it.

She remained silent, figuring that explaining to him why she didn't want to be in a bed alone wasn't worth it. God, why did she come back.

He headed outside, and sat on the couch, pulling out a gun and starting to clean it, check it. He would go out tonight.

Lorna kept it together. Maybe not too surprising, considering she'd spent so much of the recent past locking everything down, keeping herself from falling apart. But god did it still hurt.

* * *

Jim waited until he heard the expected sounds of Sebastian leaving for the night before he put his plan into action. He left his room and walked over to Moran's quarters where Lorna was laid out on the bed, waiting around patiently for her to wake up.

She woke up quickly, too used to caution, too used to waking up to defend herself. Her eyes found Jim, and she tensed a little, and winced. "Ow. Have you come to give me my last rights?"

"Just here to assess your condition," he said, giving her a toothy grin. "I'm glad you're back. Not for me, really, but Moran has been a wreck. Really quite annoying."

She was silent for a moment, then remembered to keep up the 'I'm fine' act. "Mm. Really? Well, he pretty much dumped me, so I'm kinda regretting not taking my free out while I still had the chance."

"Well, you didn't know, did you? And I'm not surprised. It's hard to juggle fucking and serial murder." He shrugged.

She sighed, giving a mild shrug back. "Guess so. I wouldn't know. Not my business anymore, apparently."

"Apparently," he said, taking a seat, making it clear he had no intention of leaving anytime soon. "It really was fun watching him spiral. It tore him apart in some phenomenal ways, your 'death.'" He laughed.

"Thanks for that," she said dryly. "Now I have to get all my shit out of his flat again. And won't have a personal furnace during the winter. You've really inconvenienced me."

"And you've destroyed my right-hand man. I'd say we're even. Though I should thank you, I suppose. If I overlook the alcoholism and new tendency to kill people a few times a week, he's never been a better employee."

She shook her head a little, just looking at him tiredly. "What are you telling all this to me for, boss? Just to rub it in my face? What do you want from me?" she asked, nothing but exhaustion in her voice.

"Partly to rub it in your face, I suppose, yes," he said, smirking. Then, suddenly, the smirk dropped. "It seems to me that you've become necessary for his... functionality. Irksome as that is. Fix it. I don't care how. Clean up your mess. I want him back on track, whether he's dependent on you or not."

She couldn't speak for a moment, having trouble absorbing that. _How?_ She couldn't force him into it - she couldn't force Moran into _anything_ \- and she felt sick at even the thought of trying to turn him into a mark, to manipulate him back onto the straight and narrow. "I'll..." she started uncertainly, after a long pause. "I'll do my best, sir. But Moran isn't exactly... flexible, once he's made up his mind about something."

"Do you know why I chose dear Sebby?" Jim asked, raising an eyebrow. "I had dozens of candidates. Men and women with years of experience. And yet I chose a boy who had just gotten kicked out of the military, barely a few years on this side of the operation. Why did I do that, do you think?"

"No idea, sir," she shook her head a little. If she _had_ to guess she'd go with Sebastian's stone-cold killer instinct, but somehow she didn't think that that would be taken seriously, and, therefore, not well.

"I had created a test," he said, leaning back against the bedpost. "For a lot of things. Loyalty, ability to work with my unique leadership style..." He chuckled. "As my bodyguard, it would be their primary goal- above anything else- to protect me. From anything, including from myself. Each candidate was walked into a room, one at a time. I stood a hundred feet from them, holding a gun to my head, and they had thirty seconds before I would pull the trigger. The gun was not loaded, but they were told it was. If they got too close, I warned them I would shoot anyway. Most tried to talk me out of it. A few threatened me, bribed me, a few left. All failed. That was their job, to fail. I didn't expect them to win, I wanted to see how they acted."

"And what did Moran do?" she raised an eyebrow, now genuinely interested. "He come at you?"

"He couldn't," he said, shaking his head. "Not too close, remember?" He smirked. "He took in the situation for about three seconds, pulled out his gun, and shot me in the gun arm." He rolled his sleeve up, showing her a round, pale scar in his forearm, and a slightly larger one on the other side, where the bullet had left. "Then, once I dropped the gun and started swearing at him, he calmly walked forward, tore his shirt up, and started field dressing it."

"Pragmatic. Sounds like him," she snorted. Then shrugged a little. "I'm not sure I see your point, though. Are you suggesting I, what... shoot him in the arm? Rip off the bandaid?"

"Neither," he said, leaning back. "I'm saying that that's the new-in-box condition that _my_ tiger was in until you came along, and that's the condition I want him in again."

"Boss, I can't..." she let out a huff, unsure how to word it appropriately. "I can't change people. I change myself in reaction to people, make myself what that person will respond to. I can't... unwind him. Believe me, I kinda wish I could."

"I don't care if you can or can't, you will. You aren't the only one who's going to receive this speech. He'll get an ultimatum as well. He straightens out, or I'll put him down myself. I don't have time to coddle."

"So I guess that euthanasia includes me too, huh?" she sighed, though it didn't look as though the prospect particularly troubled her. "You know, boss, and this is probably the morphine talkin', you're probably my favorite employer, living or dead. You say right out what you want. I appreciate that, I do," she murmured, reached out to pat his knee, and thought better of it, tucking her hand back by her side. "But look, this has been great and all, but I'm feeling just a _little_ delirious and I'm not sure how much more you're gonna get out of me that makes sense before I start thinking you're someone else."

He raised an eyebrow at her speech, but nodded, standing. "I want this resolved, Harrison."

"You got it, boss," she mumbled, rolling over and burying her face in the pillows, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

* * *

Sebastian came in in the early hours of the morning, setting his gun aside to clean in the morning and heading for his room, before remembering that Harrison was there now and heading for the couch instead.

Jim was waiting, sitting in an armchair to the side. "We need to chat, Moran. I've already had it with Harrison. Hopefully she'll remember it tomorrow, she's got quite the fever. Radiating heat like a fireplace."

He glanced at the door, but sat. The boss came first. He could get meds in her once they were done here. "What about?"

"You." Jim had a mild smirk on his face, mostly because the sniper was already itching to go to the woman's aid. "Your quality of work has been fine. Excellent, even. But since her 'death,' you've been different. A different I don't like. Your job is not to be the perfect run-of-the-mill employee. You're my bodyguard. I'm sure you don't need to be reminded." He paused, running his thumb across a rip on the arm of his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. "You think that what you did was facing the hard truth, but it wasn't. You coped with it by distraction. But I need you to face the hard truths, Moran. If you can't, I'll have to find someone else to do it."

He felt something cold drop in his stomach. "I did face the truth, sir," he said evenly. "Not everyone recovers nearly so immediately as I do. If I recall correctly, I didn't even take a night off, just kept working. I'm not sure how else you expect me to handle this."

Jim snorted. "You didn't _recover._ You developed alcoholic tendencies, and the crime rate in the city has gone up 2% in the time that we've been here. You coped, maybe, but you didn't face the hard truth of it. One of you was always going to die first. Someone important to you was always going to die first." He sighed, shaking his head slightly, gaze drifting to the door to Moran's room. "I say important, and not someone you care about, and that's a distinction I made on purpose. You're going to die before me, Sebastian, if you do your job right. And you're important to me. You've kept me alive through the thickest of it. When you die, if I have to kill you, it will be something I'll have to deal with. I can function without you, but it's more... _inconvenient_ for me to do so."

He looked back at the sniper, his face serious. Solemn, even. This was, after all, the only person in the world who he entrusted his well-being to. But then again, things with Moriarty were never as soft as 'solemn.'

"I don't care what you have to do to get yourself away from being the perfect soldier and back to being my bodyguard and chief of staff. But find a way to function properly. Not eke by. _Function._ Kill her if you have to, get the closure you need, _I don't care._ But I hate the smell of festering wounds."

"Fine," he says quietly. "Though to be fair, you never cared about my extracurriculars before. Nothing I've done can be traced to us." He took a breath. "Permission to speak freely?"

He shrugged a little. "Granted. I've certainly spoken a lot."

"If you don't want my head fucked up, don't fuck with my head," he said, bite to his tone. "You had no proof she was dead. I trusted you, far more than I should have, I know, but it was a convenient short-term solution and you took it without considering the consequences. Not only that, but you exhibited a complete mistrust in my abilities to perform my duties, as I'm almost positive the problem you were going to solve was my looking for her at the cost of our operation with Mallory. If you want to play rough with your toys, fine, your business. I know my place. But don't be surprised when they get broken."

He smirked, leaning back in the armchair. "I wouldn't say I'm surprised. But, I'll concede that it may have been poor judgment on my part. You know how I like my fun. Oh, fair warning, she knows all about your newest coping mechanisms. I would try to extricate yourself - if you're really going to - while she's ill. I would guess she'll put up less of a fight."

His nostrils flared slightly, but he held back any other reaction. "Define 'knows about,'" he said, voice unaffected.

"I told her how much of a wreck you became," he replied coolly, a cold grin on his face.

His expression did tense then. "Of course you did," he said, voice tight. "You know, for someone who wants this to resolve, you're doing a hell of a job unraveling it."

"I may want it over, but I my enjoyment of sadism tends to override that want," he drawled, unfazed. "Either way, it hardly matters if she dies. She won't argue then."

He took a slow breath. "You know, sir, if we're speaking freely, you're damn lucky I put up with your shite."

"You would be bored if we had it any other way, Moran," he said simply, folding his hands together in his lap. "And I'd be bored if you took too much of it lying down. Now, if you don't have anything else you need to get off your chest, I believe your damsel is in distress."

He leveled a long glare, but then stood, and headed quickly for the kitchen to grab motrin, a cloth, and a bowl of cool water. A few minutes later he entered his room, ignoring Jim's smirk boring into his skull, and walked over to where Lorna lay, eyes closed, face flushed and sweaty.

She shifted restlessly, eyelids cracking open as sound registered in her ears. "'M cold," she mumbled, managing to make his face clear for a moment before she gave up and shut her eyes again, deciding that the room moving around her wasn't worth it.

He walked forward quickly, setting the bowl aside and moving to the linen closet, pulling out some extra blankets, walking back over to tuck her in. "I know. Here... take some motrin, okay?"

She leaned up just enough to get down the pills before curling up on her good side and pulling the covers up to her cheek. She was miserable. There was no getting around it. She hated herself for wanting to ask that he stay.

He dipped the cloth in water and reached out to put it in her forehead. She looked miserable. He was torn for a few seconds, but hell, Jim wanted this resolved, right? He reached out to pull the blankets back and climbed in next to her. "C'mere. Get warm."

She burrowed into him immediately, her shivering becoming more evident. She didn't know if she'd ever been so sick before in her life. Christ, if she died from infection, she was going to be pissed. She curled her fingers into his shirt, suddenly fighting the inexplicable urge to cry. "I-... Nev'mind."

He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her close on the excuse of keeping her warm, his throat aching. Fucking Christ, he'd missed her. "I'm going to talk to Jim about getting a doctor in... you're bad..."

"I've felt better," she mumbled in agreement, breathing him in again, thankful that at least she could still smell his telltale tang of gunpowder. The fact that he was calling this off hurt almost as much as her leg.

"For right now let's just try to break this fever," he said quietly, rubbing her arms a little.

She shifted closer to him, if that were even possible. "M' sorry," she whispered suddenly, voice wavering. "I wanted t'call, but I was just... so _worried_ I'd give you up, somehow. M' so sorry."

"Stop," he muttered, shaking his head. "Especially if you're working off of whatever Jim told you... he's just fucking with you. You did what you needed to. Just focus on getting better." He didn't say he was fine, because he wasn't and there was really no lying around that, but it wasn't her problem.

She fell into a miserable silence, wishing this had another outcome, that there was something, _anything_ she could do to change his mind. But she'd been right from the beginning, hadn't she? This was never supposed to go well for her. She wasn't that lucky.

He couldn't kill her. That had never been an option and he knew it. So did Jim. That left two options: asking her to leave (as good as killing her in Jim's business, so also no) or fixing things between them. Fixing things also had two options: fixing things as a business relationship, or as an involved one. And the former hadn't worked in the past.

He was stuck and he knew it, and that was disturbing. He rebelled from being stuck. Freedom was his life force.

But now she was, too, damned as it made him.

He closed his eyes, holding her close and praying to those damned norse gods that the fever would break soon.

* * *

She faded in and out of consciousness for the rest of the night, mumbling under her breath and fidgeting during her less coherent stretches and shifting closer in her more coherent ones. In the early morning her fever finally broke. The room stopped tilting when she opened her eyes, but she still felt weak and drained, and her chest ached. Not from the fever.

He didn't sleep at all that night, and he only breathed easy once he felt her skin cool. He tucked her in a bit more carefully, trying not to scratch her with his 5 o'clock shadow as he shifted her under his chin. _Fuck_ he had missed her.

She let out a long breath into his shoulder, letting down her weak guard for a moment to just be happy he was close again. _You masochist._

"I feel a little better," she murmured, swallowing the dryness in her throat. "Not so... lurchy."

"Your fever's down," he agreed, tucking the blankets a little tighter. "Remember what I said about not dying again? You're still under orders."

"Wasn't really plannin' on it, but I'll take it under advisement," she sighed, pressing in a little more. _Don't leave me. Please._

He sighed, felt her press closer, and debated. But he knew already what his course of action needed to be, if he was going to satisfy Jim's request.

"I need to go ask Jim about a doctor. I'll be right back, okay?" he said softly. He sat up but not before pressing a short kiss on her forehead. Decision made.

"Alright," she whispered, curling up tighter under the covers, trying desperately to keep herself from hoping, from feeling the rush of relief that flushed through her chest.

He climbed out of bed, and tucked her back in before heading for the bathroom and to shower and shave quickly. Then he headed out into the apartment. Jim was in the kitchen.

"I need to bring a doctor in, sir," he said calmly. "She has a bad infection and I don't know enough to deal with it."

"So you're keeping her, then," Jim replied mildly, in the middle of making himself tea. He sighed. "If you find one that passes the screening process, you have my permission. You're fortunate she's more valuable than she used to be."

"If I don't, then I'll take care of them afterwards. I just need them to consult," he said, straightening and heading to grab his laptop.

Jim just snorted and stayed where he was, taking a sip of tea. He'd never predicted how deep Moran would get into that little arrangement they had going. But it rarely inconvenienced him, and it was a benefit to have his best spy so loyal to his sniper, and, by degree, him, so he let it continue. And it was _fun_ watching the two of them struggle.

He headed back into his bedroom and walked over to the bed, shifting in next to Harrison again, sitting up this time, leaning back against the head of the bed as he opened his laptop and started booting it up.

"I miss HQ," she sighed, her eyes closed. "Having an infirmary is just... so much _easier,_ y'know?"

"I'm getting a doctor in here as we speak," he says, starting to look through their database for one based in New York.

"Mm. I know. Guess I mostly miss them being a few floors beneath us," she muttered, shifting over to rest her head on his leg, looking blearily at the list before losing interest and shutting her eyes again. "Sorry about my sauna-like conditions. Know you like the cold."

He shrugged. "I couldn't care less at the moment," he muttered, sighing. "Closest person we have is in Delaware," he muttered. "When the network regroups, the first thing we are doing is increasing our presence in the U.S. This is ridiculous."

"That'll be quite the expansion," she murmured. "Have to get a bunch of American employees. I don't think we have the numbers to stretch across this place as it is. Plus, my American accent is terrible."

"Then that's what we'll do," he mutters. "Alright... I'm going to just find someone who makes house calls. I'll deal with them afterwards."

She made a quiet noise of agreement in reply, drifting off a little. Infections didn't give a shit about worries and concerns. Infections wanted you to go the fuck to sleep.

* * *

It was two hours before he found someone inconspicuous enough that if he had to take them off the map, no one would look too hard. It was another three before he was letting the woman into the foyer at street level, and nodding for the elevator. "This way."

Melinda Carter didn't like to think of herself as a criminal. She _did_ help people. Saved lives. But on the rare occasions she was contacted by various organizations - organizations that never gave her a name - she wondered about that fine line. Given the amount of money she was paid for her help and her silence, it seemed unlikely that whatever these people were doing was legal. So, she decided, as she stepped into the foyer and followed the shockingly intimidating Irishman down the hall, she would rationalize it. Focus on the one life she was in charge of. Keep the big picture out of it. "You said my patient has a severe infection. What have you done for them so far?" she asked sternly, in full professional mode. It took a little work not to stare at the scars on his face and wonder where he got them.

"She was on the streets for a while, and the infection developed then," he said as he hit the button for the appropriate floor. "When she came to us, I cleaned it out completely, cut away any dead tissue, and stitched it up. I've been giving her motrin for the fever, and it broke last night."

He reached out to hit the stop button, and the elevator ground to a halt mid-floor. "I'll need to search you and your equipment."

"I- Well, alright," she said hesitantly, offering her bag towards him. Really, what else could this organization be, if not crime? No political family member or something along those lines would have one (admittedly, very scary) security guard with no obvious signs of an earpiece. "Does she have any medical conditions, allergies, etc.?"

He started going through the bag carefully. "Opiates are to be used only as an absolute last resort," he said as he searched. Finally he nodded, setting her bag aside. "Arms out to the side," he said as he reached out to pat her down.

She did as asked, a little uncomfortably, calling forward the mental image of the paycheck she was going to be receiving as an incentive to keep going. "Noted. I rarely prescribe them to begin with. Too many issues down the line. Abusers, you know."

"Yes," he said expressionlessly. Satisfied that she was unarmed except for some scalpels, he handed her equipment and started the elevator again. "When you are in the apartment, I will accompany you at all times. There is no need for privacy of any kind. Understood?"

Melinda thought about arguing for patient-doctor confidentiality, took another look at him, and then decided against it. She nodded. Whatever was happening in this building, she wanted no part of it. _Just do your job and go home._

He led her out onto their floor, and, shielding her from view with his body, lifted the doorbell to scan his thumb. The light turned green, he replaced the doorbell, and keyed into the apartment. "Come on."

She entered, the only sign of her anxiety the whiteness of her knuckles where she gripped her bag, and followed him to the first door in the hall. She was trying not to notice too many details, but it was hard.

He pushed in, letting the woman enter before walking over to Lorna. "Hey," he said, shaking her gently, careful not to use her name. "There's a doctor here. Wake up, okay?"

She made an unhappy noise, but her eyes opening, sliding over to the strange woman standing in the doorway. "Alright, let's get this over with," she grumbled, kicking tiredly at the covers until the gauze over her leg was accessible. "Did y'tell her I'll bite if she pokes too much?"

"I told her _I_ would." He nodded the woman forward, reaching out to put a precautionary restraining hand on Harrison's shoulder as the woman started working the bandage free, just in case.

She hissed as the bloodied gauze was peeled away from her skin, revealing the angry inflammation underneath. The doctor made a mild noise of something like interest. "Definitely infected. How old is this wound? I can see where you cut away the necrotic tissue, but the rest... a couple months old, I'm guessing. Why did it go untreated for so long?"

Moran raised an eyebrow. "Yes. A few months. There were difficult circumstances surrounding the injury. High-stress, low hygiene. Information beyond that doesn't seem pertinent."

"Mm. Right," the doctor muttered distractedly, carefully stripping off the bandage the rest of the way and leaning down to rummage around in her bag, coming up with a bottle and a syringe. "Starting you off with a penicillin injection, so you don't lose the leg, then I'll leave you with some oral antibiotics," she hummed, very carefully leaning on the woman's side to keep her from jerking up as she used the needle. "He did a good job cleaning that wound, though."

Lorna was silent, because otherwise she would have been shouting expletives at the woman for sending a stab of pain through her leg. _Fucking needles._

"As for painkillers, the best thing I can recommend is to continue giving her Motrin. More than the dosage on the bottle. You'd have to swallow the whole container at once to OD on that stuff. Take food with it, though."

He nodded, carefully listening to what the woman said, his grip on Lorna's shoulder becoming a little heavier as he felt her tense. "Alright. And that should keep the fever down?"

"If not down, to within acceptable parameters," she nodded, beginning to redress the wound, trying not to look too hard at it. Whatever this wound had been, it had been traumatized after the fact. _You don't want to know what they're doing, remember? Come on, just finish up._ "No unnecessary walking. Back and forth to the restroom only. Sit down in the shower. Etc."

"Okay," he said, nodding. "How often should the bandages be changed?" In the back of his mind, he considered the pros and cons of letting the woman live.

"Once a day should be fine, as long as the dressings aren't damp from drainage, blood, that sort of thing. If that happens, start changing them as often as you need to. And wash your hands. Very important, that," she nodded to herself, bending to pull a bottle of antibiotics out of her bag, handing them to him. "Give her those once every 12 hours. That should whack the bacteria back."

He nodded, tucking the pills into his pocket and letting up his grip on Harrison's shoulder. "Thank you." The words tasted rusty on his tongue, but they were deserved. "We'll contact you if there are any complications. I trust I don't need to spell out the reasons you should keep this whole interaction to yourself?

Melinda cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable, and shook her head. "No. Rather not know the details, if you don't mind."

"Wise choice," he said, giving her a cold smile, tombstone teeth flashing white. "Let's go, shall we? A deposit will be made by tonight to your account."

She nodded again and practically skittered away to the door, feeling a bit like a ghost was breathing down her neck. She was absolutely positive she never wanted to meet this man in a dark alley. Hell, she wouldn't want to meet him on a well-lit mainstreet.

He followed her at an unhurried pace, long strides easily making up for her slightly panicked frenzy. That was the trick with these people. You just needed to make sure they were positive they never wanted to cross you, and then pay them well. Fear and loyalty blended well into silence.

Melissa suffered through the elevator ride, constantly adjusting her grip on her bag so she could wipe her sweaty palms off on her shirt. _Almost gone, almost gone._

When the doors opened, she gave an audibly relieved sound. "Call me if you have any complications. Now I, uh, have a thing, so, I'm going to dash..."

"Ta," he said, still smiling. "It was a pleasure working with you, doctor. I do hope that you stay safe out there." He made no attempt to hide the threat.

She swallowed, and turned to almost flee out of the door, her heart pumping a little faster than it should have for a woman her age.

He watched her go, and the smile dropped. He pressed the button on the elevator, and watched her leaving until the door slid shut. He'd review his security feeds later to see where she'd gone. For now, he headed back to the apartment, and to his room, walking over to where Lorna lay and pulling the pill bottle out of his pocket, looking it over and examining the contents before tipping one into his hand and picking up the glass of water. "Here. Take this."

Lorna took it without complaint, then curled back up into a ball under the covers. Her fever had dropped, but she was still a little underweight from her month and a half of living on the street, and she carried little weight to begin with. "Thought she was gonna piss her pants, she was so scared of you. Y'still got it."

"It's one of my few marketable skills. I'd better still have it," he muttered, climbing in next to her and shifting her carefully against his chest. "How are you feeling?"

"Crummy," she sighed, struggling not to feel too comforted just by the fact he was close. If he followed through on what he'd said the day before (it was the day before, wasn't it? She had no idea how much time she'd lost in unconsciousness) it was only going to bite her in the ass later. There was just no predicting him, after all. "But better. Room's not spinning. That's nice."

"Okay," he said, nodding a little. "Well, it seems like you're gonna make it, at least mostly intact, so we'll call it a good day."

"We need to work on your bedside manner," she mumbled sarcastically, though without any bite to it.

"Admittedly not one of my strong suits," he chuckled, sighing.

"At least I'm not dying. I'd hate to see you not try to sugarcoat that one at all," she smirked, stretching out a little with a mild huff. "Ouch. Fuckin' bacteria."

He smirked a little. "You were high. It's allowed." He closed his eyes. "I settled things with Jim. He was just screwing with you, you can ignore what he said."

She didn't say anything. Just shifted to reach under and behind his pillow, retrieved the flask there, and set it down on his chest. "I don't know about the killing people, but that kinda sounds like you, too."

He felt the weight on his chest and didn't need to open his eyes to know what it was. It had moved in next to his knife a month ago. "That's medicinal," he muttered sarcastically.

"I used to be - still kinda am - an alcoholic. I know what that means," she snorted, though there wasn't a trace of anger in her voice, despite the fact he'd lied to her. She was too tired to be angry. She sighed. "We both knew this was going to be hard sometimes, right? I mean, when we first started to fuck and I got angry at you because I felt you put my life in danger for some sass to the boss, you told me that I had to accept the consequences. One of us is going to die first. Who knows which one of us it will be." She was silent for a moment, just looking down at the flask from where she was resting her cheek on his shoulder. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to give this up because later on down the line it might hurt."

He didn't react for a long time, and wasn't sure that he even would until he did. "If I don't change something, boss is going to put me down. That's the hard line. I don't have a choice anymore."

She let out a long breath, trying to get around the sinking feeling in her stomach. "Okay," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "You know where I'll be if you think of a way to make it work. I don't want to have a hand in your death."

"Don't jump the gun," he muttered. "The best way I can think of to fix this is to try and go back to how things have been in the past. As long as I can put on a show for Jim I don't think he'll care what I do with my free time. I can balance."

"Christ, maybe lead with that next time, huh?" she huffed, trying not to sound overly relieved. "Jesus. You trying to kill me after all? There are nicer ways to do it."

He shrugged a little, eyes still closed. "You're an extreme weakness on my part, and I hate that. But it is what it is. I can't fix it. I just need to accept it and move on." That was going to take a long time. He'd turned the barrel of his gun on himself for the first time in his life that first week, and seeing that side of yourself wasn't something you just walked away from.

"Easier said than done, I know," she sighed. "I'm not required to be nearly as strong as you and I still beat the shit out of myself for letting myself care."

He smirked just slightly at that. "On a lighter note, apparently the crime rate's gone up two percent since we've gotten here. I feel proud."

She chuckled. "Really? Fuck, _I'm_ proud of you. Maybe you did pick off some of my tails, just on accident. God knows they started dropping like flies. Seems unlikely you would have gotten all of them, though. Wonder who else is out there."

He nodded a little. "So do I. I'm going to start looking into it. That's a bit suspect."

"I would try to contact some people I knew back when I was part of that network, but as far as I know, they're all dead. People who work there don't have a long shelf life," she muttered, picking a piece of lint idly off his shirt. She snorted. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if it's Armetti himself killing his own people off. Sick bastard. Wish I'd never met him."

"You say that about many of your former employers, I've noted," he said softly, sighing. He sat up. "Get some rest. I've got some things to do for Jim."

"I say that about the two sick bastards I worked for in the past. The rest were just dumb," she muttered, rolling over and curling up under the blankets again, despite the fact she was now on her bad side.

He rolled his eyes but didn't respond, heading out into the hall.

* * *

Jim sat in his office, tapping the edge of his laptop as he considered the screen. He'd written up the report, the so-called 'anonymous tip'. As much as he wanted to send it now, the timing wasn't right. He was going to need Harrison in order to get to the right people, just like he had in the past, and she was out of commission for at least the next week, if not two. Sebastian would get a small vacation, then, it seemed. He saved the report, and shut his laptop.

* * *

Playlist: P!nk - Try


	50. Everyone In This Story Is Horrible

Over the next few weeks, Moran got very little sleep. When he wasn't working, he was keeping an eye on an increasingly frustrated Harrison. And when he had a few free hours, he hunted. If anything, his alcohol consumption increased, but he did his best to keep the signs from Lorna.

Lorna knew that Sebastian's drinking wasn't getting any better - she was awake a lot more often than he assumed, considering she spent so little energy every day - but decided to keep her opinion to herself. This was mostly because when he left to go murder a few people (he sometimes smelled like blood afterwards) she got up out of bed and walked around, desperate to move a little in the free time she was given.

If Jim was bothered by his bodyguard's drinking and murder habits, he didn't say anything. In fact, given what was in the works, it amused him more than anything. He finally had deemed Harrison well enough to put his plan into action, and as soon as he got confirmation, he wandered into the bedroom where Harrison was making slow but steady laps, and leaned against the doorway. "Moran's been arrested," he said calmly, breaking the silence.

She stopped dead, sucking in a startled breath. "What? He got _what?_ Oh, _Christ."_

He didn't move from his post, considering his nails. "Seems he got a little over-zealous in his exploits. If my sources are correct- and they often are- he's a suspect in over a dozen murder cases."

She sat down on the bed so her legs didn't decide to just give up altogether. "Fuck. _Fuck._ Is there any way we can get him out? We got any connections to the NYPD? Something? _Anything?"_

He looked up at her, and gave a broad smile. "If we didn't have a way to get him out, I wouldn't have turned him in. But for the moment, we need to make things much worse for him."

"You... Oh my god." She laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling looking a little stunned. "I... Just... Alright. What do we have to do?" He would tell her why eventually. Asking was just a waste of time.

"You need to start preparing your testimony," he said brightly. "Rape and attempted murder should not go unpunished."

She let out a long breath, trying to keep control of herself. She did not want to do this. She did not want to go up in front of a court full of people and pretend that Sebastian had done those things to her. What if he believed she was really trying to get him locked up? "Do we have a physician that will back me up on that? This is America, after all. Attempted murder should be easy, though. Leg's not quite healed yet."

"That one that looked at your leg seemed pliable. I'll be doing some research. You just work on believability. I don't anticipate any problems. We can blame him for that scar on your neck too, if the trial gets delayed long enough."

"Don't worry about believability. I bring out my best stuff in front of crowds, because I can't use the crutch of playing to any one person's weaknesses," she sighed, running her finger along the thin couple ridges that crossed her throat. "I would guess that he doesn't know about any of this, am I right?"

He smirked slightly. "That would have killed the fun. It was also imperative that he not seem too smug. Additionally, I think this slap on the wrist may help to break him of his hunting habits..."

"I guess I'm the only one who thought that whole thing was just a little bit hot," she muttered under her breath, rolling on her side and leaning to grab a bottle of liquor on the nightstand that still had a few servings left of alcohol in it. These days, she was a little less careful with Jim. After Sebastian's advice that she not 'cower' and the incident where they left her tied up in the basement to undergo a slow psychological torture, she figured that if he was going to kill her, he was going to kill her, and that would be that. It was about the same strategy she had adopted with Sebastian, but she left a lot more of the verbal respect in with the boss to make up for the fucking. "But uh, yeah, I can see him being too smug. He really doesn't hide his condescension as well as he thinks he does."

"I'm well aware," he drawled. "I regularly ignore it because I'm aware he's doing his best job at keeping it under wraps. Occasionally I don't. He has marks. As for the hunting... it certainly has its place. But it was getting out of hand, and I was close to losing control of him. That is unacceptable."

"I understand. I mean, am I going to enjoy it? No. But I understand," she shrugged, moving up to lean against the headboard and uncapping the bottle. She'd stopped taking pain meds a few days back, so even if Sebastian had been here he wouldn't have yelled at her. She hoped. "We going the standard route? Getting to the jury?"

He nodded. "With a few flairs thrown in. The main purpose of this whole endeavor is to show Mallory who's really in charge here. I want to do it well."

She snorted. "I can get behind that fucking shit. What a twerp. Someone needs to call his mother to come pick him up from daycare."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he nodded. "I'm glad you approve," he said dryly. "I'll be interested to see how Sebastian handles prison. He was never good with confinement."

"He's going to have the other inmates bowing at his feet. Lot of dangerous men in there, but I doubt there are any that can stand up to his caliber," she shook her head, taking a sip from the bottle and making a bit of a face. " _God._ This is awful. Who let me buy this?"

Jim ignored her, turning the situation over a few times. He hoped they gave Moran a little time in solitary... he might have to pull a few strings and make sure that happened. The security feeds of that would be very entertaining...

The boss seemed to have checked out of the conversation, so she followed suit, continuing to drink in silence. She was worried about Sebastian, but there was nothing she could do to help him, not now. Not anytime soon. Distractions were going to be necessary.

"Don't get too drunk," he finally said as he headed for the door. "If I have you two constantly seesawing in and out of alcoholism while the other one is in a jam, I'm going to be very put off."

"I was an alcoholic long before I met Moran, and I do my job splendidly while drunk, thank you, but whatever you say, Boss," she sighed, though held onto the bottle. Tonight wouldn't matter much in the grand scheme of things.

"Don't test me, Harrison," he warned suddenly, voice serious. "I remember how much you loved your time down in the basement. You're testing your leash, I'll let it happen, but consider this a yank. I want that _'recovering'_ part of the alcoholism to stay put. Or I'll leave you in that basement until you're old."

She took one more sip from the bottle and set it down, looking at him carefully for a moment. "I'll keep it under wraps. I don't have any desire to be that dependent on anything again, sir. But... permission to speak freely?"

He smirked. "Taking lessons from Moran, are we?" He considered her, then nodded. "Fine. Go ahead."

"I get why you put me down there. Really. I've been in the business long enough, I think," she sighed, rubbing at the cut in her leg through her jeans. It was starting to itch. "But my being down there wasn't really my fault, was it. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you.. what, thought I was a good enough grifter that I'd done the same thing to Moran and you that I did to Sherrinford Holmes? And you would have been right. I can lie to anyone. And even after you stuck me down there, when I ran into another network I immediately led them away. I have no interest in compromising you or this operation. You don't need to threaten me into doing my job. It's kinda counterproductive."

He contemplated her for a few minutes. "I'm not threatening you to do your job," he finally said, each word crisp. "I'm warning you of two things. First, that I will no longer tolerate the two of you being so dependant on substances, alcohol included. If you continue that behavior, the result will be termination of your employment. That's a fact."

He considered her for another moment, hands in his suit pockets. "The second is that I'm going to start giving you more freedom to operate as you choose. Moving you out from under Moran's direct command- slowly- but I want you to know that that puts a lot more responsibility on your shoulders. Dear Sebby is well aware of what I will do to him if he steps too far out of line, and it isn't kill him. He stopped fearing that years ago. The thought just annoys him. So we have different arrangements. You're hitting that point as well." He sneered, and in a mocking, babyish voice crooned "You're getting so _biiiiggg._..." His face almost immediately snapped back to dark. "So I'm upping the ante. More freedom, more responsibility, but you're going to know the consequences as well. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded, chewing that over. And really, that was the more effective route. She didn't fear death. But there were other things she did fear. "I... appreciate the clarification, sir."

"Good," he said, hopping up and heading for the door. He wanted to watch the security tapes of his Tiger's containment so far.

Lorna sat quietly to herself for a while, just trying to digest this. Digest what this was going to mean in the future, mostly, and how many new ways she'd need to find to stay on her toes.

* * *

Moran lay back on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, listening. There was the dull murmur of prison life, occasionally punctuated by raised voices, swearing or laughing, it varied. It was hard to believe that he'd only been here for five days. Hours blurred together into bored eternities punctuated by bad food and sleep.

He'd been given the 'new guy' treatment for a total of about two minutes, until he'd knocked the main abuser out with one quick blow to the neck. He'd earned some enemies, but more friends, and he was starting to see more respect from passers-by as the rumor spread and mixed with the rumor that he was in for murders. Plural. Lots of plural.

Now, he was planning. Mapping out the politics of the place in his head and working out which of the guards he needed to buddy up to and which of the prisoners he needed to put in their place. He needed a few more days to gather a little more information, but when he struck, it would be quickly.

He looked up as one of the guards- ran a smuggling operation for the prisoners, important- came to his cell door and banged on it with his club. "Moran. You've got a visitor. Let's go."

Lorna was sitting in the empty visitor's room - today wasn't a visiting day, but she'd cried enough and had looked helpless enough that the obviously straight male guards had relented. That was good. Finding corruption among the ranks this quickly was promising. Still, there had been a lot of _I have to do this, please,_ and _If I don't face him now I'll never get rid of these nightmares,_ and some really obvious innuendos before they'd agreed. Now she just waited, wiping at the heavy-handed, smudged eyeliner that had really helped emphasized her crying.

He was walked into the visitor's room and up to a booth. He wasn't surprised to see Lorna. He'd been expecting her or Jim. She'd grifted her way in, judging from the makeup.

He waited while the guard shifted his handcuffs to the bar down the center of the table, and then reached up to pick up the phone, waiting for her to talk first, letting her set the tone. Jim would get him out. He knew that.

Lorna waited until the guard had withdrawn to the far corner of the room, because what came next was going to be a little difficult, and her concentration was going to split enough without worrying about what the guard was thinking. She picked up the phone and started to talk, her face crumpling just a little as she started to wind up into a long tirade. "I had to come, I had to see you with my own fuckin' eyes in here.."

On the table, she lifted two fingers to get his attention and then began to tap out her message in morse. It would take her more time than it took him, and she wasn't as good at it, but it was the simplest way to get the message across.

SORRY STOP

NOT ENOUGH TIME TO EXPLAIN STOP

WAIT THIS OUT STOP

JIMS ORDERS STOP

SORRY AGAIN STOP

He caught the gist of the tirade, enough to coach his facial expressions with her voice while he worked out her slightly faltering morse. He had hope at first, but the more she tapped, the more his stomach dropped. No mention of getting him out of here, just that Jim had done this. That was a stinging betrayal, but let it pass without any reaction. He waited until she was done, then caught her eye and nodded slightly. Message received. He didn't dare tap back. The prisoners were observed much more carefully. He let her tirade run down, then gave her a tired sigh. "What do you want me to say?" _How am I supposed to act?_

She sat back, wiping at her eyes. She understood what he meant by that. It just killed her that she couldn't just _tell_ him what was happening. "I don't want you to say _anything,"_ she choked out, remembering to keep the emotion in her voice. "Don't fucking try to defend yourself. Least of all to me." _Stay inactive. Just let it play out._

"Then I'm not sure I understand why you're here," he said, sitting back with a sigh, but adding a small nod. _Fine._

"I just.. had to see you," she breathed. That was true. "Had to see for myself that you were caught. And now I have. I hope you _rot_ in here." That wasn't. She stood, and hung up the phone, hard enough for the guard to hear, and turned to go, battling the part of her that was angry with her for making him stay here.

He watched her storm away, gut sinking. He'd almost allowed himself to hope he was going to get out of here. Jim... Fucking _Jim_ had put him in there. He mulled that over as they brought him back to his cell. Boss could have at least told him...

He felt a glint of anger.

* * *

The weeks leading up to the trial were mildly miserable for her. Even after every mission to secure another ally in court, someone else who would be there to turn the tide at the last second, she felt guilty for her upcoming participation in court. They'd done this before, with Jim, but still she had to fight her doubts back. It was harder at night when she was alone in bed, her fears creeping out and circling around her head. _What if he gets convicted? What if they move him somewhere we can't get him? What if what if what if..._

* * *

It took him another week to fight his way to the top, but it was worth it once he was there. In the end, it hadn't been overly difficult. He had made a deal with the smuggler and gotten control of imports, then used that control as bribes and threats where needed. A little brute force applied as needed, and he was on top.

That did very little to make the place less shitty.

For the most part when he wasn't on work detail, he lay around staring at the ceiling, occasionally reading, but mostly getting slowly more and more furious with James Moriarty.

* * *

The day of the trial came, and Lorna carefully chose her outfit to suit the occasion. Not too nice, but not too frumpy. Just enough to say lower middle class, and dropping. She hated that she had to testify.

Jim wasn't planning to attend. There was no reason to. He didn't expect anything to go wrong, and if it did, there was nothing he could do about it. "Have fun, I'll be watching," he said, nodding to the television where he'd set up the court security feed.

Lorna nodded and turned wordlessly to leave. She called the cab robotically, walked into the courthouse in silence, and found the room without much trouble. No other trial besides Sebastian's was being televised. What other serial killer had chosen their victims so randomly, so quickly? She found a seat and sat with her face downturned, her hands folded in her lap, and waited for her pseudonym to be called. She didn't want to see Sebastian like this.

He walked into the courtroom quietly, orange jumpsuit blaring, shackles on his wrists and ankles. He saw the cameras but ignored them for the most part, his eyes scanning the room. He was surprised but relieved to see Lorna in the witnesses section. They hadn't abandoned him then. She'd help. He nodded at her slightly, a flash of hope in his eyes for the first time in weeks.

She bit the inside of her cheek as he noticed her, shaking her head just once, finally letting a few of her emotions filter through onto her face. There were no cameras on her yet. That would be later. She wanted to help him, but she couldn't. That would only get her in serious trouble.

He frowned at the look in her eyes. Much more pained than hopeful. Not a good sign.

The opening statements were brief. This case had been so widely publicized by this point that it was a short matter of making a few direct points. His defense was weak, and frazzled by his lack of interest in cooperation. He was beginning to regret that.

Lorna tried to block out most of the trial, and only looked up from her hands when the prosecution called her fake name. She swallowed, stood, and took the long, lonely walk up to the stand, where she was grateful to sit again. Four cameras at least were trained on her face - precisely the reason why she was wearing such heavy makeup. The less recognizable she was, the better. "State your name for the prosecution, miss," the lawyer in front of her ordered, straightening out his suit jacket.

"Karen Polinsky," she replied, leaning forward a little so her quiet voice could be heard in the microphone. She took another deep breath as the lawyer started to weave a complicated and obviously pointed question. She had to keep herself from looking over at Sebastian. _I'm sorry._

He was surprised when she rose for the name, not because of the name, but because she was being called for the prosecution. As the attorney introduced her, however, it started to sink in. She was still the persona from the jail. She was testifying against him.

It occurred to him suddenly that Jim might be trying to get rid of him. That this was his way of getting Sebastian out of the way for a few years until he needed him again. He was sure that he at least would eventually expected to re-enter service, unless he got the death penalty here... his gut twisted and he bared his teeth in fury and disgust.

 _Coward._

The prosecutor was a good one, she had to admit it. His questions quickly veered into invasive, and Moran started to sound worse and worse, and when the lawyer asked her to show the scars on her neck to the jury, she had to grit her teeth to keep herself together, especially when the lawyer pointed out her slight limp. Of course, it made her look all the more convincing, and when she was finally allowed to step down from the stand and return to the crowded seats, she passed her doctor headed the other way. She sat down again, trying not to think too hard about the things she'd said - so many of them reminded her of DeWitt that it made her sick to her stomach to even think of Sebastian that way. What she really wanted was to leave and go home, but she had to stay. Had to see what the verdict was. Had to bring him home.

For once, he wished Lorna wasn't such a good actress. The way she told her story he could almost see it himself, and he knew she had to be drawing on her experience with Dewitt, which made it all the worse. He had raped people before, but only when he was assigned to torture them in that manner. Never outside the torture field and never without explicit orders to do so. It wasn't something he liked using. It wasn't honorable. To think about doing something like that to her... he was sure his face was a bit pale, but he didn't care, sitting expressionless, knuckles white. He didn't look at Harrison, and after that, he tuned the proceedings out. It didn't matter any more. He was fucked or he wasn't, nothing he did would change it.

The trial took hours. She wouldn't have even noticed the jury re-entering the room after their deliberations if all the cameras hadn't turned back on at once, half pointing at Sebastian, the other half the judge. Just like with Jim, the judge did a double take. Advised against it. Strongly.

 _Not guilty._

She felt a weight drop off her chest, clutched at her knees in relief. It didn't matter what they thought of her now. Appearances didn't matter anymore. There was nothing more they could do.

He looked up at the verdict, and took his first full breath in almost three months. It blew across the angry embers in his chest, and they glowed. Waiting. He stood, held out his hands to the confused guards as they looked around before finally unlocking his shackles. Reporters were clamoring for his attention but he didn't pay them any mind as he walked out of the courthouse and into the waiting police car to go back to the prison and be processed out.

She left in the flow of people, shouldering past a few reporters who wanted to know what she thought of such a surprising, shocking verdict, and managed to steal a cab from somebody to get back to the apartment. The ride home seemed shorter than usual, but now time seemed kinda wonky anyways, and when she keyed into the flat and walked into Moran's room to get her makeup off, she wasn't sure what she was feeling, and it took her a good while to understand what it was. Trepidation.

The cruiser dropped him about a mile from the apartment at a restaurant he was pretending to crave, finally dressed in his proper clothes, and as soon as they were gone he walked back towards his apartment, a hat he'd shoplifted pulled low over his eyes. Twenty minutes later he stood outside the apartment, light green, key in hand. He took a breath, and unlocked the door.

Lorna had been waiting for him in the hall, sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up, but as soon as the door opened she was getting to her feet, sucking in a deep breath. "Sebastian."

Jim's snicker from down the hall made her jump. "Oh, _Sebastian~"_ he mocked, giving Lorna a merciless look as he approached. "Don't wear him out tonight, I might need him tomorrow."

He barely looked at Lorna, brushing past her and taking the hall in three long strides, body relaxed and unthreatening until the last second. Then the moment was upon him and he had the man's throat in his hand, pinning him up against the wall, feet off the ground by a good half meter, fingers slowly compressing his windpipe. "Something funny, Jim?" he asked with a growl, eyes alight, deadly.

Jim was surprised to find himself so suddenly in a completely different spot than he'd been standing about a second earlier, and he nearly forgot to hide it. "Yes," he drawled, a grip on Moran's wrist. It was becoming significantly more difficult to draw in breath. "The way you two _moon_ over each other, you're like bitches in heat. Put me _down,_ Moran."

He didn't hesitate as he pulled his knife out of his belt, pressing it just beneath Jim's eye, the point drawing blood as he pressed it down and it sank into the fleshy area above the eye socket. " _No._ " He stared the man in the eye, grip still tightening. "Shut up and listen to me, you little shit."

Jim didn't cry out in pain, but he jerked once, involuntarily, his teeth grinding together as he struggled to keep himself under control. He didn't say anything, just stared back, waiting for the sniper to get whatever it was he needed off his chest. Lorna stood frozen off to the side, almost afraid to breathe.

He tightened his grip on Jim's neck, watching as his face darkened, his pulse pounding in his ears. "You can put me in prison, you can do whatever the hell you want, but you _FUCKING TELL ME!"_ he roared, shoving Jim a few more inches up the wall. "As much as you may like to think otherwise, I am _not_ your _plaything._ You don't want me to step out of line? You stay the _fuck_ in your _motherfucking lane!_ I am your second in command, your bodyguard, your chief of staff. I _cannot do my job_ if you do not _tell me shit_. Give me a _fantastic fucking reason_ that I shouldn't KILL YOU right now!"

"You won't have a purpose without me," Jim snarled, with just barely enough air to do so, digging his blunt nails down Moran's arm, trying to keep his airway open. He was _not_ going to pass out.

"Don't fuck with me," he laughed. "I could _run_ this company without you, and with a hell of a lot less bullshit," he laughed. "You are _worthless._ You are here for _art_. That's it." He watched Jim purple slightly. "Beg me, Jim. Beg me for your fucking life, you worthless shit."

Even if Jim had wanted to beg - Jim Moriarty would never beg once in his life, not even _for_ his life - he doubted he had enough air to, so he just fixed Sebastian with a snide look, a disgusted one, one that said _you are so far beneath me that you could be an invertebrate under my feet._

Lorna, however, was a little less convinced that they could succeed so well without Jim. They still had Holmes and Mallory to worry about, and if it came down to a battle of wits, she and Moran were unlikely to succeed. So she was going to have to find another outlet for this aggression. "Moran..."

"Shut up, Lorna," he said, still staring Jim down and pressing the knife in further. It slipped through the fat and muscle, scraping against bone. "Beg, Jim, or I'm going to kill you right here, right now, and leave you to rot."

Jim finally couldn't keep quiet, shouting as the blade cut into him, but still there was a defiance to his eyes, a fury, an iron will. " _No,"_ he growled, panting for breath now, both because his air supply was cut short and because of the pain shooting around his eye.

" _Sebastian,"_ Lorna said, a little more urgently, a hand going to grab the back of his shirt. "Sebastian, you can't. You were just on live television. How long until Mallory or Armetti tries to track us down? _You can't."_

He stayed still for a long couple of seconds, before letting out an angry yell and hurling Jim to the side so he slammed into the table, on him a second later, sitting across his waist and ripping open the other man's shirt. "Fine," he growled. "You live." He pressed his blade into Jim's chest, starting to carve without hesitation, scrawling his initials in deep, in the same place where Jim's were on him. "But you don't fucking pull this shit again, or I will kill you, consequences be damned."

Lorna watched for a moment, Jim snarling and fighting under Sebastian in vain as the letters S M were scrawled on his chest, and then turned and practically fled into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it, trying to slam the swelling feeling of bloodlust back into the depths from whence it had came.

When Moran was done, and relaxed a little on top of him, Jim kicked free, sliding off the other side of the table with a fumble, more wounded animal than anything, and stared at the sniper from there, panting and bloodied, and furious, but in no position to do anything about it.

"Remember this feeling, you bitch," Moran practically purred. "Next time you try to fuck me over, remember how you feel right now. Powerless, wounded, with nothing you can do to fix it. I can do this to you because I _want to_ in five minutes, but I _choose_ not to. Decide whether you want to risk losing my loyalty." He stood up, wiped his knife away and walked towards his room.

Jim said nothing, just slunk off to his room to lick his wounds and fume.

In the bedroom, Lorna was picking at the scab on her leg with a singular sort of focus, her jaw tight, her shoulders tense, and she didn't look up when he entered the room. "Wash your hands or prepare yourself for some very rough sex."

"So what you're saying is don't wash my hands," he muttered. "I've been in prison for three months. Rough sex sound like heaven."

She slid off the bed without another word and shoved him back against the door to lean up and kiss him with what would normally be considered too much teeth, and completely disregarding the knife that was still in his hand. She didn't care. She just had to _do_ something.


	51. Reunion

Playlist: She Wants Revenge - Tear You Apart

If you're looking for the playlist, it's on my profile!

* * *

The knife fell with a thunk and he grabbed her and pulled her up against him, grinding his hips against hers and smiling, his teeth nipping her throat.

"I missed you," she breathed, unbuttoning his shirt as fast as she could go and then yanking it open the rest of the way, a couple of buttons popping off towards the corners of the room, and nipped at his earlobe, fingers digging into his sides. "You _better've_ missed me."

"Of course I fucking missed you," he snarled. "What the hell was that in the courtroom?"

She drew back a little, some of the fervor lost, looking up at him with still darkened eyes. "I didn't _volunteer_ for that, if that's what you're asking. Jim told me to. Wanted Mallory to see how close he could get you to prison but still get you off on all charges. Today wasn't exactly stellar, alright?"

"That's all I needed to hear," he assured her, turning to press her against the wall, his hand finding the center of her chest, fingers digging in a little.

She didn't bother to fight for position - she was going to end up pinned against something, and really, she didn't care what - and instead just pulled him closer by his belt, looking up at him with something like hunger in her eyes. "I want you to get me bloody. Don't care who's blood. Yeah?"

He didn't respond, just sunk his teeth into her neck again, breaking skin, though he didn't care if she drew blood from him, too.

She sucked in a harsh breath, the flagging flame of the bloodlust roaring back up again, the regular kind of lust joining it, heat flushing her cheeks pink. She scraped her nails down his abdomen before tearing at his belt, desperate to get it off him. She hadn't had a dry spell like this for ages.

He reached down to take it off for her, joining in by removing her shirt with no regard for the material. He grabbed her hand, pressed her nails into his skin as he shoved his tongue into her mouth.

She didn't hesitate to draw a line of blood across his palm, shoving off the door to push him insistently towards the bed, breaking off the kiss to nip his more height-accessible throat, free hand unbuttoning his trousers. "You are," she scraped her teeth over his collarbone, "possibly," managed to shove him down onto the bed so she could straddle his waist, "the most beautiful man I've ever met. You drive me _crazy."_

He let her command the motions for once, and groaned under her cutting fingers, the pain spurring him on. "I thought about you every night," he whispered as her teeth scraped his neck. "I wanted you so badly."

She ground down on him almost involuntarily, the feedback loop almost making her dizzy. "Christ," she breathed, kissing him hard for a moment and drawing away after she'd left him with a bloodied lip. "You're the only one I've ever waited for, you know," she rolled her hips a little more deliberately this time, her grip tightening on his hand for a moment. "I'm a serial adulterer. You remember Malcolm."

He let out a bit of a laugh, grinding his hips back up against hers with a laugh. "Barely, but yes," he snorted, pulling her trousers off. "As for waiting, sounds like you need this as much as I do."

"You have no idea," she growled, kicking the troublesome trouser-legs off. "I don't have dry spells, Seb. _Look_ at me. Look at my _job._ I thought about nailing _Jim,_ for fuck's sake," she huffed, streaking a drop of blood from his hand across his cheek with her thumb and a tiny smirk.

He grinned back up at her, her skin hot under his hands. He was hard beneath her, pressing up against her thigh, and he let out a groan. "Lorna, as fun as this chat is, I've been lonely for three months too..."

"Then do something about it," she retorted, biting her lip. She loved to see just how far she could wind him up.

He wasn't in a teasing mood. With the way he'd treated Jim he wouldn't be surprised if this was his last day on earth, so he just shifted to pin her beneath him again and ripped her knickers off, working on his own.

She helped him get his off and leaned up to kiss him, a silent urging to hurry the hell up, because when he meant business it was hard to keep up even appearances of flippancy. She was far too aroused to care about appearances.

He didn't bother with appearances either, pushing into her slowly but firmly. He didn't hold that pattern long, however, increasing his speed almost immediately.

She muffled a sharp breath into his shoulder, fingernails digging crescents into his back, just barely restraining the desire to go further, to tear him apart, see what he was made of. "Don't fucking stop," she gasped, perhaps needlessly. But then, if he stopped, she might have tried to kill him.

He had no desire to, his hands gripping her hard enough to bruise, his tongue tracing her weeping flesh, the tang of blood sharp and clear as he bucked up into her.

She arched up into him, relishing the sting and heat and how fucking _good_ he felt, she'd almost forgotten, it had been so long. And Christ, did she love him.

He didn't bother muffling the noises he was making. He was wild, unrestrained. He'd missed her, wanted every part of her while he was locked away in that place. He'd spent two weeks in solitary and the only thing that had kept him anywhere close to sane was thinking about her, wondering if she was alright with Jim, and planning ways to murder his employer. He'd fallen short on the last item, but any victory was still sweet, and he reveled in it, body moving against hers with power and grace and need.

He was every weakness she'd ever had towards men rolled up in one burning hot package, and _god,_ those _noises._ She surged up against him, threading a hand into his hair to wrench his head back to leave a bruising mark under his jaw with her teeth, blood-stained fingers slipping up to slide over his pulse, as if to see whether or not his heart was hammering just as hard as hers was. She lost her hazy train of thought when his hips shifted and the angle changed, a needy groan filtering out from between her lips.

Her groan spurred him on, and he pursued the angle fervently, his head fighting her grip just to feel the painful pleasure of her fingers yanking his hair, her teeth compressing his jugular, egging her on to take it further, to tear back.

She bit down until she tasted blood, then had to break away to pant for breath. The taste of copper, the burning mark on her neck, his thrusts, all of it, were starting to catch up to her all at once. "Se _bastian-_ " she pleaded, raking her nails down the length of his back.

He arched his back under her nails, gritting his teeth and growling and grabbing one of her legs, hitching it up higher over his hip so that he could penetrate deeper, his mouth pressing to her ear, teeth pulling slightly as he rumbled " _I need you to come._ "

It was like pouring gasoline on a grease fire. She came hard, letting out a harsh swear and scrabbling for a grip on him, arching up into him.

After months of nothing, there wasn't a chance in hell that he would last past that, and he came hard right with her, burying himself in her and holding her tightly to him, his face buried in her neck.

She let out a long, content breath as she floated back down from her high, the tension that had begun coiling up in her chest the moment Sebastian had pulled the knife on Jim gone. "Mm. Christ, I needed that," she mumbled, running her fingers lazily through his blond hair, where in some places it was now stained a very light pink.

He rolled off to the side, but kept her held close, nodding in agreement. "So did I," he mumbled, taking a slow breath, thumb tracing circles on her lower back. His body stung and ached, but he couldn't care less.

She slung an arm around him and buried her face in his neck, just taking a moment to appreciate that he was back, close again, that she wouldn't have to sleep in an empty bed anymore. Three months had been far too long to be apart from him.

He truly relaxed for the first time in weeks, eyes closing, body loose and limp. He didn't care what happened tomorrow, or in a few hours, whenever Jim decided to take revenge. For right now he was completely content.

She fell asleep a few minutes later, giving up on fighting the foggy feeling behind her eyes. Now that she didn't have him to worry about, the sleep came a lot easier.

He fell asleep a few minutes after her, one arm around her, the other tucked under his pillow, closed around the handle of his knife. He was relaxed, not stupid.

* * *

She woke up in the morning and shifted, and found she was stuck to the sheets. She made a mildly unhappy noise.

He woke as she let out a whine of annoyance, one eye opening to glance at her. "Issues?"

"I've been crusted to the bed. Looks like you're going to have to bring me breakfast in bed," she sighed dramatically, though she burrowed further into him, belaying that order.

He smirked, rolling his eyes slightly and tucking an arm around her with a sigh. "I'll get there." He glanced at the door, which had remained undisturbed. "Well, I'm not dead yet, which is honestly better than I was expecting, so there's that."

"I don't think he'll come for you. Not when he knows you'll fight back," she shrugged, looking over the marks she'd given him the previous night. Now she kinda understood the other side of it. She prodded a bruise on his shoulder, smirking. "You know, it's probably best you put the fear of god into him. We might go without harassment about... these."

He winced slightly at the prod, and smirked. "Maybe. I'd be surprised if I managed to instill any fear in him, to be honest, but here's hoping..." He raised a finger to trace the outline of his teeth in her neck with a smile.

She chuckled, not bothered by the mild ache where he brushed still-sensitive skin. It was much more pleasant than the jabs he'd given her when this had been nothing more but a way to let off steam. "Well, you did leave your initials carved into his chest, so I'll dare to be a little optimistic about it. Fuck, I wouldn't be surprised if he just shunned us for a couple days. Wouldn't that be a nice vacation..."

"Fuck, I did, didn't I?" he half-sighed, half-laughed, sounding a little stunned. "It's all sort of a blur... I really lost it in there."

"He had you locked up for three months without even bothering to warn you beforehand, _or_ after, so I'm going to go ahead and called that one as justified," she snorted. "Fuck... I can't imagine being in prison."

He shook his head a little. "Don't try to. Just take my word for it that you never want to go beyond imagining."

"I wish we could have gotten you out sooner. I wish Jim didn't decide to make _that_ the thing to show off to Mallory," she huffed, sitting up a little and wincing as the sheet gave up its hold on her. "Not to mention now I have to be careful about coming back to New York. I did what I could with the makeup but showing up on television is an issue."

"You looked different enough. Hopefully if you use makeup to go the other direction it'll be enough of a distinction. Plus, give it six months, no one will remember you." He shrugged.

She sighed, shrugging a little as well. "Yeah, hopefully not. Rather not be surprised, though. Had enough of that recently. Though you've had _more_ than enough. C'mon, you want to get some decent food?"

He groaned as he suddenly realized how hungry he was. " _Christ,_ yes. Thai. I don't care that it's whatever-in-the-morning, I want a good plate of pad thai."

She laughed. "Alright. I know a place that delivers, if you want. I'm figuring you don't want to go out looking like you had a fight with a really angry cannibal. Or, you know, looking like the serial killer that got off on all charges yesterday."

"Delivery sounds good to me," he says, nodding. "Rather not be glared at or shot."

She nodded, leaning over him to get her phone off the nightstand, quietly appreciating the aches he'd left behind, because it meant he was back and in reach, and that was worth just a little celebration. After she ordered two pad thai (now that he'd mentioned she wanted it too) she flopped back down next to him, phone by her head. "Do you think the delivery boy will call the cops on us if I answer the door like this?"

"Naked? Doubt he'd notice much past your breasts honestly, but that's just me," he said with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes, chuckling. "I'd put on a bathrobe, but honestly, that just might make it worse. 'Cause then he won't be distracted. Whatever. I've scared delivery boys more for less."

"That sounds like a fun story," he said with a smirk. Then he sighed, shifting a little to tuck her under his chin. "I missed you."

She did a good job pretending to not be startled. He rarely said anything like that if it wasn't in a sexual context. "I missed you, too," she said quietly. _A lot._

He left it at that, but it needed saying once. He had missed her. So soon after getting her back, especially.

"I want this Mallory thing done with," she sighed, adjusting her head into a more comfortable place on his chest. "I want to get out of this place. Away from Armetti, whatever he's up to."

"It'll be over soon, assuming what I just pulled with Jim doesn't fuck over the entire operation." He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "I miss London."

"Yeah, me too," she muttered, glancing towards the window sullenly. At least this flat _had_ windows. "Everyone here is so rude. Like, Christ, hold it back ten seconds, huh? Mutter under your breath like the rest of the damn civilized world."

He rolled his eyes, nodding. "And god help you if you have to take public transportation. I miss the tube. A sentence I thought I would never use."

"At least the tube is _mildly_ clean," she sighed, getting up and rummaging around in the nightstand as she heard a knock on the flat door. "I'll be right back," she hummed, finally finding her wallet.

"Bathrobe?" he suggested with a grin, openly admiring her arse.

"I don't have one," she winked, smirking and then slipping out of the room, the only thing on her person the wallet. A few seconds later, the sounds of a stunned, stammering delivery boy made it through the hall and into the bedroom.

He laughed, and considered going after her, but decided to let the boy admire his fill in peace, and instead stood to go clean off a little.

She came back in a minute later and put the plastic bag down on the bed (it wasn't as if these sheets could get any dirtier) to begin digging through for utensils. "I thought he was going to have a heart attack, poor bloke. Totally got out of tipping him, though."

"I'm not so sure of that," he called from the bathroom. "Monetarily, yeah, but think of the value of that view. Best tip he's probably ever gotten."

She groaned, getting out the styrofoam containers and flopping down to sit against the headboard, pulling the sheets up to her waist so she didn't start freezing over. She'd clean up after she ate. "Don't remind me. God, I have _got_ to stop getting scars. I get one more and the value is going to start dropping, fast."

He walked back into the room, climbing into bed next to her and grabbing his own container. "Like I said, we'll get some dealt with once we're back in London. It'll be okay."

"It better be," she muttered, starting to dig into her pad thai. "I'm not cut out for a desk job. Rather start doing hits again. Earn back that 'black widow' moniker."

"Mmm..." he said, trying to decide if he should feel disgruntled, concerned, aroused, or intrigued by that idea. He settled on a mixture and dug into his meal, immediately lost in the ecstasy of good food.

She fell back into silence gratefully, mentally kicking herself for bringing it up. Damn Armetti. Why couldn't he have gone and died like the rest of her fucking employers? Those were times she just rather pretend had never happened.

He finished his food a few minutes later with a groan of contentment, flopping back on the bed, fingers absently tracing where she'd bit his neck.

"Why'd you stop me in there?" he asked suddenly.

She knew exactly what he was talking about. She set down her mostly finished meal. "I'm more scared of Mycroft than I'm scared of Jim. He's gotten us twice, Sebastian. And the second time, we wouldn't have made it out if someone hadn't come and fetched us. I don't know who else can get to him but Jim. I don't care if the boss dies, not really. But I care what happens to me. To the both of us. With Jim gone, we'd be at the tippy-top of the list."

He sighed, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "I don't know what to think. A year ago my loyalty was completely with Jim. Totally. I would have done anything for him. I still would, it's my job but..." He shrugged. "Lately I feel less like his employee and more like his science experiment. For a second there, I really wanted out."

"It never even occurred to me that I could have left until I came back," she sighed. "If I hadn't been hard-wired to come back, would I? I don't know. Not for the job. Not for Jim." She fell silent for a moment, running her fingers back and forth over the ugly mark on her thigh. "I guess I just don't think about what I want anymore, not as something that I can get. Maybe I should have let you kill him. Would you have regretted it?"

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded a little. "Yes. I would have. Because I'm a fucking idiot."

She looked over at him, raising her eyebrows a little. "What do you mean by that?"

He smirked slightly. "I don't have control here anymore. Not really. Jim's fucking rabid. I used to be able to predict him, and manipulate his reactions. Not anymore. He's abandoned me to reality and left for fucking gods know where..."

She let out a long breath. "And I don't see any of way of being able to force him to come back. That's the trouble with the smart ones. They're hard to pull back from the edge."

He shook his head. "I need to get him back to where we were. Too much longer like this and the network is going to fall apart."

"My best manipulation begins and ends with people who are easily influenced by my looks," she shook her head, setting the styrofoam container to the side to slide out of bed and head for the bathroom, looking to get a little of the dried blood on her skin off. "But if you know of a way to get that wild card to dance, I'm all ears."

"If I had an idea, I'd've said it by now," he muttered with a sigh, rolling out of bed and stripping the sheets.

She quickly gave up the farce that splashing herself with water from the sink was going to do anything productive and stepped into the shower while it was still cold, swearing under her breath, but desperate to be free of the red crust. This whole thing with Jim was an enormous mess, but there really hadn't been anything they could have done to keep it from getting to this point. He was the boss. He couldn't be ordered around, after all. She sighed, running her hands over her face.

He glanced at the door as he dressed, trying to predict what would occur once he walked out. Would Jim come out and confront him? Shoot him? Or would he stay hidden away?

She joined him a minute later, a little fresher than she'd been before, and grabbed some clothes out of the dresser to change into. "If he comes at you, you gonna fight back?"

He'd been asking himself the same thing. "I'll defend myself, and you if necessary," he said. "Beyond that... no."

"Yeah, I meant in a life-or-death sense," she shrugged, pulling on a sweater and some jeans. It was just starting to become fall, and the weather was getting just a little bit nippy. But she was surprised that he'd defend her against Jim. There had been a time where he seemed like he would let the boss shoot him like a dog. But now, not only was he willing to fight to keep Jim from killing him, he was willing to protect her as well. She was touched.

He shook his head a little, rubbing at his eyes and straightening. "I'm not going to stay holed up in here all day. I need to back my play last night. Act normally."

"Probably the best course of action," she agreed, collecting the takeout boxes to toss in the trash. "I should be safe no matter how I act today. I did technically save his life. Unless that's how he wants to get to you..."

"As logical as that is, he may decide he doesn't appreciate being indebted to you..." He sighed, squared his shoulders, and headed out into the apartment.

Jim was not, in fact, in the flat at all. He'd called on his private jet in the middle of the night and left early that morning, leaving only a note duct-taped to the living room wall. The note was written in his typical careless scrawl.

 _Holmes made a move. I am not one to battle across an ocean. I fully expect the operation on Mallory to go uninterrupted, and if the two of you become so busy fucking like animals that it interferes I'll have the both of you boiled and skinned alive._

 _I have not forgotten last night, Moran._

 _It is in light of those events that I left without explanation. I wanted to be able to imagine you going red in the face._

 _-JM_

He picked up the note, and it was only to spite the last remark that he didn't throw something across the room. He tossed the note onto the table, walking back to his room without a word to start packing.

Lorna looked up from where she'd been using her laptop on the bed, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "Going somewhere?"

"Jim left," he said, the fury glinting just below the surface evident in his voice. "For London."

She was silent for a moment, wary of saying something that might inflame his anger. "Did he leave behind instructions?"

"Fuck his instructions. It's written into my contract that my primary duty _above all else_ is to protect him. Just because I threatened to kill him doesn't mean I would have done it. I was scaring the shit out of him."

"So, yes, he did leave instructions," she sighed, pushing the laptop off her lap and sliding off the bed to head for the living room.

He ignored her, continuing to pack and mentally calculating how quickly he could track Jim down.

She returned a minute later, the letter folded up in her hand. "Sebastian. I can't do this on my own. And someone _has_ to." _You know better than to go against a direct order, don't you?_

"I can't just let him go, Lorna, He'll get himself killed," he snarled, zipping his bag.

"And if you go after him, he'll kill _you."_ She let out a huff, flinging the letter onto the bed and raking a hand through her hair. _Fuck._ "Just...fine. Fine. I'll.. fucking figure something out," she muttered, turning to walk back out of the room

He stared after her, angry and torn. "Don't just fucking storm out. We need to discuss this," he asked, exasperated.

She stopped in the doorway and turned, letting out a long breath. "What is there to discuss, Sebastian? I think you and I _both_ know that I can't convince you to do anything, and I'm certainly not going to disobey Jim like that just so we can find him and he can fucking nail my hands to a door or something."

He stood still for a long moment, considering. "Fuck this," he cursed angrily. "What the hell is he thinking?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," she muttered, shaking her head, hands on her hips. "God. Can't have a moment of fucking peace with that man."

He closed his eyes, sat down, tried to think. "What am I supposed to do here?" he muttered. "Either way I'm fucked."

"Honestly? I think our best option is to get this done as fast as possible and then go find Jim," she sighed, shrugging. "Hopefully he won't get himself into any trouble. I mean, doubtful, but still."

He nodded, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "Yeah. I guess that's what we've got." He stood again. "Then let's get on it. I want Mallory down within the month."

She nodded, hands falling down to her sides. She felt tired already. "Okay. Hope we have a lot of coffee. Going to be a shitload of late nights."

He sighed, but nodded. "Right. I'll be sure to stock up. For now... Let's strategize."

She nodded, sinking back down onto the bed and dragging her laptop into her lap. "I know where the woman who helped torture me lives. I figure she'll know where the hell Mallory's base is. The issue is there's no way she hasn't got safeguards in place. Getting to her without resources is... 'going to be a bitch' doesn't really cover it."

He considered her for a moment, then sighed. "I suppose you'll be teaching me to grift, then."


	52. Old Flings

The next few days were... interesting, to say the least. Teaching Sebastian Moran how to grift was an adventure. Especially the field training. Now they were sitting in a relatively nice Italian restaurant at dusk, and she gave him a surreptitious swat with her napkin. " _Stop_ it. You keep turning the intimidation back on. Smile like you've got a dirty joke in your head, not like you're imagining gutting a cat."

He grimaced, but then tried to change the smile. "I'm not trying to. Intimidation is my natural charm," he muttered, shaking his head.

"And that will be enough for crazy people like me, but you're going to have to soften it up for timid little things like our waitress. Although to be fair, I doubt my presence is helping. I'd be intimidated too, if I was her," she shook her head, taking a sip from her wine. "At least you have table manners. I've had to teach people those, if you can believe it."

"I can," he snorted, nodding. "But when you're the son of a politician you learn." He tried to make himself less intimidating, but was having trouble figuring out how.

She watched him over her glass for a moment in quiet amusement, then decided to step in. "Relax your posture. Slouch your shoulders a little, lean back, have at least one hand visible on the table. When you smile, don't feel the need to show your teeth. Most people can't pull off a realistic grin if they don't mean it. You might make people more comfortable if you seem shy, anyway."

He tried to do as she asked, the slumped posture grating on him. "I feel ridiculous," he muttered, annoyed.

"Oh, hush. Drink some wine. You need to loosen..." she trailed off, movement heading towards them catching her eye. Oh boy. Acquaintances. "Hold that thought. Some old coworkers approaching. Already seen me."

He instantly forgot about grifting, straightening again, lines hardening all over as he solidified back into intimidating, shifting his shoulder to reassure himself of his gun. "Who?"

She didn't have a chance to answer his question. Two men in business casual pulled out chairs at their table and sat without invitation, the taller, hardier looking one smiling. The other was expressionless, and kept his eyes on Moran, obviously seeing him as a threat. "Well, if it isn't the Widow herself, Adam," said the smiling one, though his grin was directed at Lorna. "Now what could she be doing back in New York fucking City?"

Lorna let out a long breath, tapping the table idly. "Joel. Adam. This has got nothing to do with Armetti. You can stop looking at me like you're a fucking hyena."

 _Fuck. Armetti._ His expression remained unchanged, and he ignored Adam with an apathetic disdain. "These some of your former playmates, Harrison?" he asked idly, sounding bored. "Any guess on why they're interrupting dinner?"

"None at all," she replied icily, giving Joel a cold stare. He looked unperturbed.

"It would have been rude of us to see you over here suffering such unpleasant company and not come over to say hello," he grinned, taking the wine glass in front of her and taking an unabashed sip. "And, Christ almighty, what would Mr. Armetti have had to say to us if we'd passed up the opportunity to say hello to his, dare I say, _favorite_ little assassin. Although I hear you quit that line of work. Sad."

Lorna grit her teeth, glancing at Adam. Even if she made a move in this crowded restaurant (which she wouldn't) Adam was the bigger threat. Joel was really more of a nuisance. "Funnily enough, here I am, looking to kill someone. Keep off my toes and it won't be you."

Sebastian decided that was a good time to switch from neutral to a cold, broad smile while Adam blinked, which threw the other man off for a moment and gave him a small victory in their battle of intimidation.

"Oh? My my _my_ , must be some special nut to have pulled you back into the game... Who's the mark?" Joel sneered.

"Keenan Mallory. Unless he's working with you lot. Then it's someone else," she smirked, though it was a little more dangerous than the ones she normally gave. "I don't suppose you know where he is?"

For the first time, Joel looked interested in more than causing trouble, and even Adam perked up slightly. "That prick?" he asked with a small grin. "Interesting..."

Adam pulled his phone out of his pocket, starting to scroll down the screen, then looked over at Joel, eyebrows raising slightly. "Do you want me to talk to the boss? I'm not bringing the fucking Widow in without approval."

Joel nodded.

"Bringing the fucking Widow into what, now?" Moran asked, sounding almost bored, though his ears were perked.

Adam didn't answer, just got up from his seat and left, raising the phone to his ear as he went. Joel gave the two of them a slightly calculating look, then seemed to cave. "Mr. Armetti doesn't like little kids like Mallory trying to push into his turf. I don't think I have to spell out what that means, do I?"

"I'm not sure," Moran drawled. "I think the meaning might be lost under the condescension."

Joel gave Moran a disparaging look. "Then you'll just have to wait until the goddamn boss gives us the go-ahead, won't you?" he snorted, sitting back in his seat with what had formerly been Lorna's wine.

"Play nice, or you're going to be buying me a bottle of what you have in your hand," she said coolly, tone suggesting that it was absolutely not open for negotiation.

He quirked an eyebrow, but raised the glass slightly in her direction as he took a sip. "So, then, Widow. What have you been up to other than fucking your way across the world?"

"I don't fuck my way across the world, darling, I fuck my way _up_ it," she corrected, giving him a snide smile. She wondered what Sebastian made of all this. "But, to answer your question, getting my shit kicked in _all the time,_ or what feels like it. Christ, I shudder to think what Armetti would get up to if he had those fucking beetles."

"Doubtless much different from Holmes," Moran smirked. "Just be glad no one's released them into the wild."

Joel was looking like he was wondering whether or not they were suffering from a mutual insanity when Adam came back and sank back into the empty seat, setting his phone on the table. "Mr. Armetti would like to meet with you two, if that's agreeable to you," he said, without much inflection. Lorna knew from experience that he was just parroting what the man on the other end of the line had said. She looked over at Sebastian, raising her eyebrows slightly.

He nodded just slightly, and stood. "We're a little pressed for time, but I suppose we can take a few moments."

The rest of the table rose as well, and then Joel led them out of the restaurant and onto the street, where he produced a set of car keys and unlocked a silver Mercedes. Lorna got into the back with Sebastian, and when Adam slipped around to the passenger side and climbed in, they pulled away from the curb. Unlike with DeWitt, there was really nothing that she could warn Moran about in advance. Armetti was a sick bastard, but a reliable one, and one of his word. Her relationship with him (because she _had_ had a relationship with him) had been very different to the one she'd had with DeWitt. The fact that when she'd wanted out he'd _let_ her go was a very telling one.

They pulled up to the old brownstone building only a few minutes later, and she was surprised she'd let her guard down enough to stray so close. Maybe it was her all-encompassing hatred of the entire city. It didn't really matter, now.

Moran kept an eye on Lorna out of the corner of his eye as they drove. She seemed lost in thought, but not overly troubled, so he let her contemplate without interference.

The car stopped at a brownstone building, and he climbed out when Armetti's men did. From what he knew of Armetti, this was going to be an interesting meeting.

"This way," Joel said, and started leading them into the building.

Lorna made herself be a little more alert as she got out of the car and walked up the steps, not surprised to notice that there still were no security cameras covering the entrances. The inside of the brownstone was decorated like a house. Armetti, unlike Jim, didn't believe in holding one large base of operations. His network was looser, more fluid, though sometimes it tended to knot up in unexpected ways. Joel brought them upstairs and down the hall, opening the door for them to reveal a well-furnished office. There, a man with dark hair and eyes, who looked to be around the same age as Lorna, sat behind a mahogany desk. He looked like he'd been waiting patiently for them. "Hello. Take a seat. Either of you want anything to drink?"

Moran waved his hand slightly to pass on the offer. "How about we just get down to business, I'm not here to waste time. You want in on my operation? Make your offer."

Armetti gave Moran a slightly tired smile. "Mr. Moran, I've been on this kid for 6 months. Not to mention, I have the numbers here. I think I'm going to continue to call it _my_ op, if you don't mind." He sat back, the leather of his chair squeaking a little. "I would have had you poisoned in that prison if I hadn't known you were with Lorna." His brown eyes flicked over to her, a critical eye hovering over the more obvious scars peeking out from her collar. "I apologize for the tails a few months ago. They acted without orders. I rectified the situation when I learned."

She nodded, though inside she was absolutely unsurprised to hear that he'd been the one to pick off her tails. Vincent Armetti with a vendetta was a frightening thing. But then, it had never really been clear to her whether or not he'd moved on from his partner in crime. "Thank you. I know that must have cost some resources."

Moran raised an eyebrow. "We've been on Mallory for just as long, if not longer. We'll consider cooperating with your operation, but we aren't going to take orders." He glanced at Lorna. "I do appreciate the gesture of not attempting to kill me."

Lorna smirked a little as Armetti let out a small sigh. "Alright. I know when I'm in the wrong," he shrugged, bending to pull a drawer out in his desk and drew out a thick file folder. He tossed it to Lorna, and she caught it with a thwap of paper against her palm. "That's all I have on him. If this comes back to bite me in the ass, I'm going to get considerably less friendly." His eyes focused on Moran, and they already looked considerably less friendly. There was a pause. Lorna scraped her nail across the manilla folder, a muscle in her jaw jumping. "I saw the trial. If her testimony was true... well..." He crossed his arms over his chest, expression mild, despite the threat that lurked under the service. "I won't insult her by threatening you."

He took the folder, but didn't drop Armetti's gaze. "If you think for a second that I would touch her like that, then you have a lot to learn about me," he said, expression cold at the accusation. "And if it _were_ true, she would have testified under her own name, and probably wouldn't be quite so comfortable having dinner with me this evening." His voice was a bit waspish, but then he let it calm slightly, sitting back. "My apologies. I'm used to working with Moriarty. It takes getting used to, working with someone less... observant."

Lorna let out an exasperated sigh before Armetti could respond, though he was looking vaguely stormy. "Christ. I _know_ which one of you has the bigger cock, so Vince, _stop_ puffing up like a lovesick pidgeon, and Sebastian, for god's sake, don't antagonize him. I know it's tempting, believe me," she snorted, snatching the folder back from him and slapping it down onto the desk to open it. " _Honestly._ You've already insulted me, Vince, if you think I'd have let him live. Can we get on with it?"

Both of them considered her, looking torn between confidently wanting to know and the small part of them that _didn't_ want to know, _just_ in case. At her last sentence though, they both focused, and Sebastian nodded a little. "Fine. Let's have a go at the folder."

Armetti sighed, grabbing a stray piece of paper off his desk and a pen and scrawling down a phone number to slide across to them. "This is my personal number. Look over the folder wherever you want, just not here. I have other concerns to worry about. When you want to move on Mallory, text me, I'll allocate resources to you."

He nodded, and stood. "I appreciate your cooperation," he said with a small smirk, before heading for the door, Lorna just behind.

Lorna waited until they were outside and had hailed a cab before she spoke, glancing over at him. "So I assume you're wondering what makes him a sick bastard. Among other things."

"Given that we're going to be working with him, I'd appreciate a few details, yes," he said, not bothering to bring up the elephant in the room. He wondered vaguely how many of her employers she'd slept with, then decided it wasn't his business.

"He's real big on the killing the children of his enemies. And... not kindly. He's a quieter type of crazy than Jim, but..." she shook her head, leaning back against the seat with a sigh. "He's vindictive. He kills people who are still useful to him just because they did something like scuff the floor. And I've never seen him kill someone with a gun. I don't like the person I was when I worked here. He only encouraged that side of me. Once I realized I was actually enjoying _crucifying_ people, I left." She was silent for a moment, then smirked a little. "You're bigger, by the way. Just so that doesn't eat at you."

"It wasn't," he snorted, though something relaxed a little and he smirked. Then his mind wandered back to what she'd told him. "Oddly enough, other than the child-killing, he sounds like someone I would get along with."

She nodded. "I can believe it. He's a man of his word, and usually reliable, as long as you don't fuck up on a bad day. This was my first real job, I suppose, after DeWitt. I did the up-close and personal hits. You can guess how personal. When I left, I thought it was better to just cut the killing part out, market myself for espionage."

He nodded a little, leaning back as they moved further away, relaxing slowly. "He was jealous," he smirked after a moment.

"What? Of you?" she chuckled, smirking, "Well, most of the men I've slept with would be. Maybe not some of the women. Generally better at staying faithful to any relationship, I've found."

He sighed, and smiled. "Every time you bring that image up, I have to pause and enjoy it. I'm not sure why. I'm just as into the men as you are, but you with another woman..." He sighed again, trailed off in contemplation, and then sobered up and reached out for the folder. "Come on, let's see what we've got."

She chuckled, and leaned over to read over his shoulder.

* * *

It was a full 48 hours before she got the simple 'Hi' text, and she wasn't surprised when it arrived. Armetti was one to ask for debts to be repaid.

 _Hi. You need something? LH_

The reply was quick to come, but brief.

 _Something to discuss. Dinner at Artie's, 7pm?_

She sighed, but conceded.

 _Alright. See you then. LH_

She set her phone on the coffee table, looking at Sebastian where he was focusing intently on his laptop. "I have to have dinner with Armetti tonight. He wants something in return for his help, from what I can tell."

He glanced up, and the muscles around his eyes tightened slightly. "Should I go with you?"

"No need," she shrugged. "If there was anything dangerous or urgent we wouldn't be talking about it over dinner. Little irritating that he can't just text me the details, but whatever, I guess."

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded slightly. "Keep me updated. I want to know where you are and if you're in trouble."

"You got it," she hummed, picking her phone back off the table to check the time, and then getting up to get ready.

* * *

Playlist: Marina and the Diamonds - How to be a Heartbreaker


	53. Homewrecker

She left a half hour later in about the minimal amount-of-nice clothes she could wear to that particular restaurant, mostly to preserve Sebastian's sentiments and dissuade Armetti's. When she arrived, a waiter led her to his table, and she sat with a polite smile. "You going to tell me what this is about? You're making Moran antsy."

He smirked just a little. "Well, I'm terribly sorry he's so on edge... But this was a more personal matter." He looked up as the bottle of wine was brought over, tasted it, and nodded. He waited until the waiter left, then turned back to her. "I'll be straightforward. I miss you, Lorna. Much more than I thought I would."

She raised her eyebrows slightly at him, largely unaffected by his confession. "I hate to break it to you, Vince, but it's been, what, four, five years since I left? There's really not that much you can do about it now. Moran wants to leave New York within the month."

"I'm not going to ask you to stay or anything foolish like that. Just to enjoy the time we have here. I've changed since we last met. I know my ethics- or lack thereof- bothered you. My moral code.. I've adjusted it." He sat back, wine glass in hand. "Enjoy dinner, consider coming to play. I've got a few interesting projects that I think you would enjoy."

"Alright, I'll consider it," she agreed, taking a sip of wine. At least his taste in it was still exquisite. And really, what did she have to lose, in this situation? Fuck, she deserved a vacation, or something like it. "But no promises."

"Come by tonight, after dinner. See what's available so you know what to think about. For now, let's order. It's been too long since I had dinner with you. I'd like to catch up." He gave her a smile.

"Well, as long as they still have that killer ravioli, I'm game," she smirked, flipping open the menu. She would not be volunteering any information tonight about Moriarty, on the off chance that that was what he was truly after (but he knew better than to go after Moriarty, hopefully), but she saw no issue answering his questions otherwise. She had, at one point, been close to him.

* * *

He spent the next hour and a half asking her about her life since she left. He was careful to avoid subjects she couldn't discuss, focusing instead on her family (a sore subject, as he found it), and her life in England and outside of work.

When dinner was finished and she was done with her wine, she cocked her head towards the door. "You wanna show me those projects you got going on now? I think I'm tipsy enough to agree, so you better get your ass in gear."

He grinned, standing and offering her a hand. "I think you're going to enjoy it, but I look forward to your comments. Our current specialists are creative, but not nearly so much as you are."

"That's because so few people are as fucked up as I am," she smirked, taking his hand against her better judgment. She didn't want to revert back to the person she'd been when they'd been in a sort of partnership, but it was just too tempting to resist.

"You will have to explain to me why you restrained yourself so much... talent like that... You were an _artist_ , Lorna," he sighed, leading her out to a waiting car and opening the back door, motioning for her to enter.

She slid into the back, waiting for him to get in after her before answering. "I don't know, Vince..." she sighed, leaning her head back, suddenly very glad she hadn't bothered with any makeup tonight, because she would have just felt grimy. "I guess maybe I've spent too much of my life not in control. I don't like losing myself that way anymore. I mean, I was still doing heroin when I left you, and that was bad enough. But the way I get sometimes.." she shook her head, looking over at him. "I'm worried that I'll do something I'll regret."

"Cherie, that was what I was here for," he sighed, leaning back and shrugging. "Good that you're off the heroin, though... you were never at your best on that stuff. Congratulations."

"Yeah, well, when they gave me the job offer for a position in Moriarty's network, it was get clean and get the job, or get killed," she shrugged. "Thanks, though."

They fell into a pleasant silence, and he seemed at ease, a small, soft smile on his face, though he wasn't conscious of it.

They arrived at a different building than that morning, and he stepped out, walking around to open her door. "My private quarters, and below them, the labs. I like to have access to the work 24/7."

"I know. You used to live _in_ the brownstone," she smiled, stepping out with a small nod of thanks. "Holding meetings in the same place you live. Never understood it. Beautiful house, though, that brownstone. This isn't half bad either. Do I get a tour of the labs, or is that after I say yes to your project?"

"Why do you think you're here?" he asks with a laugh. "I'm not going to dangle the candy and not let you taste it. I want you on this, Lorna. I miss working with you. Even if only for a few weeks."

"Believe me, there are _plenty_ of reasons someone would bring me back to their home-slash-laboratory, it's always better to check," she chuckled, fishing her phone out of her pocket to send a quick text to Moran stating her location before putting it back. "Shall we?"

He sighed as he watched her text. "Don't tell me. He has you checking in? But yes, please, right this way." He led her through the front door into a pleasant house. "Coffee? Something stronger?"

"Coffee sounds great," she hummed, deciding to forego the alcohol and adding a point to her _Made a Good Decision_ tab. "And yeah, I mean, I've already been harassed in this city. I rather he come save my ass if I get in trouble than be childish about it and spend the rest of my life in some cellar, you know?"

"I want to apologize once more for that," he said, heading into a kitchen area. "I made it clear that you were to be left alone. A few of my people had other ideas." He pulled out a few bags of beans, considering them, before selecting one and putting them in the grinder.

"Mm. Well, they certainly started showing up dead, so thanks for that. They scattered like roaches after the third one dropped," she snorted, leaning against the counter beside him. He'd aged well. He looked more refined now, like the last bits of marble had been chipped off of him to reveal the art underneath. Granted, next to Sebastian (and she _was_ comparing the two of them, how could she not) he looked about as dangerous as a mop, but hell, looks weren't everything.

He nodded a little once the grinder stopped, shaking the grounds into the coffee maker. "I got so _angry_ with them..." For a moment his gaze flashed slightly manic, eyes hard and bright like fish scales. Then he softened again and could have been a fit suburban husband for all anyone knew. "But anyway. That's not why we're here."

Lorna nodded, quietly and eagerly awaiting her caffeine. Vince had always had a bit of a protective streak that showed up in violent ways. "So what _are_ we here for? What do you need little old me to help you out with?"

"Why don't we let this brew and I'll explain?" he said, heading for a solid looking wooden door near the back of the kitchen and entering a long code to open it.

"Sounds good," she agreed, eyeing the door with interest as she passed it and stepped down into a stairwell. This must be the entrances to his labs. "Good security. Have to have an ax to get that door down."

"The ax would struggle with the iron center. I don't take my security lightly. I don't want anyone getting in or out without my permission." He started down a well-lit set of stairs, and here there were security cameras, tucked into almost every corner. "I've picked up an associate of Mallory. I believe you've met. Mark Alan."

"Oh, we've met alright," she replied darkly, feeling a resentful surge in her chest. It was because of that piece of shit she'd gotten that infection, why she walked with the slightest of limps now. And it wasn't completely Mark's fault that she'd been captured, suspected of treason, and therefore subjected to torture at the hands of the person she cared most about in the world, but if the woman was in reach, well... Hell hath no fury like a woman tortured by two different parties in four days.

He nodded a little, something burning under his own eyes. "I thought as much. So you may understand my problem. She undoubtedly has a vast store of information on Mallory, but I've been unable to tap it. She knows all of our methods, and the pain is still there, but the fear isn't. That's why I need to bring in an expert." The unspoken _you_ hung in the air.

"I'll do it," she agreed, without hesitation. Any chance to inflict that pain on her torturer... She would take it with glee. "That's all you had to say."

He nodded, looking relieved and pleased. "This way," he said, guiding her through another door into a hall with doors leading off of it. "We chose this building mainly for how expansive the basement area was," he said, walking down the hall and starting to unlock the door.

"I can see why," she murmured, stepping into the room as he opened it, and staring down at the woman strapped down to a chair eerily reminiscent to a dentist's. " _Hello,_ Mark. Imagine meeting _you_ here."

Mark was bruised and bloody, face swollen up and a nasty network of burns across her bare chest, but she still smiled. "Lorna," she said, smiling. "How's that leg doing...?"

She turned a little and pulled her skirt up enough to show the ugly, still-pink scar. "Pretty nasty," she shrugged, dropping the hem again. "But here you are, like a surprise birthday present. Made my day, you have." She bent in front of her, a cold grin spreading across her face. "Are you ready to see the inspiration you lack?"

"I've been doing this for years," she smirked. "There's nothing a grifter like you can do that I haven't seen."

Armetti just chuckled.

"Oh, you poor uninformed thing," she gushed, tilting her chin up and pressing her fingers into a yellowing bruise viciously, "You don't _know,_ do you? I wasn't _always_ a grifter. I killed people first. In... inventive ways."

Her face tensed slightly, but she laughed. "If that's all you've got, you're going to be here a long time," she sneered.

Lorna let go of Mark, turning to Vince and raising her eyebrows slightly. "What kind of supplies do you have here?"

"Whatever you like," he said, smiling. "I stocked up on your old favorites, and almost anything else I can have in an hour. Just give me a list."

"Mercury, a vaporizer, two iron bands that will fit around her torso, and one of those little torches for creme brulee, if you can swing it. Welding torch, if not. Railroad spikes would be a good addition, but I assume we'll have to have our coffee while we wait for most of this."

"I have the mercury, the bands, and the torch, actually," he said, smiling. "We will have to wait for the vaporizer and the spikes. So yes. Coffee." He smiled.

"Excellent," she hummed, flashing a smile over her shoulder at Mark before slipping by Armetti out into the hallway. "Oh, also - Carolina Reapers. Or hotter."

He raised an eyebrow, smiling. "I'm so glad you're on this. I've missed your creativity. Can I ask your plan?" he asked, unlocking the various doors.

"Among the many symptoms of mercury poisoning, hypersensitivity and nerve pain are the most useful," she smirked, smoothing a hand over the aging injury on her thigh as it gave a twinge of discomfort. "After I administer that, you'll see what follows."

He gave a low whistle as they entered the kitchen to the warm smell of coffee. "You haven't lost your touch."

"I work under Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran. I pick up a lot from them," she laughed, taking a seat at the kitchen table. He'd serve her. He always did.

He returned with two cups of coffee on a tray with cream and sugar. "Still white, no sugar?" he asked, preparing his own quickly.

"Yeah. Thanks," she agreed, taking her cup with a smile. "I'm glad my coffee preference is memorable enough to stand up for 5 odd years."

"You're memorable. The coffee preference comes along for the ride. We had a lot of mornings very similar to this. I remember those." He shrugged, sitting down with his coffee.

She was silent for a moment, sipping at her coffee. Then, she had to ask. "Has there been anyone else, Vince?"

"No," he said easily, his voice soft, unhurried, and he sipped his coffee. "No one else."

She nodded, silent again for another minute. But Vince was the jealous type, and the murderous rage type. She had someone to protect. "I hope you know if something happens to Moran and you had a hand in it... I will be displeased."

He didn't look insulted by the idea, just nodded. "I thought that might be the case. Assuming he doesn't cross me on separate issues, he's safe."

"Good." She didn't want to have to kill Armetti, not really. She was torn. She wanted to tell him that finally, fucking finally, she'd found something, someONE who made her happy. But she didn't want to aggravate him.

He nodded. "I understand where your priorities lie, Lorna," he assured her softly. He glanced at his phone as it buzzed. "My people should be here within a half an hour with what you requested."

"Good. You know patience was never my strong suit," she snorted, tilting back the rest of her coffee. "Well, you can rest easy knowing that the coffee habit you inflicted me with has stuck with me to this day. I drink it more than I drink tea. And I'm _British,_ Vince."

He grinned, laughed. "It's the American way. You spent too long here for it not to wear off." He sifted the dregs of his coffee around, contemplative.

She chuckled. "I still hate baseball, though, don't you fret. Haven't changed too much. Damn, what a boring sport. I don't get NASCAR, either, but whatever, I guess. My life wouldn't make much sense to the average American's, probably."

"Still the same old Lorna," he laughs, smiling and glancing at his phone. His face instantly went dark, and he hit a button, raising the phone to his ear a moment later.

"Did I tell you that you could make a substitution? Did I _fucking tell you-_ Put Peter on. _Put him on now_." A pause. "Left pinky. Use your lighter to stop the bleeding, wrap it up, and keep going. You will still be here within a half hour or I will take yours as well."

She watched him leaned back in her chair, mildly running the tip of her finger around the rim of her coffee cup. "How many of your men are missing fingers? And, out of curiosity, what did he try to substitute?"

He shrugged. "I've lost track. It doesn't matter. And he was trying to substitute 10-inch nails for the railroad spikes. I disagreed."

"Mm. I would have just taken off all the nails on his left hand. More poetic. Anyway, gotta be careful about wronging too many people. I've seen the top predators get overturned before," she replied neutrally. She didn't really care how he ran things, if it didn't directly involved her.

He smirked. "Oddly enough, some of them take it as a badge of honor. But I'll keep that in mind..." He stood, reaching out to take her empty mug. "Another cup?"

"A badge of honor for fucking up. Hear something new every day," she laughed, smirking. "All my scars are a detriment. Not a single one of them I'd brag about."

He shrugged. "Seems to be something about being able to show off that you work for me. Hell if I understand it." He took her silence on the subject of a second cup as a no, and put both in the sink. "So. Moran. How in hell did that happen?" he asked curiously.

She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head a little. "I don't know. We got assigned to this job in Italy. He was supposed to cover me, get me out in one piece, you know the deal. Had to fuck some Don to get the information I needed. Guess that opened a realm of possibilities," she smirked, brushing a crumb of bread off the table. "It just kinda became a thing we did. We'd fuck, and then we'd fight, and he'd call it off, and then somehow we'd end up doing it all over again. I don't know when I started caring about him. I mean, at one point he got my mother shot in front of me, and I still... got over it, I suppose. I don't know what he feels about me. All I know is that he bends over backwards to keep me from getting killed." _And that I'm his weakness, but Vince doesn't need to know that much._

"Sounds healthy," he said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "What is it with you and getting addicted to things that just cause you trouble?"

She sighed, sitting back with a shrug. "I don't know, Vince. I get addicted to things that make me feel... better. _Good_ , even, sometimes. Heroin, murder, alcohol, Moran. 'Cept with the first three I've always chosen the 'quit' bit in the quit or die." She was silent for a moment, just looking down at the table. "I'm... a pessimistic person. You know that. I don't like to admit it, but I am, deep down, a miserable human being. I do the things I do to cover that shit up, to ignore it's there. But Moran... he's not just another drug."

"The way you just described him, that's what he sounds like," he pointed out, walking back over to sit across from her.

"No, it's... He matters, Vince," she frowned, "In a way none of the drugs ever did. The drugs never made me feel safe. Never stopped me from having nightmares. They never held me together when I was about to shatter into a million little fucking pieces. I know that what we have... whatever it fucking is, isn't perfect. But it's better than anything else."

He seemed to contemplate that, and for a moment his eyes and fist tightened and his lips pursed, but then he shook his head slightly and relaxed. "If that's that, then... It's good you're happy I suppose." The words seemed to wound him slightly going off the tongue, and his nose wrinkled.

"I'm sorry, Vince," she said quietly, shaking her head a little. "I've always been a little broken. I don't know what would have happened if I'd stayed here. I don't know if anything would have changed."

"I let you go, didn't I?" he asked, standing suddenly again and walking over to start rinsing dishes in the sink. "I told you before. I'm not here to ask you to stay. Just to revisit old times for a bit."

She sighed. These things were difficult for her. It was so tempting to start faking it, to revert to lying, to keep herself removed from the messy emotions that she couldn't make herself feel. Moran was the biggest exception for her. "I know. I just never know what to say in these situations without lying."

He laughed, then, a deep, long, genuine laugh, a broad smile on his face. "It's fine. I know. Don't lie. You never did with me before. Don't start now."

"I'm endeavoring to do my best," she said, smiling slightly. She had no desire to alienate him. "You should feel special. I lie to almost everyone else."

"I'm honored," he laughed, then looked up at a knock at the door. "Ah. Your supplies, I believe. If you'll excuse me..." He walked out into the hall, and there was the sound of the door opening, followed by a beat's silence.

"I take it you understand why I did that."

"Yes boss..." A voice that was hoarse and off. Pained.

"And you won't repeat your error?"

"No, boss."

"Good. Don't. Or the results will be far worse. Consider your pay raised $5,000 annually. I'll send you the appropriate paperwork. I reward loyalty and... education. But do keep your mouth shut about it. Talking would be one of those mistakes we discussed."

There was the sound of the door closing, and Armetti returned with a box of equipment in his arms. "Ready?"

That conversation was an enormous reminder about big fish in a small pond. Here, Armetti was king. This city was, effectively, his. But his reach didn't extend beyond it. Moriarty's raise to her after he'd had her tortured was more along the lines of an extra five grand a _month._ But that was the difference between local and international corporations. Not to mention the conversation he'd had with her detailing her future as a second, more espionage-oriented Moran. She shook herself from her thoughts, and pushed out from the table to stand, nodding. "Definitely."

He smiled. "Mind taking the box so that I can unlock doors?" He handed it over, and started the fairly lengthy process of getting them back down to the cells.

She just followed him down into the bowels of the building, mentally stepping into the headspace that would be best to work in. She was going to make Mark wish she'd never been born.

Finally he keyed into the last door, smiling pleasantly at Mark, but leaving Lorna to do the talking.

Lorna, however, said nothing. She used talking to get people to like her, to be interested in her, and this wasn't one of those cases. She had nothing as personal against Mark as she'd had against DeWitt, so a vengeance speech also wasn't necessary. She just got to work, pulling the vaporizer out of the box and pulling on a pair of latex gloves as she got out the container of mercury, briefly reading the fading instructions on the bottom of the little machine before pouring the odd liquid metal in, setting it down under Mark's chair, and securing the mask over the woman's face. Then she flicked it on, smiling. "I hope you're ready for a long night. I don't know if I'll want to stop, even when you do spill the beans."

Mark struggled just slightly as the mask was placed over her face, but once it was clear she wasn't getting away from it, she just grinned. "I have an advantage. I'm willing to die. You aren't willing to lose me."

"That's where you're _wrong,_ kiddo," Lorna grinned, tapping Mark on the nose playfully and then turning back to the box, bringing out the iron bands and very carefully avoiding the container of Carolina Reapers nestled at the very bottom of the box. "You see," she began, setting one band up around the woman's torso by screwing it into the chair, leaving it just brushing Mark's skin, "You're going to die in here. That's not in question. The question is how long it's going to take. How long I'm going to make you suffer before you go. How long I can draw out your last breath, even as you're begging for it to be over. You tell me what I want to know, and I don't kill you slow."

"You rhymed just there, did you know?" Mark retorts, still grinning, even as vapor filled the mask. "Mercury isn't exactly revolutionary, you know."

"I'm not here to start a revolution," she shrugged, setting the second band in place and then reaching back into the box for the torch, playing with the gas settings before crouching in front of the chair and beginning to run the flame back and forth along the bands, careful not to touch Mark's skin directly. "I'm here to make your life miserable."

Mark saw what was going on and immediately sucked in her gut, looking displeased with the development. Armetti walked forward further, eyes alight. "My hands are yours if you need them, Lorna," he said quietly so as not to disturb her concentration.

"Put on those gloves," she murmured, watching the metal start to glow red under her ministrations. "And get my knife out of its thigh-sheath, use it to scrape her skin. Not cut, just scrape. Enough to bring a few drops of blood to the surface, nothing more. Cut open a pepper, rub it on the scrape. Repeat."

"Yes, ma'am," he said playfully, grinning and lifting her skirt just enough to get the knife, sticking it in his belt while he put on the gloves, and then removing it again. Mark was starting to sweat slightly in reaction to the heat, a thin sheen raising up on her skin, and she sat abnormally still, not even reacting as Armetti started scraping across her skin, leaving it raw and pink in his wake. He grabbed a pepper, examining it with a whistle of appreciation before he sliced it open and smoothed it across her skin. There was a beat, then Mark's teeth tightened and there was a muffled swear.

"Not to jump ahead of you," Armetti said pleasantly, glancing at Lorna, "But most of the capsaicin is in the seeds. I could grab a mortar and pestle from the kitchen if you're interested."

"I was actually considering that myself. I thought I'd give Mark a chance to say something first, though," she chuckled, looking up at the woman with a wicked grin, moving on to the second band. "But you can use the flat side of my knife. Doesn't matter if you ruin it, I have more. Not my favorite one, anyway."

"Oh, fuck off," Mark spat, grinning under the fogged mask, though it was tense. Armetti smiled, and walked over to a cabinet on the far side of the room, pulling out a metal tray. He came back and started cutting the peppers deftly, seeds piling slowly in the tray.

She set down the torch as she finished heating the bands, turning to the box again to bring out the railroad spikes, showing them to Mark with a smile before picking up a spike and a torch and beginning to warm it. "I hope you're not too fond of your hands and feet."

"Ever heard of pacing?" Mark spat, torso shaking slightly with the effort to stay below the bands. "Don't waste all your party tricks in one da- _fuck_ -" she hissed as Armetti started scraping again with the now-capsaicin-coated knife.

"My time here," she said mildly, setting aside the torch and lifting the red-hot spike into place above Mark's hand, "Is limited. And, anyways, pacing is for squares." With that, she leaned down all her weight onto the spike, slowly pushing it down into Mark's hand.

Mark lasted about four seconds before she screamed, hand scrabbling and curling, which only served to further shred and burn the muscle and skin the spike was cutting through. It scraped against bone and stopped, hissing and sizzling, the whole room smelling like burnt flesh.

"Three more to go," Lorna said cheerfully, leaving the heavy spike half-embedded in the woman's hand, bending to grab the torch and returning to heating the bands. "I'll give you a little break, though. In case you're willing to talk."

"F-fuck... off..." she panted, eyes closed tightly wincing as she accidentally came in contact with a band. Armetti had stepped back with the knife while Lorna had worked, figuring it wouldn't be noticed under the pain of the spike, but now he returned, using a dropper to add a few drops from the peppers to her raw skin. She tried to arch away and hit the bands again, swearing loudly.

"This is just no _fun_ for you, is it?" Lorna gushed, picking up another spike, eyes wide and dark. _Vengeance._ Delicious no matter how it was served. "I, on the other hand, am having a _blast."_

Every breath brought more of the vapor into her system, her lips starting to condense silver droplets. Armetti's eyes were as black as Lorna's. It was so _easy_ to fall back into their old dance, and he caught her eye as he pulled Mark's head back and scraped the knife up her throat, unable to resist leaning down to taste a drop of the blood that welled up spicy, mixed with the heat of the peppers. "She's going to dismantle you," he whispered in Mark's ear. "Choose to die as yourself, or as a whimpering pile of scraps at her feet."

Lorna turned off the vaporizer with her foot - the risk of Mark suffocating or her lungs seizing up was too high to ignore, but a few moments later, at her continued silence, she set the next burning-hot spike against her skin. " _NO!"_ Mark shouted, her voice breaking, her eyes glassy. "N-no.. I'll tell you what you want to know. Please."

Armetti smirked in victory, flashing Lorna a smile, and walked around to face Mark. "Where is Mallory?"

"He's in Queens," she whispered, twitching slightly. Likely the mercury affecting her. She managed to keep still enough to stay away from the iron bands. "He lives above the Ginger Swan tattoo shop. There's only one of that name, just... just look it up." Lorna dropped the spike to the side and fished out her phone from the waistband of her skirt, messing up the letters a few times, hands jittery with excitement.

"Yep. There it is. Thanks, Mark."

"Yes, thank you, Mark," Armetti said, smiling. "We'll have some more use for you later, I think, but for now, let's see if your story checks out, shall we?" he asks, smiling and pulling out his own phone, dialing a number.

"Yes, hello. I have another job for you. Apartment above the Ginger Swan tattoo shop. Male, late twenties, scar on left ear and cheek. I want confirmation and delivery. No. Alive."

Lorna just stood over Mark, looking over her handiwork with fascination. She never paid too much attention to what she was doing in the present so she could look back at the end and see the fine details for the first time, to better appreciate the big picture. When Armetti hung up the phone, she spoke. "I don't care what you do with Mallory, as long as I see his corpse. Job security, and all that."

He nodded, reaching out to run a hand over Mark's arm. She shuddered. "If you want to have a go at him, you're welcome to." Mark was thoroughly checked out, so he didn't mind adding "Once we have him, this one's yours. Feel free to use our facility. Consider it a gift. I know what she did to you."

"I might just take you up on that," she murmured, finally looking up from her work. "But him, I couldn't care less about. There'll always be a thousand more like him, lining up to try their shot at the head of a network. Now. You have been wearing gloves with those peppers, but I still want you to wash your hands. Thoroughly. I'm not getting one of the hottest peppers in the world on me while we fuck."

He didn't blink, just gave a wide smile. "Fuck, I missed you," he muttered, walking over to the sink in the corner and peeling off the gloves, starting to wash his hands.

"With this ass? Hard not to," she laughed, pulling back the vaporizer mask on Mark and then letting it snap back into place, grinning as she flinched. "You know, none of my torturers have gone for my best assets. Do you think it's just too hard for them to destroy art?"

"If that was the case, they wouldn't touch you in the first place, cherie," he chuckled, drying his hands and walking back over, holding out his hands. "These meet your approval?"

She took one and lifted it up enough to taste his palm with just the tip of her tongue, then let him have it back. "Yup. No spice. I wouldn't be so careful if I didn't have an incident in the past. A very, very unpleasant experience."

He made a face, and shook his head. "I don't even want to imagine," he muttered, before reaching out to brush fingers over her cheek. Her tongue on his palm had sent warmth through him. "May I?"

"Yes," she agreed quietly, leaning her cheek into his hand. She loved Moran. Loved the raw hard sex, loved being bitten and bruised by him. But he didn't do soft. It would have been hard for him to even try - there was nothing about his 6'2, 6'3, (she couldn't remember exactly, just that he was fucking tall) muscle-and-bone frame that was gentle. But it was nice to be treated like something precious, once in awhile.

He leaned forward to kiss her, slow, relearning, remembering, molding against hers in familiar forgotten ways. Christ almighty, he had missed this woman.

She returned the kiss softly, ignoring their surroundings, ignoring the woman injured and bound in the chair not three feet away. This was what she'd liked about Vince. The contrast. Vicious and unrelenting one second, careful and kind the next.

He reached up to brush fingers through her hair as he kissed her, eventually resting the hand at the base of her neck, the other wrapping around her and pulling her close, relishing how close she was.

She kissed him a little harder, plucking his shirt free from his belt, without rushing. "It occurs to me," she murmured, between kisses, "That I probably shouldn't fuck you. But I'm going to anyway." She got his shirt untucked all the way, giving his lower lip the slightest nip of her teeth. "If you don't have a condom on you..."

"Wallet," he returned in an equally relaxed fashion, letting her lead the way, shivering slightly under her teeth as his hand slipped beneath her shirt. "As for fucking me... Do what you want."

* * *

Playlist: Ed Sheeran - Don't

Barcelona - Sick


	54. U Never Say U Love Me When You're Sober

Lorna slipped back into the flat at 2 in the morning, missing her knife and a pair of panties, and leaned against the door as she shut it, letting out a tired sigh. She didn't need to tell Moran she was back. He always heard the door.

He stood from where he was at the table, walking in to take a look at her. Her hair was a bit bedraggled, and there were bright splotches on her neck. "Grifting?" he asked, though he had a sinking suspicion that was far from the case.

"No," she shook her head a little, trying not to feel guilty. It wasn't like she and Moran were committed to each other, not verbally. There'd been no agreements of any kind on that department. "Found Mallory, though. We can go down and look at the corpse tomorrow, confirm it, and get out of this fucking city."

He instantly stiffened. "What?! Why didn't you tell me that immediately? Who the fuck called his kill? Armetti?" he asked, eyes blazing. "I need information from that prick, not a fucking corpse!"

"Calm down, they brought him in alive," she rolled her eyes, wriggling her phone out of the waistband of her skirt and handing it over to him. "Call him, text him, whatever. He'll wait for us."

He took the phone, anger still raging but derailed now, without any particular course, mostly fueled by the marks on her neck."Terribly kind of him."

"He just wants me to like him," she shrugged, slipping by him and heading for the bedroom, keen to get out of the clothes she'd recently been fucked in.

"It's truly thrilling, seeing you so invested in fulfilling his desires," he retorted, texting Armetti a quick _Need Mallory alive_ and tossing the phone onto the table.

"Look, we're kinda old... murder... buddies..." she trailed off, frowning to herself, then decided to keep moving on, stripping out of her clothes as quickly as possible while he was in the other room. "Just kinda, reliving the old days, alright? I'm done now."

"Oh, murder buddies, right, of course. How silly of me," he snorted, rolling his eyes.

She pulled on some underwear and got into some comfortable clothes before walking back out, hands on her hips. "Alright, Moran, what's your problem? I'm not asking you to like him, I'm not asking for shit. So what is it?"

He stood still for a moment, then shook his head. "Nothing," he muttered, and headed out the front door. He needed to see Mallory with his own eyes.

She looked after him for a moment, then shook her head, turning back for the bedroom. It was 2 in the fucking AM. She was going to sleep.

He came in in the early hours of the morning, took a shower to get the blood off, and climbed into bed. He stayed well on his side, and fell asleep.

* * *

Lorna woke up in the morning a little surprised to not be completely engulfed by a nest of limbs and muscle, like she normally was. Alright. So he wasn't happy with her sleeping with Vince. _Fuck._ She pushed herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, raking a hand through her hair, and let out a long breath.

He heard her wake up, but stayed still and kept his eyes closed, breathing deep and even. He didn't want to talk to her at the moment, because he knew he had no grounds for being angry. He just... was. And he liked it and had no interest in her pointing out how pointless it was.

"Sebastian," she sighed, not turning to look at him. "I know you're awake. You sleep so light that if a feather dropped onto your back in your sleep you'd wake up. You only sleep in later than me when you're injured." She reached a hand up to rub her eyes. "Look, I get why you're angry. But that's something we have to talk about." She twisted a little, to look back at him. "For once, we need to talk about this."

He sat up, but ignored her, and headed into the bathroom, closing the door firmly and taking a long breath.

" _Shit,"_ she breathed, hands clenched on the edge of the bed, struggling not to break into tears. Oh, she'd really fucked up. Big time. _You just had to be a slut, didn't you?_

He showered again, for something to do, and took his time shaving carefully. Mallory was proving to be difficult. He'd taken a break last night, but he would go back and keep working today. Finding Mallory wasn't the end goal. Destroying his network was.

She remained where she was, paralyzed on the edge of the bed, battling the urge to hide like a child, to just try to make herself melt out of existence with pure will alone. How could she have been so _stupid?_ She broke a little, breath hitching, face falling into her hands. Of course it was always going to be her to make the final fuckup. _She_ was the one who went crawling back to _him._ All for some stupid old acquaintance.

He exited the bathroom a few minutes, and saw her sitting there, head in hands. He stared at her for a long moment, and asked himself if he really wanted to lose her over this.

Ten seconds later he hoisted her, still balled up, into his arms and held her close.

"I'm still mad. But you looked pathetic."

She clung to him, fingers balling up in his shirt. "I'm sorry, Sebastian," she said through a shaky breath. " _Christ,_ I don't know why I _did_ that. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I don't know either. But I can't hold you to anything. I never had that right." He sat on the bed with her still in his arms.

"That doesn't mean that it wasn't a fucked up thing to do," she whispered, blinking back tears, trying to remind herself that things were going to be okay between them. "I shouldn't have done it. I don't care about Armetti, and I wasn't grifting. Fuck, I'm sorry. I..." she took a shuddering breath, leaning into him a little. "I won't do it again. Outside of grifting." That was the closest thing to a commitment he would allow.

He shrugged a little, rubbing her back slowly in an attempt to get her to calm down. "You don't have to make that promise if you don't want to. I'll get over myself."

She shook her head a little. "No, I do. Look... You know how I feel about you. I don't.. I don't need to be fucking other people. You're enough."

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "You know how I feel about you. Thank you for deciding that."

"I'm sorry I had to fuck up once to realize that I needed to," she murmured. She didn't know if she'd hurt him. He would never admit to it if she had, but fuck if she was going to do it again.

"I'm not sure I need to say it, but the reverse is the same," he murmured quietly, taking a breath and setting her aside carefully. "I need to go continue dealing with Mallory."

"Alright," she nodded, voice still soft. She pushed a hand through her hair, following suit and taking a breath herself. "Call me if you need me to come down there. I might go anyways. I got somebody down there I need to kill."

He nodded a little and headed for the door. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay," she replied, slowly leaning back against the headboard. How had this turned out okay? Were they reaching a point of... _normalcy?_ A state where every little bump in the road _didn't_ turn into a volatile explosion?

* * *

He spent the next week on Mallory, slowly getting the information he needed. It was another five days before they'd taken out who they needed to and he was satisfied that Mallory's network was decimated. He bought the tickets for London that night.

Lorna packed with relief, and without having said another word to Armetti. She'd killed Mark the night after she'd fucked Vince, and then she left again, trying not to be drawn back into making a bad decision. Things were okay between her and Sebastian, but she was determined not to blow it again. When they were about to leave for their flight, she waited for him in the hall, leaning against the wall with her bag over her shoulder. "We still have the HQ secure, right? I really just want to go home, at this point."

He nodded. "I had people sweep it at the six month mark. It's clean. We're going home. Everyone should be there, the network is back to functioning order."

"Good," she murmured, "I'd hate to return to England only to have to live someplace else. Though I suppose there is the best of your places."

He nodded just a little. "I miss my apartment. And London." He zipped his bag up, and sighed. "Jim hasn't responded to me."

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," she sighed, adjusting her grip on her bag and turning to open the door. "We'll find him. Come on, let's go. Longer we sit here the longer we don't know where he is."

He nodded, giving the room one last sweep before he walked out behind her and closed the door, locking it and enabling the alarm.

* * *

The flight was long and tiring, but he didn't sleep. Now that he was back on task- finding and protecting Jim- his adrenaline was roaring. It was finally going to be resolved.

When they landed she shifted, groaning a little. She was very stiff; she'd fallen asleep in the middle of the flight, and that was never good for her neck. "Christ, let's get out of here. We better have been sent a car."

"I called ahead and ordered one," he said, heading for the exit. "I doubt we would have been sent one."

"What, do we need to teach them a lesson in manners?" she muttered, grabbing her bag and following him in a shuffle. _Jet lag. Gross._ "I'll fuck Kelly up, I swear to god."

"Things are disorganized there from what I can tell. We'll fix it when we get there. Immediately. For now, it is what it is."

The rental was waiting for them when they arrived, and he climbed in the driver's seat, eager to get back to HQ.

Lorna got heavily into the passenger seat, though she looked out the window with alert eyes. London. It was good to be home. "I don't want to travel for the next six months if I can help it. Maybe I won't have to. Jim told me that he was... upping my responsibilities."

He raised an eyebrow as he merged into traffic. "What does he mean by that?"

"He's grooming me to be a sort of... you. But not for your job. I think he wants me managing more, stepping up into a stronger leadership role. I don't know. I can't remember. Ask him, sometime."

"Assuming we're still on speaking terms," he said sarcastically, sighing.

* * *

Twenty minutes later he pulled into the garage at headquarters.

"Home sweet home."

"Thank god," she muttered, getting out of the car eagerly. She had no desire to be in an enclosed space any longer. "I thought I was going to die in that godforsaken city. I much rather die in this one."

He nodded in agreement, piling out and grabbing his bag. The new chauffeur- he'd never bothered to memorize his name- came running up, and he straightened. "Get word to Moriarty that we're here."

"Moriarty isn't here, sir."

He frowned. "I don't give a fuck where he is. Tell him we're back."

The chauffeur shook his head. "No, sir, sorry sir, I mean we don't know where he is, sir. We haven't had contact with him in almost a month. We assumed he would be returning with you, sir."

Moran stiffened.

Lorna swore, dropping her bag onto the concrete and turning, raking a hand through her hair. "God fucking dammit. We need to get upstairs. Someone has to know where Mycroft Holmes is."

Sebastian headed for the elevator at high speed. "Come on, Harrison," he called over his shoulder almost harshly.

"Have someone bring my bag to my department," she snapped over her shoulder at the innocent chauffeur, trotting to catch up with Moran at the elevator, sucking in a deep breath. This was bad.

He waited until the elevator door closed, and took a slow breath. "Alright. This is... workable. We just need to find him," he muttered, looking far more relaxed than seemed appropriate

She gave him a sidelong glance. She'd expected him to have an aneurysm right about now, but here he was. Looking fine. "It can't be too hard to find another of Mycroft's holding rooms. We've been in two, after all."

He nodded, but said nothing during the elevator ride, or, in fact, until he'd keyed into Jim's quarters, which were off of the normal surveillance circuit and onto one that only he and a select few others had access to. He headed immediately for Jim's computer.

"Give me five minutes. I'll have him."

She hovered by the door, trying not to exude anxiety. It felt weird to see the inside of Jim's apartment. So this is what the man chose to decorate with in his own space. About as minimalist as she expected.

He looked up as he waited for the program to load.

"Jim has a GPS tracker embedded in his skin. Right above an artery. If it's alive, I can find him."

"He has- what? Really? Did he agree to that or did you just inject him with something in his sleep?" she sputtered, folding her arms across her chest. This was all too much for her. _Whatever gods there may be, I just got off a six and a half hour flight. Why._

"He agreed to it," he said, still working. "I managed to convince him that it was a necessary precaution."

"Alrighty, then," she nodded, pursing her lips together, stuffing her hands into her pocket. "Hey, how about we don't tell Jim I was in here? Sound good?"

He laughed, eyes still on the screen. "Nervous are w- I've got him. What the _hell_ is he doing there?" he muttered, standing up and walking over to the gun safe and pulling out his spare gun and holster.

"Where is he?" she frowned, eyes tracking him across the room. She hadn't moved from out of the doorway. She felt a little like a vampire. "Do you want me to call up a team?"

He strapped on the holster. "No. You and I are going in, no one else. We'll scope out the situation and call people in if we need to. I don't want this spreading."

"Alright, well, I'm going to need a weapon of some kind," she huffed, setting her hands on her hips. "You have an extra gun? Knife, even. Actually the preferable choice..."

He tossed a sheathed bowie knife her way. "Let's go. I don't want to waste any time. He's in the warehouse district and the number of times I've seen him go there intentionally can be counted by someone with far fewer fingers than me."

She nodded, shoving the knife into the back of her jeans since she didn't have any other way to carry it, following him out and shutting the door behind her. What was Mycroft Holmes doing in the warehouse district, anyway? That wasn't anywhere near the other places they had escaped from. Those had been on the outskirts of the city, away from other buildings, disguised to look like small manufacturing firms. In the thick of things, though?

* * *

They were in a car headed for the district in twenty minutes. "Alright. We'll get there and scope it out, and figure out the best approach to the situation. For all we know, he's there voluntarily."

"Guess it wouldn't be the strangest thing he's ever done," she muttered, shifting to the knife sheath didn't press so uncomfortably on her. "But I'll follow your lead."

He nodded, parking a few blocks from where they needed to be and slipping out of the car, directly into an alley. "With any luck, Holmes doesn't know we're here, but I'd say it's a 50-50 chance."

"Don't get my hopes up or anything," she muttered sullenly behind her, the knife already in her hand. She wasn't entering the building unprepared. If she came across Holmes, she would gut him like a fish for the things he'd done and had had done to her.

They walked around the outside of the building, trying to be casual as they examined the entrances. Finally, Moran shook his head. "This is ridiculous. I need to get inside."

She nodded, keeping an eye on the small bit of street they could see from the alley. "Alright. Just.. lead the way, I suppose."

"No. Stay here. I don't need both of us getting screwed if this goes south. I'll be back in twenty minutes." He shucked his jacket, handing it to her as he knelt to tighten his boots.

"Okay," she frowned, tucking his coat under her arm. She really wanted to go with him, but he was the ex-army man, after all.

He nodded, giving her a grin. "Back in twenty," he said, before disappearing into the building.

She waited against the warehouse, knife in hand, Sebastian's coat over her shoulder. The longer he was gone, the more she worried. What if something had happened to him? She checked her watch. Ten minutes.

* * *

Ten minutes in was when the bad luck occurred. He'd been doing well so far, watching the rotations of the guards and making his way forward, taking them out as he went along. He'd avoided the few cameras, and was almost into what appeared to be a basement cell block when a loading bay door opened for a supply truck. He took out the driver almost immediately, pouncing on him and breaking his neck, dropping his corpse and turning to face the room. The far door opened and dozen men- likely there to unload- walked in. There was nothing he could do. The tranq hit him just below the left kidney, and the world went dark.

Twenty minutes came and went, and she was getting antsy. Moran was always on time, and if he wasn't he made it in a five minute window. So after the six minute mark, she set down his jacket and slipped in through the door he'd used twenty-six minutes ago, knife in hand, jaw set. He better not have just fucking tripped or something.

He woke slowly, head swimming. He tried to grab at it, but his hands were slow to respond, and when they did, they wouldn't move more than a few inches. Odd. He'd return to it in a moment. Maybe he should open his eyes and... and...

He woke again. Slowly. Try to move hands, no results. What was next? Ah yes. Eyes. Open those.

The world around him was a blurry haze of color and far too much light, and he fought the urge to vomit. It took a few tries before anything would come into focus, and even when it did, it didn't stay there long. There was a box... maybe... or a... what was it _called_...

Table. That was it. That could be a table.

Or a box. It was hard to tell when his focus kept wandering elsewhere without his permission.

Something was on the box table thing. It took him what seemed a very long time- and was, honestly, probably longer than he even thought- to realize that the thing was a person. And that the person was Jim.

 _Jim_.

Jim jim jim...

Jim was important. Now to just remember _why_...

Oh. Right. Jim. He was here to rescue Jim. That was right. He tried to call out to him, but his tongue wasn't cooperating, so he tried to move, only to remember the thing about his hands, which, now that he looked at it, turned out to be shackles.

Huh.

 _Fuck._

* * *

She kept near the walls as she navigated the labyrinth, severely regretting her choice to bring nothing but a goddamn bowie knife. _Fucking hell._ Each room she passed, she slowly peeked into, feet light on the floor. At one point, she passed a room through of five men watching a football game, beers in hand, and she just closed the door again. They weren't going to be bothering her anytime soon. As long as she was careful about noises, she'd be alright. It took her a half hour of sneaking through the building, killing anybody she came across and dragging their bleeding corpses into one broom closet or another, before she just happened across Sebastian and Jim, and it was mostly because the guard watching over them was talking his ass off on the phone to his mother. She stabbed him in the kidney and chucked his phone against the wall before bending down to finish him off, grimacing as she hit an artery.

She sheathed the knife as she walked into the room, wiping specks of crimson off her face, and crouched in front of Sebastian, unshackling him quickly. "Hi. Can you walk? You look alr..." she trailed off, turning his arm further over to see the messy injection mark, given by unsteady hands. "Fuck. What'd they give you? Do you think you can walk? Jim's small, but I can't carry him out of here alone."

He squinted at the figure as it entered, getting ready to fight, but then relaxed when he saw who it was. "Harr'son..." He sighed, looking relieved. "Think 'm drugged. Thought I was gonna be stuck... Jim... Jimmmm's over there..."

"Christ. Alright. Okay," she let out a long breath, shaking her head, leaving him in his seat unrestrained for a moment and hurrying over to Jim. The boss had been here for some time. Some of the wounds on him were healing already, although a good portion of them were too fresh to have been more than a week old. She could see why Jim was unconscious. She returned to Sebastian, pulling him to his feet with a heave and steadying him with her hands on his shoulders. "Alright. You're going to have to carry Jim. I can't do it. Do you think you can do that for me, if I lead us out?"

He nodded a little, putting a hand on the wall to steady himself. "Yeah... c'n do that... thanks for gettin' us out... fuck, I love you, y'know that? I do. You always fix shit..." He pushed off the wall again, heading over to Jim at a mostly steady pace, and swore quietly when he saw the boss. "He's bad... okay... let's get outta here..."

She allowed herself a single moment of shock, her footsteps faltering for a second before she caught herself. _Now is not the time, Lorna. MOVE. But holy shit, though._ She shook herself free of her thoughts and walked over to remove Jim's restraints, trying to ignore how awful he looked. Another thing that she could worry about once they were out of this place. Once she had him free - she didn't think Sebastian had the hand-eye coordination to do it himself at the moment - she left the boss in Moran's care, turning for the door, unsheathing her knife again. "Okay, I remember the way out, but we really should probably jog, okay? I don't know how effective sneaking is going to be with you drugged."

He hoisted Jim carefully into his arms, disliking how light he was, and the parts of him where the drugs were wearing off were angry. One part was a little panicked about what he'd just let slip to Lorna, but he was ignoring that part. "Jogging. Good plan."

She nodded once, watching him sharply to make sure that his focus wasn't wandering too much, then slipped through the door to peer both ways down the hall before toeing open the door the rest of the way for the load-bearer behind her, and started to lead the way out, jogging on her toes to keep the noise of her shoes hitting the linoleum floor to a minimum. They didn't run into trouble until they came across the room with the football fans. Just as she started to pass the door, it opened, and a man jumped a little as he saw her, yelping, backing up into the room. There was a shout of alarm. "Fuck," she snarled, stepping through the door herself and slamming it behind her, locking it with a flick of her fingers as she flipped the knife in her hand, teeth bared in a grimace. If Sebastian was smart, he'd take the boss and get out. If he wasn't, there was no way he could break down a locked door in his drugged state.

"What the hell-?!" He shouted, trying the handle with his elbow. "Get the hell out of there!" he yelled through the door, waiting another beat before, gritting his teeth and glancing at the man in his arms, headed for the exit at high speed. He'd come back for her.

The nice thing about having interrupted five men watching a sports game was that they were all wearing football jerseys and had obviously left their weapons in another room, because the first one came at her with a beer bottle. He swung, she ducked and sliced, and he went down on the floor, holding his guts in. The next whacked her hard across the shoulder with a bottle, glass shards bouncing off her face and neck, and she flinched away, afraid of getting any in her eyes, and she took another hit in the stomach, with a fist this time. Her wind left her in a huff, but she traded hands with the knife to slash his throat with the knife. The third she put her blade in from across the room, then ran forward, picking up a side table and swinging it into the fourth's head with a grunt, then jabbing the fifth with a table leg in the middle of the forehead before he even knew what was in her hands. She gave the fourth and fifth another whack, just to make sure they'd stay down, then dropped the little table, panting, and crossed the room to pull her knife out of the gasping man on the floor, holding her injured arm to her side. "Fuck you guys. Rooting for fucking _Burnley_. Arsenal all the way, you fuckwits."

He exited the building and headed for where they'd ditched the car, and eased Jim into the back seat lying down, closing and locking the door again before turning to head back for the building.

She took her time on the way out, picking bits of glass out of her shoulder, which was only getting harder as her fingers got bloodier. She flinched as he came bursting around the corner, grimacing. "Christ. Scared me."

"Well you fucking scared _me_ , so get over it," he muttered, approaching quickly and swearing under his breath when he saw the blood. "How bad is that?"

"I don't know," she sighed, walking past him in silent encouragement to leave. "Minor lacerations. Need some tweezers to get the glass out. What did you do with Jim?"

"He's locked in the car," he said, turning to walk with her. "You know, for someone who doesn't want more scars, you do a hell of a job getting cut up."

"Shut the fuck up," she muttered, giving him a mildly sullen look. "You're high off something and were carrying Jim. No way we were running successfully from them. Anyway, if I'm really going to be taking more of a leadership role, it doesn't matter, really. I don't know. Sorry for scaring you."

He nodded but didn't respond, focused on getting to the car. "I think you need to drive. Can you?"

"I don't know. If it's an automatic, I'll be fine. If not, say goodbye to your transmission," she snorted, elbowing the door open, glancing up at him. "And... you know I love you too."

He sighed, pausing by the door. "Look... Lorna. Not that I don't mean that but... I didn't mean to say it. Alright?"

"I know," she rolled her eyes, walking for the car without pause. "Look, you can totally pretend you didn't say it tomorrow. Just give me a minute of normal person enjoyment, okay?"

"Fine," he sighed, climbing into the passenger side and closing the door, glancing back at Jim in the back seat. Still unconscious. "We're going to come back and kill every one of them," he said, eyes dark.

"I'll pass, but whatever," she said neutrally, relieved to see the car was an automatic, and fell into silence as she pulled onto the road. As long as Jim survived, she didn't care about him. He wouldn't care about her.

"Fine," he muttered, sitting back and watching the road for tails. "Do what you want."

"I usually do," she mumbled, unapologetic. It bothered her a little that Sebastian regretted saying it, even high, but it was unrealistic to be upset about it.

He nodded, glancing over at her, trying to figure out where they stood at the moment, before returning his attention to the road.

As soon as they pulled into the garage, he got out and headed for the back, coat in hand. He draped the coat over Jim's head and shoulders, masking his identity, and lifted him out of the car, and heading for medical.

She followed after chucking the keys against the window to the little stall the chauffeur camped out in, because she highly suspected he was napping, and caught up with them in the elevator. "Tell them to take some blood. From you. I want to make sure this won't cause a relapse."

"I feel fine," he muttered, striding out of the elevator as soon as the door opened. "They need to focus on Jim."

"They have enough people. Get your blood drawn," she said firmly, giving him a stern look.

"Don't give me orders," he muttered in annoyance, pushing into the med bay. "I need immediate assistance," he said sharply to the attendant, who nodded and stood quickly.

Lorna sat herself down in the waiting area. She could pester him after.

It took them three hours to get Jim to the point where the doctors would declare him stable. Sebastian spent the time pacing, waiting for whatever the hell they'd shot him up with to wear off, and doing his best to not kill anyone.


	55. If Luck Is Real, She Hates Us

Playlist: Von Grey - 6 AM

* * *

After the nurse came in and told them that he was stable but sleeping, Lorna got up and put a hand on Sebastian's shoulder, trying to get him to stop pacing. "Sebastian. If you're not going to get blood drawn at least come back to the flat and rest, okay? Nothing you can do to help him right now."

He didn't need the bloodwork. As soon as the drugs had worn off past a certain point he'd known he was fucked. Half of the pacing had been to keep himself distracted. He gave a bit of a nod as she spoke, but then shook his head. "Go ahead. I'll stay here."

She let out a long sigh, biting the inside of cheek. "...Sebastian. Please. I can't sleep if I'm worrying about you. Seriously."

He sighed, glanced towards Jim's hospital room, and then nodded. "Fine."

"Thank you," she murmured, rubbing the back of her neck and turning for the door. She wanted to keep an eye on him, along with the fact that she'd miss his presence. Damn whoever had drugged him.

He nodded just a little, following her out and to the elevator, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. He didn't want Lorna knowing what the drug had done. He needed to work on that.

"Are you alright?" she sighed, looking over him with a little concern. "Just... be honest with me."

"Fine," he said, opening his eyes, and then sighing. "Fuck. We should have had them look at your shoulder," he muttered.

She shrugged a little, taking a deep breath. It hurt, but it was nothing she couldn't do herself with a pair of tweezers. "I can take care of it. I'm more worried about you. So much shit they could have given you..."

"I've been drugged before, Harrison," he muttered a bit shortly. "I can deal with it just fine."

"You know it's different now," she snapped, stepping out of the elevator and in a split decision turning for her own door. She hated when he got defensive. Hated it.

He watched her go. If she thought he was going to stop her, she had another thing coming. He stepped out of the elevator, heading for his own apartment and scanning in, closing the door behind him. Home sweet home. Wahoo.

She just barely stopped herself from slamming the door behind her, silently fuming as she headed for the liquor cabinet. Damn his fucking ego defense mechanisms. _Damn_ them. She got out a bottle of whiskey and moved for the bathroom, where she got her first-aid kit out and plopped herself down into the tub. Cleaning her shoulder wasn't going to be a real clean process.

He paced the room, considering his situation. Then he took a breath, made a dozen individually wrapped sandwiches and grabbed a case of bottled water, setting them both by the radiator in the bathroom. He grabbed the television remote, put in fresh batteries, and shifted the television to the bathroom door. Last, he grabbed his cell phone and charger, and some long-chain handcuffs from his closet. He took a breath, walked into the bathroom, and closed one cuff around the radiator, and the other around his wrist. Tightly.

She spent the next hour and a half digging glass out of her arm and throwing back large swallows of whiskey to dull the pain and trying to ignore the blood that welled up every time she had to poke around in the lacerations for any glass she'd missed. When she was finally satisfied that she'd gotten every last piece out, she stumbled out of the bathtub and turned the shower on to stick her arm under, and watched the little bits of red-stained glass go running down the drain. _Fucking hell, if he pulls the shit he pulled last time... I can at least admit I have a_ fucking _problem so it can be fucking dealt with._

He realized he should have grabbed a cushion or something, and folded up a towel to sit on, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. The key was in the other room. He was here for a few days, at least. By then the cravings would be under control.

Lorna brought the liquor into the bedroom with her and sat back against the headboard, preparing herself for at least a good twenty-four hours of drunkenness. The world would keep revolving if she just checked out for a little bit.

* * *

The first night was hell. He lost track of time in the windowless room, and five minutes passed like hours. At some point he dented the radiator stanchion, but it wasn't broken, so he didn't care. He threw up until he had nothing left, and after that it was useless gagging, or occasionally the water he managed to get down.

* * *

It was late into the second day that she was drunk enough to cross the hall, the need to be in the same room as him overriding her anger. It took her a few tries to key his door open, and she stepped through to close the door heavily behind her. "Okay, I'm done being- _shit, ow,"_ she tripped over the coffee table, and limped into the bedroom, wondering where the fuck he was. "Being... pissy," she finished, peeking into the bathroom, and immediately frowning. "What're you doing?"

He'd made a weak attempt to close the door with his foot, but she'd gotten there before he could, and he gave up, leaning back against the bathtub tiredly. He felt like shit, and guessed he didn't look much better.

"Handling it."

"Whaddaya mean, handling it?" she scowled, sitting down beside him with a thump because she thought that maybe her tipping over mid-sentence wouldn't really make her point. "Y'said you were fine, _liar. Christ,_ Seb. Why the fuck do you gotta be this way, huh? You're so fucking _difficult_ ," she muttered, slouching down beside him.

"I didn't want you to worry," he muttered, arm tensing a little against the cuff, cutting into his skin for the dozenth time that morning and sending a slow rivulet of blood down his arm to dry with the rest. "How else would you have handled it?"

"Not by chaining you to the radiator, f'one thing," she grumbled, leaning over him a little to look at his wrist and then slumping back again, sighing. "Where's the key? I've had quite a bit of absinthe but I can take better care of you then _this,_ for fuckin' sure."

"This is a fail-proof system," he muttered, eyes still closed. "And no thank you. I've had enough of my own experiences on absinthe to distrust your judgment."

"Don't be an asshole, you motherfucker. You're the one who decided to chain himself to the motherfucking radiator," she growled, pushing herself to her feet and heading for the door to find the key to his cuffs. " _God,_ you 'ave _no_ idea how angry it makes me that I can't bring myself to stay away from you. Tell me where the fuckin' key is or I'll just pick the goddamn lock."

"I did what I decided was best," he said, voice calm in the face of her anger, just to piss her off.

She turned back to him, letting out a groan and leaning back against the door frame. "You did this because you didn't want me to _worry?_ Because you thought _that_ was the best option? Fuckin- look, Moran, I thought by now that you'd at least _consider_ consulting with this shit. I get that on a job, there's no fuckin' time, like I locked you out so you'd take Jim out first, but this, this is just-" she looked away, breath hitching. Drunk + angry = crying. "All I want is to help. No one helped me, Seb. And look what sort of shit I picked up n'order to fuckin' cope."

"You said yourself," he growled. "There's nothing that you can do to help withdrawal. You've just got to bite the bullet and get through it. Well, consider the bullet bitten."

"This isn't what I meant!" she scoffed, waving a hand in his general direction. "Sebastian, I'm just- I'm offering fucking support. Just..." she trailed off, sighing. "Whatever. If you don't want me here, I'll go."

"Walking in here and insulting my methods and swearing at me while pissed off your arse. Fabulous support. Thanks," he muttered, closing his eyes again. He was too exhausted to deal with this shit.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, raking a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry. Just... coming in here and seeing you just.. isolate yourself over this. It worries me."

He was tempted to push her away. If anyone else had seen him like this, tried to extend help, had gotten anywhere _close_ to how she acted with him, he would have killed them.

"Don't worry. That was the point of all this."

But she was Lorna.

She slid down the door frame, letting her head fall forward onto her knees. "What was th'point? I'm... almost unpleasantly drunk. Hard to absorb."

"You not worrying was the point," he sighed, looking over at her. "Mind telling me why in hell you're so drunk?"

She shrugged a little, not lifting her head. "I start to eat myself alive when I get well and truly pissed with you. Self-loathing is a lot easier to deal with after you've had a few drinks."

"Shouldn't you be loathing _me_ when you're mad at me?" he sighed, looking over at her tiredly.

"I can't help it," she muttered, waving a hand at him a little. "I get angry at myself for putting up with you, and then it snowballs into this fucking.. bad past relationships thing, and I hate myself for being such a doormat, blah blah blaah..."

He didn't know how to respond to that for a long while, the words stinging in unexpected places. Places he hadn't even known to protect.

"Sorry our relationship is that shitty," he finally said quietly. The words were missing the usual sarcastic bite that accompanied most of his apologies.

"No, no, no," she picked her head up, shaking it, a little bit of desperation entering her eyes. "Sebastian, that's not- no, no," she pleaded, scooting forward on her knees, hands hovering over his shirt before taking his face in her hands. "You are the best thing to ever happen to me, okay? I fucking love you, you know that. I'm just- I'm not good at being happy."

Something eased at her immediate rush to correct her words, and he relaxed slightly under her touch. "Christ," he muttered, shaking his head a little in her hands. "Don't scare me like that. It's rude."

"What do you think I was going to do, leave you?" she shook her head, leaning up to kiss his forehead once, her hands shaking slightly. "Fuck no. No."

"No, but being told I have to be put up with is hardly a pleasant experience," he muttered.

"M' sorry, I'm drunk," she murmured, slumping down beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. "Words are... not working for me. It's just.. it's not like _that._ I mean that's what all relationships are. Putting up with each other. The only thing about you that I have to _put up_ with is your defense mechanism things. Least favorite thing about you. But I have many, many fucking favorite things about you," she sighed, looking up at him. "You're just... like, perfect, you know? For me. I've never really loved anyone else, Sebastian. I don't deserve you."

She was leaning against his free arm, so he shifted it around her, hugging her to his side. "It's fine. But if you're going to be mad at me for not asking for help with the drugs, then you can't not ask for help when you feel like shit and want to drink it off. Doesn't work like that."

"I feel like it's different," she mumbled, shaking her head just a little, but so glad to be touching him again. "I mean, the drugs really have nothing to do with me. I'm upset because of you but then it compounds to me... it's just... a whole mess."

He sighed. "So the drugs- which have nothing to do with you- should involve you, but the me driving you to drinking shouldn't involve me?" he asked, smirking just a little and tucking her against his chest.

"Technically it's not _you..._ I... fuck, I don't know. Too drunk," she murmured, shaking her head. Then she sat up a little. "Should unshackle you though. You don't need to fuck up your wrist."

"Wrist is fucked up. If you wanted to prevent that, you should have been here two days ago." He sighed. "Keys are in the bedside table drawer."

"Okay," she murmured, pushing herself to her feet and heading for the door. She was back in a moment, crouching in front of him and fumbling with the key until she managed to unlock him, sitting back on her haunches and dropping the key. "There. Do you want food?"

He gingerly extricated his wrist, and shook his head. "Wouldn't keep it down," he muttered, reaching up to rub at his eyes.

"Okay. Well, do you want to sleep in an actual bed?" she shrugged, trying to keep herself from slurring. "Just... tell me what you need, yeah?"

"Bed would be good," he sighed, nodding in agreement and standing up slowly, his whole body protesting angrily.

She nodded, trying to look at his torn-up wrist anxiously without annoying him. "We should probably wrap this up in case you try to scratch it in your sleep.

He sighed, but knew a smart idea when he heard one and nodded, turning to start rinsing it in the sink, clenching his teeth slightly as it stung.

She grabbed the first-aid kit from beneath the sink and set it on the counter to flick open the lid, rooting around for the linen roll briefly before coming up victorious. "So they put Jim in an induced coma, huh? He's gonna be real pissed when he wakes up. Wonder what 'e was doin' in there to begin with..."

"He was being an asshole and ditching his bodyguard, is what he was doing," he growled, shaking the water off of his hand and holding it out for her to wrap.

She wrapped it with minimal fumbling and then shoved the first-aid kit back under the sink, heading for the bedroom. "I mean, yeah, but like, _why_ was he there, you know?"

"Hell if I know," he sighed, walking over to flop on the bed with a groan. "Believe me, he and I will be discussing that in detail once he wakes up."

"Good luck with that," she murmured, walking over to the bed and flopping onto the bed, crawling between the sheets without any preamble. "At least he's not dead. At least we didn't fuck up this time."

"Yeah. At least," he muttered, sighing and closing his eyes. "If he'd gotten himself killed, I'd've killed him."

"You have that sentiment about a few people," she muttered, curling up against him, glad to be able to touch him again. She'd missed him. In an angry way, but still.

"Well it's true," he shot back, holding her close and shutting his eyes. Maybe with her here he could get some sleep.

She just fell silent, listening to his heartbeat. Christ, if he ever thought she could leave him...

He dropped into an uneasy dose, stress waking him every half hour or so, but he managed to at least relax.

* * *

She woke at about three in the morning, shifting into him with a quiet groan. "Ugh... did I dream that conversation in the bathroom...?"

"Nope," he said simply, eyes boring into the far wall, breaths purposefully slow and even.

"Damn," she murmured, burrowing into his neck slightly, slinging an arm over his chest. "Sorry 'bout that. Thanks for putting up with me."

"I've said far worse when drunk," he retorted, wrapping an arm around her and concentrating on her presence- her scent, her warmth- anything instead of the clawing hunger begging him for a hit.

"I suppose," she sighed, glad to nestle into him. It was almost a shock to remember the days when he'd been nearly disgusted by the slightest affection. Back then, the only thing he'd allowed was rough and dirty sex. Now it was the same, but with an unshakable amount of feeling.

He didn't respond, just traced circles on her back, distracting himself.

"Something you said... How long do you see this lasting?"

"Hm? What did I say?" she frowned a little, looking up at him. Stalling. She didn't know how to answer him.

"Something about fuck no you wouldn't leave me, and me being the best thing that ever happened to you," he said casually. He honestly wasn't sure what to make of that.

She was silent for a moment, taking a long breath. "I... I don't know. I guess I saw us doing this until one of us finds a reason to stop. I don't really put timetables on things, you know?"

He nodded just a little. That was reasonable and about what he'd expected. "Alright."

"Not gonna.. follow up on that, or anything?" she raised her eyebrows, a bit cautiously. "Cause now I want to know your thoughts."

He shrugged a little. "Those are pretty much my thoughts. Just was thinking the reasons might... not come up. That's all."

She was silent for a minute, absorbing that with quiet surprise. That was the closest thing to a commitment that she was ever going to get from him. "Well," she said finally, fiddling absently with the hem of his shirt, "I can't foresee any on this end. And I'm usually a pessimist about... pretty much everything, I suppose."

He nodded a little, taking a breath and relaxing his grip on her, rolling onto his back.

She wasn't sure what to make of his silence. She rarely was. But that was a sleeping dog that was better to let lie. "You want me to get you a water or something? You should really try to stay hydrated," she asked quietly.

"Yeah, that might be good," he sighed, nodding. "I feel like shit."

"I know. I'll be right back, yeah?" she murmured, turning and slipping out of bed with a squeeze of his shoulder, disappearing into the bathroom to grab a glass of water and a few ibuprofen, sitting on the edge to hand them to him. "For the wrist. Swelled-up appendages aren't fun."

He nodded his thanks and downed the pills, taking the water in slow sips so as not to disrupt the current delicate balance of his stomach.

She sat there in silence while she waited for him to finish, contemplating the room. It was as familiar as her own flat across the hall, by this point, and she took a moment to enjoy the relative ease she felt, rather than an itching urge to twiddle her thumbs. "When the fuck did we last get a vacation day?" she sighed, lifting a hand to rub her eyes. "It feels like forever ago. Christ, why did I decide to put effort into this job? Things were so _great_ when I was a lazy coaster."

"Because you didn't get a choice," he muttered, closing his eyes as he set the mostly empty glass on the bedside table and putting his head in his hands.

"Well someone was certainly sneaky about it, because I don't recall being forced," she snorted, then twisted a little more to look at him, biting the inside of her cheek. The urge to relapse was awful, there was no getting around it. "Can I do anything to distract you? Do you want to watch a movie or some depressing documentary on whales?"

He shrugged a little, taking a slow breath before he nodded. "Might be a good idea, yeah..."

"Alright," she murmured, gently taking his unharmed wrist and tugging him off the bed. It might have been funny to any outsider - treating someone as large and threatening as him so carefully seemed strange. "Let's go get you settled on the sofa, then."

He stood, thought about mentioning something about him not needing pampering, but didn't have the energy and just followed her meekly. _Meekly._ Not a word he used to describe himself often.

She could tell he felt particularly shitty, because he didn't even try to fight her. She didn't _enjoy_ it when he fought her, but it seemed to be an essential part of his makeup, so she did her best not to hold it against him. She led him into the living room and deposited him on the couch before going to the cabinet underneath the TV to root through the movies there (most were hers, that she'd transferred from across the hall, since he seemed to have his work place austere on principle alone). "What do you think is more likely to distract you; wildly inaccurate action movies or an annoying RomCom with a white, straight couple that can't communicate with each other to save their lives?"

"God, no romcoms, I'm nauseous enough," he groaned, rubbing at his eyes. "At least inaccuracy isn't sickening most of the time."

"Alright," she chuckled, popping in one at random and heading back to the couch to sit down, silently hoping that the movie just put him to sleep. Unconsciousness was the easiest way to get around this, but hell if she wanted to give him another drinking problem.

He leaned against her, too tired for dignity, and half-watched the movie, eyes closing every once and awhile, at shorter and shorter intervals for longer and longer time.

Slowly, sneakily, she turned down the volume on the movie, waiting until his eyes were closed and his breath was even to do so.

* * *

He woke slowly the next morning, feeling incredibly thirsty but otherwise a lot better than he had the night before.

Lorna was sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and looking over her emails, but she got up as she heard him starting to make noises, peeking out into the living room. "Hey. Feel any better?"

"A bit, yeah," he sighed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "How're you?"

"Fine. A little hungover," she shrugged, taking a sip of coffee. "I've had worse. You want breakfast?"

He nodded slightly as he sat up, pulling his phone out and checking it.

" _Fuck_ ," he muttered, immediately standing and heading for his bedroom. "Jim woke up almost an hour ago."

She let out a long breath, leaning against the wall. Well, damn. There went feeding and hydrating him. "Good luck with that shit."

"Thanks," he muttered as he started shaving, as quickly as he could without cutting himself. "Should be thrilling."

"Try not to get killed, huh?" she sighed, mostly to herself, tapping her mug absently. Thank god she wasn't required to go along. She did _not_ want to stand in the crossfire.

"Generally an assumed goal," he shot back, jumping into the shower for two minutes to wash off the reek of days of withdrawal. He winced as the water hit his wrist, but didn't slow as he rinsed and then jumped out, drying off and walking over to the closet to pull on his typical uniform, the crimson shirt oddly inviting despite the circumstances.

It was weird to see him come out in his usual outfit - it had been a long time since they'd been at HQ. It was almost a relief to see it. It meant things were returning to normal. Fucking finally. "Let me know if you survive. I'm probably going to be pacing around my department, making vague threats."

"Will do," he nodded, straightening his jacket over his holster as he headed out the door. "See you later."

She nodded, waved, and turned to go back into the kitchen.

* * *

Jim hadn't been in this much pain since before his brain surgery. That had been a different kind of pain - a deep, pushing ache, unrelenting, without end. This pain came and went, flared up when he moved, throbbed when the morphine began to retreat from his limbs. This was not the first time he'd been under the knife, and it likely wasn't going to be the last, but it didn't make it hurt any less. The worst was the foggy state in-between the medication and full consciousness, when the morphine stopped being effective but he was still too out of it to get a handle on the pain by himself. It took him almost an hour to get to the point where he could ask what had happened, and then he felt something shockingly close to embarrassment. _You walked right into that one._

Moran strode through the medical ward with a purpose, and no one was foolish enough to get in his way. He walked into Jim's room without knocking, setting the tone quickly. He wouldn't be ignoring anything that had happened.

"Moran," Jim said hoarsely, cracking his eyelids open as the sound of footsteps made its way to his ears. "You're looking well. How're the wife and kids?"

"A hell of a lot better off than you," he said without faltering. "What the _fuck_ were you thinking?"

"Nothing smart, I'll admit that," he muttered, sullen. "I was rash, Moran. That's all you'll get out of me."

"Not good enough," he said, a bit of a snarl entering his voice. "You're going to apologize, and swear never to pull shit like that again, or I will walk out of here and come back with my resignation letter."

"You're willing to sign your own death warrant in order to hear an apology come out of my mouth? I thought you were a _little_ less stubborn than that," he snorted, rolling his eyes a little, then regretting it. His head was far too foggy for such a maneuver.

"If I have to risk my life in order to make sure you stay alive? I wonder why that sounds familiar..." he hummed sarcastically. "Either you agree to work with me, or I resign and force you to hire someone who you _will_ work with. While I run unannounced security checks."

Jim was silent for a moment, jaw clenched, steam practically venting from his ears. " _Fine. I apologize,"_ he spat, looking like the words tasted strongly of lemon juice. "Happy?"

"You're missing a part," he said evenly, not backing down, holding Jim's gaze.

"I agree to work with you," he amended, bitterly. This was not easy for him.

He nodded, his demeanor relaxing. "Excellent. For my part, I apologize for how aggressive I was before you left. I was also out of line."

"I'm not certain 'aggressive' covers it, but I suppose I'm in no position to argue," Jim muttered. He didn't doubt that without Harrison's intervention he would be dead, or at least critically injured. At least there was one benefit to them fucking. "Is there anything else you'd like to berate me for while we're here, or are you done?"

"No," he sighed, finally walking over to sit by the bed. "We used to be a great team, boss. I think if we could get back to that rhythm it would be best for both of us."

Jim sighed, itching carefully above his I.V. "Yes, I think that would be best. Things have gotten... rather out of hand."

"Agreed," he sighed. "We need to focus our energies on the actual enemies. Not infighting. But both of us need to agree to do that. If only one does, it won't work."

"No, no, of course," he shook his head, sighing again. "You're right. I'll... stop needling you. Don't know why I started in the first place, truth be told. Maybe I just can't remember." He turned his head. Ah. He'd just gotten another hit of morphine. "I'll let you work in peace."

He nodded. "And I'll respect your authority. Only take the liberties that are required by my position." He sighed, and rubbed at his eyes again. He was starting to feel off again. "In the interest of full disclosure, given the fact that I'll wager the drugs are affecting your usual ability to perceive, during the attempt to recover you I was injected with something that's triggered withdrawal. I've stayed clean, but it's still in the process of wearing off and I'm not at my best."

Moran had been right. He _had_ missed that. "Hm. Well, I don't need you to be at your best, not right now. I'm likely going to be in this bed for the next three days, if the doctors have anything to say about it. Just stay clean. Work will wait."

He nodded slightly, and stood. "Anything you want done or need?"

Jim considered telling Moran to thank Harrison, then decided that was the morphine speaking. He didn't _thank_ people. "No. There's nothing that needs doing. You're dismissed."

He nodded, and headed for the door. That had gone infinitely better than he's expected.

Jim sank back into the bed, letting out a long, tired breath, and let himself sink back down into the murky haze of the medication.

He had nothing to do, so he headed over to Lorna's department, passing a very cowed-looking Kelly as he walked through the aisles of costuming mixed in with the desks.

Lorna was sat down at her desk, which was tucked in the corner well away from the others, frowning down at her computer. She looked up as he approached, a little surprised to see him. He usually steered clear of the grifting department. She couldn't blame him. "Hey. You look relatively unscathed. How'd it go?"

"He apologized," he said, sitting down in the swivel chair across from her desk and spinning slightly.

Her eyebrows shot up. "He what? Christ, is he fucking dying or something? Never thought I'd see the fucking day. If you're in shock about this it's completely understandable."

"To be fair, I didn't give him much choice," he said, spinning back towards her. "Told him it was that or I'd hand in my resignation."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Christ! I don't know if you're fearless or just crazy. Oh - while we're talking about Jim; I did a little digging into who had him in the warehouse. Whoever it is, they were careful. No one really _owns_ that building, and our people who went to scope it out say that they're all gone now. I don't know who it was, but I don't think that's the last we'll be hearing from them."

"That's odd," he sighed, tilting his head back. I thought for sure it would be Holmes, but he likes to brag, not disappear..."

"Yeah," she shook her head, "And we never saw him in the center of the city like that, before. This just isn't his style. Who's it is, fuck if I know."

"We'll figure it out," he sighed, standing. "Want to go grab breakfast somewhere?"

"God, yes," she muttered, pushing up from the desk. "Kelly, if you set something on fire I'll kill you."

Kelly- who had just walked over- blanched slightly and nodded furiously. Moran snorted in amusement and headed for the door. "Nice to see he hasn't grown a pair in your absence."

She smirked, leading him back out of the maze of clothes and towards the elevator. "I did make him eat spiderwebs that one time. He's learned to cower."

* * *

Jim spent the next few days in an odd haze of drugs. Time passed faster, he found, when one was too stoned to pay attention to every little detail. He wasn't sure what time it was when he reached out for his phone and texted Harrison.

 _Report to my room in the medical ward immediately. JM_

Lorna was confused to say the least when she received the text, but she wasn't too surprised to forget to respond. _Yes sir. On my way. LH_

She walked into the room a few minutes later, knocking lightly on the door as she entered, eyes cautiously scanning the room. "You called me, sir."

"Mhm," he nodded, waving her over. "I'd like to speak with you."

"Er... alright," she nodded, moving to sit in the chair by his bed, folding her hands together in her lap.

"It occurs to me, Harrison," he said, starting to sit up before thinking better of it and laying still, "That were it not for your intervention, I would be a very dead man at the hands of my bodyguard."

She raised her eyebrows. This was looking to be a real strange conversation. "That... sounds about right to me, sir."

He nodded a little, contemplating the ceiling for a while. "I should probably thank you, then."

Lorna decided to just roll with it. The faster it was over with, the less uncomfortable she would be. "You're uh.. you're welcome sir."

"Good," he said, nodding a few times. "Moran and I have sorted this out. I don't anticipate a repeat situation."

"I don't think any of us want to see that situation again," she snorted, leaning back a little in her chair. "Not a fun trip to New York, overall."

"No," he agreed seriously, nodding slightly. "Could be better next time... I don't enjoy being indebted to people, Harrison."

She shook her head. "No, consider yourself debt free, okay? I have no desire to even pretend to have a string on you. Just forget it. Easier for me, in the long run."

He harrumphed slightly, but nodded. "Despite your assurances... next time you have the chance for a vacation, select any destination and accommodations you like. You'll be provided with a company card with enough to fund the high life for a couple of weeks."

"I... thanks," she nodded, deciding that arguing was a bad choice. She didn't know if she'd ever take him up on the offer, but hey, this wasn't a bad thing.

He nodded slightly, and then flicked his hand a few times in a dismissive manner. "Done now."

She stood immediately, nodding a little, and quickly exited. Wait until Moran heard about _this._

* * *

The next few months were oddly like old times. He and Jim actually got on, even with Jim's frustration at his lack of mobility as he slowly healed.

It was nearing 8 when Lorna got in from her latest job, tired and trying to ignore the twinge in her leg that happened when the weather changed. "Hey, you want Thai or something?" she asked as she walked in the door, kicking off her heels as she went, passing him on her way to the bedroom. "I'm dying for some decent fucking atmosphere. _God,_ I hate the Irish mob."

"Why do you think Jim started his own organization?" he chuckled. "But yes. Thai sounds good. We going there, then? Or ordering in?"

"Out, if you don't mind," she replied, returning from the bedroom carrying a different pair of heels, a thousand times more comfortable than the first. "I'm not wasting this dress on the damn mob. I look far too good in it."

"Amen," he murmured, smiling a bit and nodding as he admired the way the dress hugged her figure. "Come on, I want to glare at people for staring at you."

She smirked, bending to slip on the shoes and then heading for the door. "Christ, if someone had told us this is where we'd be a couple years ago, I think I might have lost my voice from laughing too hard."

"I'd have shot them," he said matter-of-factly. "For being mentally unstable in my direction."

She chuckled, and led the way to the elevator. "C'mon, I haven't eaten in like seven hours."

"Alright, alright," he laughed, easily keeping pace with her shorter strides. "Seven hours. How _did_ you survive?"

"Rats. I've been catching rats and devouring them, all day," she quipped, pushing the elevator button impatiently until it opened and stepped in, hunger motivating her to hurry. "You'll probably want a rabies shot, just to be safe."

"I've already had to get one of those once. Very unpleasant. I'll take my chances," he muttered, shaking his head a bit, smirking.

"Suit yourself," she hummed, drumming her fingers against her thigh, eyes on the floor number. " _Christ,_ I'm starving. Do you think we can bribe the cook to skip the other customers?"

"Almost positive," he laughs. "We'll take the jag and I'll drive."

"Good, I'm in the mood for your driving tonight," she laughed, stepping out of the elevator into the garage with a little distance between the two of them. No need to flaunt their closeness. That was asking for trouble.

He picked up the keys from the chauffeur and headed for the car, the lights blinking as he unlocked it. "How'd today go, anyway?"

"It went alright. Easy day's work, really. Didn't even have to _see_ a dick," she snorted, getting in the passenger side and buckling up. "Either way, got them to sign the contract. Jim and you will probably be seeing a few more of your countrymen wandering around, giving us English-folk dirty looks."

"That's because all of you are stuck-up pricks," he said with a cheerful smirk.

"You're not wrong," she chuckled, leaning back in her seat and watching the buildings go by. It was really a miracle that Moran wasn't pulled over by police for speeding more often. "But who had the empire? _We_ did!"

"That's because no one else was enough of a jackass to decide they needed _all_ the land," he retorted, blowing past a yellow light.

"Oh, shut up. Without our imperialism you lot never would have gotten your potatoes," she snickered, drumming her fingers on the car door as they neared the restaurant. "So close to food.. so close."

He slid easily into a space and cut the engine, tucking the keys in his pocket as he stepped out and straightened his suit. "A little dressy for this place, us, but ah well."

"Better to be overdressed than under. When you're overdressed, people assume you're going to be doing something that's worth the clothes. Funerals, weddings, you know," she shrugged, heading for the door with a clack of heels on pavement. "Anyway, you know me, I'm an enormous ham. Love being complimented."

"That's true, you are," he laughed as they walked in and he asked for their usual table- one in the back where he had a good view of both doors and the kitchen.

They ordered, and when their food arrived, she wolfed it down, exceedingly pleased to have something to soothe the ache in her stomach with. As she finished up, leaned back in her chair, letting out a pleased sigh. "Christ. Food. What an invention."

He laughed. "Agreed. It's been too long since I've eaten out..." He leaned back in his chair. "Want to stay at my other apartment tonight? Be nice to spend a night there with you when I don't think I'm dying the next day."

"Yeah, that'd be great," she grinned, then gave him a mock frown. "So help me though, if you're planning on pulling something along the lines of _stupid_ again I'm going to crack an egg on your forehead."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Nothing stupid. Promise. Just a good night."

"Alright," she chuckled, shrugging. "Then we're good. Should probably digest a little before I let you throw me around, though. I think I remember a jacuzzi?"

"You remember correctly," he said with a laugh, nodding a little. "Want a drink if we're going to be here a while?"

"That sounds good. I haven't gotten good and soaked drunk in a while, I'm starting to miss it."

"Excellent," he smirked, pulling over the beer menu.

* * *

It ended up being about two hours before they left, and he twirled his keys around his fingers a few times before shaking his head. "Not that stupid. Only a few blocks to my place. Come on. It's a nice night out, we can walk."

"Mm, alright, but I reserve the right to ravage you in some alley. I'm feeling _trashyyy_ tonight," she laughed, slinging an arm around his side, mostly to keep herself from teetering over in her heels.

"You ravage me in an alley and you might end up more trashy than you're hoping," he snickered. "Lotsa dumpsters."

She shrugged, leaning against him a little as they stepped out onto the pavement. "Eh. I've lived through worse. I mean, there was the chili pepper incident... Blrgggh. 'Orrible night."

"Hmm?" he asked distractedly, trying to remember which way to turn at the end of the block.

They turned a corner and his focus switched from direction to combat far more sluggishly than it needed to. He blocked a few blows that were hard to pick out in the dark, but someone was wielding a chain whip and he took a few hard blows. Suddenly there was another such blow to the base of his skull, and just like that the world went dark.

Lorna never even got the memo that there was a fight. She took a sharp blow to the head in the first second, and went out like a light.


	56. A Dish Served Lukewarm

She awoke what felt like a long time later, handcuffed to her chair, a gag in her mouth. The room was well lit, nicely decorated. And in it, besides her and Moran, was a single person. A woman, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over a business-casual outfit.

Moran woke up a few minutes later, head throbbing, mouth dry, from alcohol or drugs he couldn't tell. He looked over to see Lorna tied to a chair as well, looking disgruntled but alert, and relaxed slightly, before turning his attention to the other occupant in the room and raising an eyebrow.

"Sebastian Moran. Weird, finally meeting you. I've known about you practically my whole life, you know. And I would have been content to have stayed away, but..." the woman sighed, blue eyes drifting around the room before landing back on Sebastian. "Now you're in my way. But I guess it's only polite to introduce myself, right? I'm Sara Moran. Technically, Dad never married my mother, but it'll be easier for me to get elected if I have his last name."

He stiffened slightly, taking in the woman with new eyes. It was hard to deny the information now that he had it. They shared the same clear blue eyes and blond hair, and he could see his father in her, mixed with something he didn't recognize. She was younger than him by a few years, but not many, few enough that it might have been a trick of her makeup.

"Polite, maybe. Stupid, definitely. Why the fanfare, if I'm in your way? Why not just kill me?" He didn't need to ask _why_ he was in her way. That was obvious.

Sara sighed, hands falling to her sides. "I'm not a murderer, you know. Not yet, at least. I don't have plans to become one, but that's always subject to change." She paused, looking neutrally at her older brother. "I just need to put you away somewhere no one can find you. I just thought I owed you a small explanation, first."

"You're going into politics but you have a semblance of a conscience. Should be interesting. You do realize what organization you're messing with by doing this, correct?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, I know. Dad told me. He's... got a little bit of a bone to pick with your lady friend." She looked at Lorna for the first time, almost curiously, but there was a sharpness there that was familiar to her. Sebastian possessed it too. Then the blonde looked back at her brother. "It doesn't matter. No one knows where you are."

"He deserved what he got. No reason for you to get mixed up in it," he said calmly. "As for no one knowing where we are, that's very confident of you."

Sara shrugged again, unconcerned. "I don't need to convince you. Time will do that for me. Goodbye, Sebastian. I hope you find peace." She pushed off the wall and turned for the door, slipping out without another word. A few minutes later, and five men entered, three going to Moran, two to Lorna. She barely had time to register the fact that the man nearest to her had pulled out a syringe before the needle entered her arm and she drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

His elbow ached.

That was his current point of focus. His sanity. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the blackness, the nothingness, but it had been far, far too long. He couldn't stand up or lay out completely, and his muscles were cramped and angry. At this point he was almost positive he would give a finger to be able to stretch out completely for five fucking minutes.

When he had first woken up here, his exploration had taken very little time. The bedrock floor and slanted steel door led him to the conclusion that he was in some sort of root cellar. A hole in the corner became his toilet, and a leaky hose in the corner provided water if he lay under it and let it drip in his mouth long enough. Food rolled down from a small hole in the ceiling at unpredictable intervals. That had all taken an hour to figure out, and then it had turned into loneliness, isolation, hell.

Now, his elbow ached. That was the only thing he had to focus on. He had slammed it into a wall to keep himself sane. The pain was good. The pain was different.

 _How many different sensations can I cause down here? What new kinds of feelings? Of pain?_

He didn't bother to stop the train of thought for a while, before he pulled up short as he realized he'd been contemplating methods of self-amputation.

 _Think of something else..._

An old Irish song he'd learned as a child popped into his head, and he curled up in the corner like he had so many times as a boy.

 _Bhí fear de ghníomhas dúbailte_

 _Cé a líonadh a gairdín iomlán de síolta. Nuair a thosaigh an síol ag fás_

 _T'was cosúil le gairdín iomlán de sneachta._

 _Nuair a thosaigh an sneachta ag titim Cosúil éin a bhí sé ar a bhalla..._

* * *

Wrath, Lorna soon learned, ran in Moran's family. Sara had had no use for her - there was a campaign to run, after all - and so she'd been given to Riordan Moran. The man who she'd left broken and beaten in his home more than a year ago.

Riordan was not the creative genius that his son was, and for that she was eternally grateful. She had a lot of time to think about it, locked in a pitch black basement that she could only really describe as a dungeon. There was a light on the ceiling, but the switch was operated from outside the room. It was just as well. After a while, she was glad that she couldn't see the stains. Her life was a nightmare enough without the visual stimulus.

She'd known from listening to Sebastian that his father was a cruel, uncaring man, but it was one thing to know it, and another to live it. And live it she did.

He cycled tortures like a jukebox set on a permanent loop. She almost wished he would think of something new. Knowing what was coming tomorrow was a torture in-and-of-itself. Maybe he planned it that way. After a while, it simply ceased to matter. It wasn't long after that that the nightmares stopped. Perhaps her brain had finally come to peace with the fact that no amount of rehearsing would make the situation change; but whatever the reason, real, good dreams returned. Most of them starred Sebastian, in some form or another, and when they didn't, they starred his father - specifically, his father dying in violent, slow ways.

* * *

 _Cosúil éin a bhí sé ar a bhalla._

 _Nuair a thosaigh na héin a eitilt_

 _T'was cosúil le longbhriseadh sa spéir Nuair a thosaigh an spéir a crack,_

 _T'was cosúil le fuip ar mo chúl..._

He carved it out in the walls with the tip of the hose, traced it until his fingers bled, wrote it on his arms with nails and teeth. It kept his heart beating.

* * *

A/N

The poem/song Sebastian recites is

There was a man, a man indeed  
Who sowed a garden full of seed  
And when the seed began to grow  
Twas like a garden full of snow  
And when the snow began to fall  
Like birds, it was, upon a wall  
And when the birds began to fly  
Twas like a castle in the sky  
And when the sky began to crack  
Twas like a whip upon my back  
And when my back began to smart  
Twas like a penknife in my heart  
And when my heart began to bleed  
Then I was dead, and dead indeed.


	57. Blood in the Water

Playlist: Of Monsters and Men - Organs

* * *

She knew how long she'd been in the basement. Woman, not Man, had invented the 28 day calendar, after all. And, she had to hand it to her captor; unlike DeWitt, he used a fucking condom. It was the one thing she was thankful for in that godforsaken pit.

It was on the third month that she decided that she had to escape or die trying; she was wasting away in the dark, and the longer she waited, the harder getting out would be. She didn't even want to think about what Sebastian was going through.

She waited for an opportune time. For years, she'd been honing her sense of opportunity, the scent of escape. Riordan's big mistake was his slowly relaxing guard. In the beginning, with the memories of what she'd done to him relatively fresh, he'd been wary, he'd been careful, he'd brought in a taser and rope. Now, he let her take off his _belt._

 _Fool move, you disgusting prick._

Shirtless, weakened, and near-starving, she whipped the belt across his too-familiar face, screamed in anger and watched the buckle break open his skin, tear it away from his skull, slice across an eye. When he was too stunned to fight back, she strangled him with the thing, sitting on his chest, bony knees pinning his arms to the ground, her teeth bared in a grimace.

She strangled him for far longer than really necessary. He was well and truly dead, she knew that. But caution made her make sure, made her confirm that this man wouldn't be what held back her escape.

She let go of the belt, fished the key out of his pocket, and fought with his corpse for the shirt before she crawled off him, eyes dry, heart steady.

* * *

 _Nuair a thosaigh mo chúl cliste_

 _T'was cosúil le scian peann i mo chroí Nuair a thosaigh mo chroí a bleed Ansin, bhí mé marbh agus marbh go deimhin._

The walls were home. Soft, soft stone. His stone. He knew the bumps and cracks, knew the pits and gravel. His home, his place, his darkness.

* * *

Her staggered entrance into the lobby of HQ was fit for a movie. Wearing a man's shirt five sizes too big, without shoes, and with wounds covering almost every visible inch of her, including a long, thin knife wound that started at the outside corner of her left eyebrow and slanted its way down, across the bridge of her nose and her right cheek, ending in an odd little curl at the corner of her jaw. It had not been a fast wound. It had been slow, and deliberate, and with the precise intent of leaving a mark for everyone to see.

She ignored the several people in the lobby who rushed towards her, limping into the lift and hitting the button for the top floor, leaning back against the elevator wall with her eyes closed. At least she was clean. After all, it was _gross_ raping a woman who hadn't showered in a week, and Lord Moran had had such _delicate_ sensibilities. She spat on the floor in memory of the asshole, and left the elevator as the doors dinged open. She didn't knock on Jim's door, just walked right in.

He looked up as she walked in, and raised an eyebrow, looking her over, before nodding to the chair across from him. "Do have a seat before you keel over."

"Thanks," she said dryly, lowering herself into the chair with a long, pained breath. "I'm guessing he's not back. I think I was the least well-hidden. I'm not sure. Do you have, like, a pitcher of water or something in here?"

He hit the intercom. "A medic and a pitcher of ice water to my office," he said calmly before releasing the button. "No, he's not back."

"Damn," she muttered, slumping back a little in the chair, exhaustion weighing on her. Not to mention the fact that she hadn't been on such a comfortable piece of furniture in months. "I was kinda hoping I was wrong and you were going to just tell me that you guys couldn't find me, but I guess that was pretty stupid. He'd have known to look for his father. Whatever. I don't feel like I'm up to being particularly smart right now. Sorry I'm talking so much, I basically took a vow of silence in that hellhole and besides the homeless lady on the street you're like the only person I've seen in a long time worthy of conversation."

He didn't respond to her conversation, just pieced together information as she gave it to him. She and Moran had been separated some time ago, his father had something to do with it. Given what he knew of the elder Moran, however, it was unlikely he would take direct action against his own son unless pressured by someone. Such as the other Moran he'd seen entering the lower ponds of the political game lately.

Interesting.

Lorna drifted back into a tired silence, only moving again when there was a knock at the door and a medic bustled in. She sighed, sinking down into the chair a little sullenly. She was not in the mood to be prodded and poked. "Sara Moran... ooh boy, when I get my hands on her," she muttered, going limp as the medic cautiously began examining her arms. She raised gloomy grey eyes to Jim again. "Sir, I want to help get Moran back, but... these fuckin'.. the _scars_ I'm gonna have... just tell me straight up if it's worth keeping me around afterwards. Rather know now."

He looked her over. It was obvious she wouldn't work again, not in grifting, at least. But he'd put too much work into her to just put her down.

"You'll shift to more administrative roles. Branch into hit work if you want to dabble in that again. I hate to see talent squandered. For the time being, tell me what you know about Moran's situation."

She let out a long breath, not sure whether she should be relieved. _No. It's fine. You'll still have Moran._ "I know he's alive. His.. half-sister, I think? She said she wasn't going to kill him, just... put him away. I would just bring her in and torture it out of her."

He shook his head. "She's high profile right now because of the elections. I don't want to bring the wrong kind of attention. You'll need to remember what you can and we'll go from there."

"I... I mean, that's it, really. I was bound and gagged in a chair and she talked at me and Moran for like, three minutes, and left, and then they knocked me out and I woke up someplace else. That's all I got, boss."

He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and watched the medic work. "We'll give it another week or so. If we don't find him by then..." He turned the idea over a few times. "Then I suppose we'll talk to her."

She nodded, wincing as the medic touched something that was still particularly tender. "Okay. Fuck, I hope they didn't just shut him away in some closet with no human contact. Solitary fucks anyone up, but Sebastian..."

"He is particularly susceptible," he said with a nod. "Unfortunately, I find it highly possible his sister is aware of that fact. I don't suppose you bothered to kill the elder Moran somewhere where your DNA wasn't all over the place? Never mind, I'll have it dealt with."

She shrugged a little, sighing. "I doubt they'll find him for a while, you have time. Had me in a basement of an office of an old, abandoned factory. I'm flattered he bothered to turn on the utilities so I could have water," she snorted, though there was a duller look to her eyes now, a learned resignation. Defeat. In the end she'd taken his life, but he'd taken just as much from her. "Anyway, I'm not in the system. If they do find him first, all they're going to see is that he was holding someone prisoner down there."

"I'd still rather there be nothing for anyone to tie you to were you ever brought in," he muttered, watching the medic start work on the gash on her face. "You got older. "

"That's just insulting," she muttered, shooting him a resentful look, then hissing as the medic got a little too rough with the cleaning. "I have enough injuries without you going for my pride, too, thanks."

"I'm just prodding the wound. Mr. Moran already took an axe to it," he pointed out dryly.

"I'm telling you not to prod the fucking wound," she snapped angrily, jaw clenched. "No offense, _sir,_ but _fuck off."_

He stared at her for a moment. "I'm going to be patient, because I understand you're injured and exhausted, but don't take that tone with me again. Adding the word 'respectfully' doesn't make it so." His voice was dangerously calm.

"If you want my respect, don't say shit that has absolutely no purpose being said other than to rile me up," she retorted, tense in her chair, hands curled into fists in her lap, where they were trembling, ever so slightly. She was at the end of her rope. Like a dog that had been kicked one too many times, she was a centimeter away from going feral. She had no doubts that she was wired enough to do serious damage to him, if not kill him, should she be pressed. The medic had shrunk back onto his haunches, looking nervous about getting between the two of them.

Jim smiled, but could see the tension and decided not to press further.

"I think that's all for today. Why don't you head to medical and I'll devote my attentions to finding Sebastian."

"Sounds good to me, sir," she replied wearily, heaving herself out of the chair and exiting the room, leaving the medic to scurry after her.

* * *

It was a week and a half later that they finally found him. One of Jim's agents followed Sara Moran to a farm a few hours outside the city limits, and an infrared scan picked up a living being in a root cellar near the back. It took two minutes for the information to reach Jim. He texted Lorna five minutes later.

 _We've located him. Extraction team leaving in ten minutes. Accompany them as advisory. JM_

She was so relieved she thought she'd faint, but got out of her bed stiffly nonetheless, quickly replying.

 _Yes, sir. LH_

The extraction team said nothing when she arrived in the garage, but she saw the looks. Hated them. Everyone who saw her had to pretend not to stare, not to be surprised. She knew that she was, over all, still beautiful, but no longer in a soft, alluring, disarming way. No longer in the way that let her drift by relatively unnoticed, or the way that could charm an aging man into handing her his fortune. Now it was with a way that drew attention and fear. Now people glanced away as soon as they spotted her, like they were trying to avoid looking at the sun.

The ride was long, and the rest of the team left her mostly to herself, tucked into the back corner of the van, trying to sit in a way that didn't hurt when the vehicle jostled her. When they arrived, she stayed behind as the rest of the team left, armed to the teeth. She was in no condition to fight. She waited for the signal, which came ten minutes later, after only a few gunshots. They led her down into the cellar, gave her the key they took off Sara, and melted back into the shadows. She unlocked the door, wrenched it open.

"Sebastian?"

"Ansin, bhí mé marbh agus marbh go deimhin... Ansin, bhí mé marbh agus marbh go deimhin..."

The words came from the shadows in the back corner of the tiny room, whispered over and over in a voice that was rough with use. They didn't falter when she called.

Her stomach sank. This was not a good sign. "I don't speak Gaelic, Sebastian," she sighed, stepping into the horribly enclosed space at a crouch and leaning to slip her hand under his jaw, tilting his face up to hers. "Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

His eyes looked in her direction, but didn't really seem to see her at first, and when they finally did focus on her, it was without any sort of recognition or comprehension.

"Ansin, bhí mé marbh agus marbh go deimhin..."

She swallowed, hard, and dropped her hand to his shoulder, heaving him up by his shirt. She couldn't break over this, not here, not now. He didn't _recognize_ her. He wasn't even speaking right, for fuck's sake. She got him out of the tiny enclosed space and beckoned over a few of the team, handing him over - he didn't look strong enough to walk on his own. "Let's leave this place."

Sebastian made no struggle as arms gripped him and heaved him towards the van, still muttering under his breath. He smelled rank, like waste and rotten flesh, and under the rags of his clothes his body was covered in dried blood and inflamed, words standing out amongst the scratches.

On the ride back, she occupied herself with cleaning as many of his scrapes and... inscriptions.. as she possibly could, trying to ignore his quiet babbling, the same words spoken over and over again. The same words that she suspected were the ones carved into his skin.

She sent the text message as they pulled into the garage, letting out a steadying breath. She had to get him away from here for a while. There was nothing the infirmary could do for him that she couldn't. _He's not fit for duty. I don't think he will be any time soon. Doesn't recognize any of us. Only talking in Gaelic. Permission to take him off-site while he get's better? LH_

The response was immediate.

 _I want to speak to him first. JM_

They pulled him out of the van gently, and a medic walked over with bandages, which was when things started to go downhill. The woman started trying to wrap up a bandage over his arm, and Sebastian leveled her with a fist to the face.

He was immediately back to docile muttering.

" _Christ,_ Moran," she breathed, eyes on him as she absently helped the medic up. Then she turned back to the woman. "Just.. leave those with me. I'll try, later. No need for you to be pummeled. Alright, Sebastian, boss wants to see us. Let's go."

He didn't move until she pulled on him, and he followed along, walking slowly behind her, eyes on her hand on his.

"Nuair a thosaigh na héin a eitilt, t'was cosúil le longbhriseadh sa spéir..."

She still held his hand in the lift, because it almost hurt to think of letting him go, and towed him behind her as they exited, down the hall to Jim's office, where she knocked once and then entered, tugging Sebastian along behind her.

Jim looked up, and let out a quiet swear, standing and walking over to get a better look.

"Well, he held up well," he sighed sarcastically.

"Nuair a thosaigh na héin a eitilt. T'was cosúil le longbhriseadh sa spéir."

Jim tilted his head in interest. "Nuair a thosaigh an spéir a crack, t'was cosúil le fuip ar mo dhroim."

Now it was Sebastian's turn to look a little intrigued. He looked up, saw Jim, and though he didn't seem to recognize him, the man had caught his interest.

"Le fuip ar mo dhroim..."

Lorna stood to the side, looking at Sebastian almost pleadingly, just silently begging him to snap out of it, to return to normal. This was a nightmare.

Jim tried a few more phrases, but Moran seemed to be done responding, returning to muttering to the floor. Jim turned his attention to Lorna. "It's an old Irish children's rhyme. Why he's saying it, I've no idea, and he doesn't seem to want to talk to me in Irish, but that's what it is." He sounded annoyed, but there was the slightest touch of what could have been called concern in his gaze.

She rubbed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Alright," she said finally, hand falling to her side helplessly. "What do you want me to do with him? I mean.. Christ."

He shrugged, turning away. "Get him out of here. You mentioned an apartment? Take him there. Get him cleaned up and sleeping. If he doesn't snap out of this I'll bring in specialists. If they can't do anything then we'll deal with him kindly and move on." He walked to his desk.

She felt too sick to say or do anything more than "Yes, sir," and tug Sebastian back out of the room, fighting back tears. She didn't know how, but she had to fix him. _Had_ to.

It was a half hour later that she led him up the steps to his flat and unlocked the door, pulling him inside the threshold before shutting the door and sucking in a breath. "Alright. Let's get you in a shower, okay?"

He was looking around the room absently, running fingers over doorframes and walls, exploring. His eyes still didn't focus on much, and when she turned on the light he flinched away, shutting them.

"Sorry," she murmured, turning the light back out and snagging his hand again, heading for the spiral staircase. That was going to difficult for the both of them, but she couldn't remember if or where there was another bathroom. "C'mon, try to keep up. Fuck, I wish I knew fucking Gaelic... Not as weird as Welsh, but weird. That's why I never picked it up. Stubborn asshole I am... C'mon, up the stairs. Up, up," she urged, starting up them, him in tow.

He followed after her without much complaint, starting to mutter under his breath again, reaching to press solid fingers against one of her bandages.

"Ow," she hissed, jerking away from him a little. "Stop it, or I'll put you in a cold shower. Not going to be fun for _either_ of us," she muttered, without too much bite, just grabbing one of his hands again and pulling him into the bathroom, where she started to gently peel off his bloodied, ruined shirt.

He sighed as she pulled the shirt off, helping her, hardly flinching as it pulled at his skin, starting to trace over the wounds on his arm again, scratching them open.

"Hey, no," she scolded, pushing his hand away from his arm. "No scratching. I'll put oven mitts on you, I will, just go ahead and test me," she huffed, giving him the sternest look she could manage and then working on getting him out of his trousers. "Fuck, Sebastian... if you're still in there, you gotta let me know, okay?"

He stepped out of his trousers, muttering something quiet in Gaelic and reaching out to touch her hair before getting out of his pants himself, apparently picking up on the direction she was going.

She took another steadying breath and turned to turn on the shower, fighting back the urge to dote on him, ask if he was alright, find a way to make him comfortable and safe again. When she judged the water hot enough, she gave him a small nudge towards it. "Get in."

He stepped in without complaint, closing his eyes and hissing in pain as it hit the infected wounds, but making no move away from it, eyes shut, lips still mouthing words under the rhythm of the water.

Lorna waited outside, trying to keep herself together. She didn't know how far his... insanity extended. Could he understand simple commands? Or, would he bother to heed them? She left him in the shower for about ten minutes, then reached in and shut it off. "Alright, I'll get you some pants, then it's time to take care of your scratches and shit. Don't hit me, please."

He sat down in the tub, still murmuring, but mostly just seemed fairly oblivious to her presence.

She returned a minute later, setting a pair of pants on the counter and coaxing him out of the tub so she could wrap him up in a towel and sit him on the toilet. Then she got out the first aid kit, and pulled out the roll of bandages the medic had given her, holding them up so he could see them. "I'm going to wrap up your scratches so you can't make them worse, alright? If you clock me, I'm going to be pissed. Cool?... Yeah, alright, not gonna get an answer..."

He saw the bandages and seemed to go on edge, muttering a bit faster, before tucking his arms protectively against his bare chest. "Ar bith."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, then sighed, setting the bandages on the counter. "Okay, going to guess that's a no... One second, I have an idea." She got up and swiftly left the room, coming back a moment later with a pen in hand, and picked up the bandages again, holding the next to each other. "Look, you can write the words on the bandages, yeah? C'mon. Work with me, please."

He seemed to consider her offer, looking at her face for a long time before slowly relenting, holding out his arms very grudgingly.

"Thank you," she sighed in relief, beginning the process of wrapping up his arms. At least he could still be reasoned with, to some extent. When she finished, she gave him his arms back and handed him his pair of pants. "Here. Put those on, I'll dress your other wounds in the kitchen. Food. Shit, I think I might know that one... Bia? Maybe? Probably butchering it. Shoutout to my third grade teacher for breaking down into Irish every time it looked even mildly gloomy out."

"Bia," he repeated, looking interested in her suddenly, and touching his fingers to his lips.

"Yeah, yeah. Bia. C'mon. Put the pants on and we can eat," she nodded, pushing the pants into his hand. Christ, was she going to have to get an entire book of Gaelic to communicate with him? Well, if it worked...

He got the message and pulled on the pants, standing up. He was badly emaciated, and looked eager at the thought of food.

Heartened by his responsiveness, she led the way back out of the bathroom without physically grabbing him this time, hoping he would follow of his own accord, and pulled out her phone as she headed for the stairs. God bless Google.

A few minutes later, she made him a bowl of chicken noodle soup, set it down in front of him at the kitchen island, and sat across from him, opening up Translate. If it worked, fantastic. If it didn't, at least she'd tried the easy way.

 _English - Irish_

 _Can you read this? Are you understanding what I'm saying in English?_

 _An féidir leat a léamh ? An bhfuil tú ag tuiscint cad mé ag rá i mBéarla ?_

It took him a while to notice the phone, and then a while longer before he was willing to venture looking at the bright screen, pupils still blown wide from the darkness. He squinted, trying to see, and staring at the words for a long time. Finally he gave a short nod and returned to his food.

She sighed, leaving the phone where it was, in case he felt like being helpful. That answer mostly wasn't. She leaned back in the chair, lifting a hand to drag over her face and then swearing as she ran across the gash, which she kept _fucking_ forgetting, and then sat there staring up at the ceiling, waiting in miserable silence for him to finish eating.

He started slightly as she swore, almost spilling soup, before edging a little away and returning to eating, eyes slipping shut.

It was hard not to wallow in self-pity. At least in the three months she'd been getting beaten and abused she'd had human contact. But him... She wasn't even sure if he understood his own name anymore, and she had to get him back before Jim decided time was up.

He finished his food and started at it for a while, before taking the spoon and absently starting to cut into his hand with the corner of the handle, beginning a new word, expression untroubled.

She glanced his way when she saw his movements change, and lurched across the table, snatching the spoon from him. "Hey! No! Don't scratch yourself! I thought that was clear!" she scowled, taking the pen from earlier out of her pocket and slapping it down on the table in front of him. "You want to write, use that. No skin. Only on the bandages, okay?" she reached to tap his bandaged arm, looking down at him with furrowed brows - which hurt like a motherfucker. "Just nod, or something, please."

He looked a bit startled by her intervention, but accepted it for what it was and took the pen, starting in where he'd left off with the tip of that instead.

"No," she repeated, lifting his right hand so he wasn't drawing on his left, and shifting it to his arm. "On there. No skin."

He snorted in frustration and dropped the pen.

"Ní féidir liom a bhraitheann, ní féidir liom scríobh."

"Christ, okay, I got.. write, I think? And some kind of negative, so..." she let out a long breath, running a hand through her hair. So, what, he needed some kind of feeling? If he was normal, if he wasn't batshit crazy, she knew what to do to give him some, but this? She had no idea what to do. "Look, just..." she huffed, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. "I can't let you hurt yourself. I _can't."_

He didn't respond, just leaned into her touch a bit, and laid his head on the table, losing interest. A minute later, he was asleep.

She sighed, getting up and walking into the living room to grab a pillow off the couch, and back into the kitchen to slide it under his head. Even emaciated as he was, she couldn't have picked him up at her best. After a moment of just looking down at him, trying to ignore the ache in her chest, she turned and moved back into the living room, where she curled up on the couch, and made herself fall asleep.

* * *

He woke to screams, close by, penetrating. Screaming familiar words, over and over and over. His words. His words screaming, close to his ear, loud, and the world was so so bright and he was alone...

 _Feel. You need to feel_.

The words had been forbidden but he had old favorites and wasted no time, slamming his elbow into the closest hard thing he could feel and concentrating on that, trying to ignore the screaming of his words that just got louder and louder... the pain was beautiful, distracting, stopped his breath in his chest and he rocked around it, the screaming present but ignorable. He missed his darkness.

Lorna startled awake at the screams, rolling off the couch with a pained shout herself before forcing herself back off the ground, stumbling into the kitchen to find him on the floor, the pillow to the side. She rushed over, fell to her knees with a sharp inhale, found his face in her hands. "Sebastian, Sebastian, it's okay, shhh, it's okay, it's okay, you're not in there, you're alright, shhhh..."

Among the screaming was a voice. The voice that was _so_ familiar... but the words had little meaning, or he didn't care enough to hear them and they trickled away into the air before he could sort them out. One stuck out, however. _Sebastian_. That was familiar. That name had whipped and scoured his back as a child. _No, Sebastian. Wrong, Sebastian_ , and with each toll of the word had come another blow. But he hadn't understood pain then. He was one and the same with it now, with the pain. With the Sebastian. So it belonged to him. The word, like the other words. It was a pain word. But the voice- the voice that had forbidden the other words- allowed this one. Sebastian. His word. He stilled. The screaming words stopped.

She pulled him half into her lap, relieved he'd quieted, relaxed a little, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair, as much to comfort herself as it was to comfort him. "Christ, Seb, you scared the shit out of me," she whispered, resisting the urge to press a kiss to his forehead. He didn't know who she was.

"Sebastian," he said quietly, trying it out, testing if it was allowed. He still didn't know what these people wanted. It was best to play it safe.

"You just saying it for the sake of it, or are you finally putting a stop to the nickname? Honestly surprised I got as much out of it as I did," she murmured, brushing hair out of his eyes. "Do you want me to cut this for you? I don't think I've ever seen it so long. Kinda digging it, but I could go either way. You can't understand a word I'm saying, can you?"

No stern tone, so he was alright, then. "Sebastian," he repeated a bit more cheerfully, leaning against the warm soft thing that he took to belong to the voice.

"Yeah, that's your name," she chuckled, then sighed, resting her hands on his collar, thumbs still making absent patterns on his skin. "And since you don't seem to know who I am, I'm Lorna. I used to be really pretty, and then some asshole fucked me up, and I'm a different kind of pretty that I can't use to my advantage anymore. Guess the same thing can happen to models, too, though, so I can't pout too much. That's what the booze is for, amirite?"

He reached up to find the source of the sound, eyes closed as he pressed his fingers to her lips gently, feeling them move under his hands before he started to trace the rest of her face, filling in the details.

She let him explore without restrictions, just relishing the touch of someone she cared about, and then it hit her like a rock to the face, and she drew in a sharp breath. "Oh no. Oh, fuck. Seb, can you _see?"_ she breathed, looking down at him, guilt welling up in her throat. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, I'm so _sorry,_ I should've- I wasn't thinking-" she had to cut herself off as the tears welled up, her hands trembling on his chest.

He flinched away slightly in surprise as her tone changed so suddenly, and pulled his hand away, worried he'd done something wrong. "Brón orm, brón orm..."

She didn't need to understand the words to hear the apology, and leant down to kiss his forehead anyway, shaking her head. "No, no, it's not you, you're alright," she said soothingly, though she had to lift an arm to brush away a few tears that were escaping their confines, then reached for his hand. "It's okay. Hm... uh... Tá... sé fíneáil."

He relaxed slowly, uncertainly, but didn't reach up to touch her face again, sitting up out of her lap slowly, hands smoothing across the floor until they found the edge of the blurred mass that was the table leg.

She got up with a long breath, raking a hand through her hair and looking around the kitchen. It may be too late, now, but she'd do what she could to keep the damage from getting worse. She walked to where the corner where the oddities were - the car keys, the letters, and; there, sunglasses. Even if she ended up looking like a complete idiot giving them to him, she had to try _something._ She walked back over and knelt in front of him, tapping his shoulder in case he couldn't tell. "Hey, hold still. I'm going to put this on you. I don't know if it will help, but... fuck, I don't know what else to do," she sighed, and carefully slid them into place on his face.

She put something on his face, and the almost blinding glare that had existed since he'd left his hole relented. He let out a quiet sigh of content.

"Go raibh maith agat..." he murmured, reaching up to adjust the glasses slightly.

Jim sighed and flipped his phone in his hand for the fiftieth time before deciding he was tired of waiting for an update.

 _Progress report? JM_

Pleased that he seemed to be a little more comfortable, she was just about to sink into a chair before her phone buzzed on the counter. She sighed, and picked it up. Jim. Fantastic.

 _He's stopped saying the children's rhyme. Still only talking in Gaelic, though, and he's not talking much. I wouldn't get a lot of it even if it were opposite. His vision's suffered from being taken out of the root cellar without eye protection, but I got some sunglasses on him and he seems a little less blinded. LH_

Jim stared at the message for a few moments, then whipped the phone across the room. It shattered on the far wall.

Sebastian traced the words under the bandages with fingers that knew the pattern while she seemed distracted, grounding himself slowly.

Lorna sighed, setting the phone down when there seemed to be no response imminent, and turned to the pantry to walk in and heave open one of the freezers, leaning in and digging through until she found a couple of steaks that looked a good size, and retreated back to the kitchen. She needed to get protein into him, and then Vitamin C, and they could work from there.

He heard her leave, and tensed, breaths starting to become quicker. What if she didn't come back? He wasn't sure where in the blur she had disappeared to. Then he heard something clang and headed after it as quickly as he could without slamming into anything, which was far less quickly than he would have liked.

She dropped the steaks onto the counter, turning a little as she saw him make a rather shuffling move across the kitchen. "Are you alright? I'm making food. Bia?"

He just walked closer until he could see her form.

"Ró-chiúin..."

"Something about quiet, I think? Heard that one a lot from my teacher, believe me," she snorted, filling up the sink with water and putting the packages in to thaw. "...Too quiet? That it? Yeah, I can see that being an issue. I can put some music on, if you want. You know - cha cha cha cha, _cha."_

He smiled a little, and then reached out to put a few fingers on her shoulder so he could keep track of her. His stomach cramped and he sighed. "Food..."

She was thrilled. English. That was a good sign. And good progress. But he was flighty, and she wasn't going to risk showing him any kind of loud emotion. "Steak sound good? I'm not as good of a cook as you, but I'll manage alright. You're a medium-rare kinda guy, yeah?"

He traced words on her shoulder and didn't bother responding, the words slipping past again.

His silence wasn't too disappointing. He was close, and touching her, and considering his deeply-rooted distrust of any and all people save _maybe_ her and probably Jim, he had a big bubble of personal space. But if he was comfortable with her, that meant that he didn't just lose the memories. They were there, somewhere. She just had to root around until she could find them.

* * *

It was about twenty minutes later when there was a crisp knock on the front door. Jim came striding in a moment later, a woman on his heels who looked polite and friendly, odd company for the mastermind.

"Tá mé thug dochtúir. A bheith fós."

Moran stiffened, shifting until Lorna was between him and the newcomers, grip tightening on her shoulder.

Lorna was a little stiff, herself. Was he really this impatient? How long was he going to give Sebastian before he wanted to put the sniper down? "So you gonna translate that for the slow class, or..."

"She's a doctor. I'm not having him lose his sight because some _imbeciles_ didn't know enough to cover his eyes," he snarled. Sebastian backed up further, crouching into a defensive stance. Jim sighed impatiently.

"Calma síos! Tá mé anseo chun cabhrú, ar mhaithe le ag fuck ar."

Jim," she snapped, reaching a hand back towards Sebastian, brushing his shoulder. "He has no idea who any of us fucking are. You can't come in here and start shouting shit, he sucks back into his shell like a deep-sea fucking worm, alright?" she huffed, reaching back further, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"If I may, Mr. Moriarty," the doctor said quietly, stepping forward. Jim was fuming, but remained silent. "If you wouldn't mind translating for me..."

"Very well."

"Mr. Moran, I'd like to take a look at your eyes, if that's okay..."

Jim let out a spew of Irish, but Sebastian didn't respond.

Lorna sighed, turned, nudging him slightly to get him out of his defensive posture. "Hey, let her have a look, okay?" she murmured, patting his shoulder. "I'll go get you a shirt while she's doing that, and then I'll cook. Food. Okay?"

"Food," he sighed, relaxing a little at her voice and allowing the woman to approach, still looking uneasy. She reached out carefully to touch his face, and he flinched away slightly, but stayed put as she carefully shined a red light into his eyes.

Lorna was gone and back by the time the woman was finishing up, taking one of his hands so she could press a balled-up white t-shirt into it, making sure he had a good grip on it before returning to the sink, fishing out the vacuum wrapped steaks. Better to busy herself with this than worry about the prognosis. Guilt started the crawl its way up her throat again.

"Alright," the woman sighed, sitting back. "Unfortunately I can't tell you too much yet. Cases like these have a lot of variance. A lot of it is going to depend on him and his body, how well it repairs itself. There is damage, I can tell you that much. If I had to guess, he can't see more than vague shapes, if that. Legally blind, but not completely so."

Lorna took a deep breath. "He's tough. He'll be alright," she murmured, mostly to convince herself. She tossed the steaks onto a frying pan.

She nodded, standing. "Just try to keep him rested and relaxed. And if he starts to become a little more cognizant as you're used to him, try to help him to adjust to the idea."

"Okay. That won't be fun, but... if it has to be done.." she shook her head, poking the sizzling meat with a fork. "Please show yourselves out. The longer you're here the more tightly he'll be wound."

She nodded, placing her card on the counter. "If anything changes or you have questions, call me. If you can get him to wear a blindfold without panicking, please do." She headed for the door, but Jim stayed put.

Lorna glanced over her shoulder with a frown at Jim, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"

He looked oddly hesitant. "I'm going to stay. See how he does. Translate," he said firmly, though he didn't seem to be behind the words.

She looked uncomfortable with that, but turned back to the steaks. "Fine. But if you say I look old again I will whack you with a frying pan, boss or no."

"Understood," he said, smiling again, slipping back into his usual, easy self as if the uneasiness have never showed itself.

Moran stayed near Lorna, but kept his ear cocked to the new voice, which also seemed familiar.

Before, Lorna had chattered on to fill the silence, half for Sebastian and half for herself, but now she was quiet, unwilling to Jim any sort of fuel to comment on, and she only spoke when she was finished with the steaks, setting a couple plates down on the table and guiding the mostly blind man down to sit again. "If you have trouble cutting it, let me know," she murmured, getting out utensils and pressing the handles into his hand.

Jim let off a quiet stream of Irish, translating, and Sebastian tilted his head in interest, before starting to cut into the steak, putting a large piece in his mouth and chewing ravenously.

"Christ, that's handy," she muttered, then dug in herself - she was almost as malnourished as Sebastian was, and even though she'd had a week and half's head start on rectifying the matter, she still devoured whatever was put in front of her. Eating with Jim there was a little unnerving. It felt a bit like a witch was watching her fatten up. She wondered what on earth had compelled him to stay.

"I figured it might be useful," he nodded, sitting back, attention mostly on Moran as the man wolfed down the steak. "What the hell were you two doing, letting your guard down like that?" he asks, voice more exasperated and tired than angry.

She let out a long breath, giving her steak a dejected prod. "We were both drunk, and this place was only a few blocks away. It's my fault, either way. I wanted to get out of HQ for a while, eat-in. Stupid of me."

"Not stupid, but getting drunk out in public was. You both know better than that. Now we may have lost Moran." He stared at the man who had finished his steak and was turning his knife over in his hands, reaching out to take it before it became an issue.

"Yeah. I know," she said quietly, returning to eating, even though she no longer felt hungry.

"An bhfuil tú a aithint dúinn, Sebastian? Tá mé Jim. Tá sí Lorna. Táimid tar éis obair le chéile le fada an lá."

Moran looked up at his name, and tilted his head a little. "Tá sé cloiste agam do chuid focal ... do guthanna roimh. A bhfad ó shin."

Jim nodded. "He says our voices are familiar, but that's about it."

Her eyes tightened a little, but that was the most of her reaction. She nodded a little, finishing off her steak. "Ask him if he remembers how he got in the root cellar."

Jim nodded a little, and translated, listening as Moran asked a question, and they exchanged a few phrases. "He didn't know what I was talking about at first. He calls it 'the darkness'. Says he 'became the words' there. Nonsense."

She ran a hand through her hair, sighing. "Solitary really fucks people up... I don't know what to do with him now, honestly."

"Neither do I," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "What might jog his memory?"

"I don't know," she huffed, leaning back in her chair, looking weary. "I don't think just talking to him's gonna do it, do you? And we can't show him shit. And I'm _not_ putting a gun in his hand when he's like this..."

"No. For once, I agree with you. Threats won't work here." He sighed. "He seems to trust you. You'll be in charge of his recovery. If I'm useful, translating, then I'll stay. If not I will request that you update me every hour or so."

"Until he starts using more English, you're useful. It seems like communicating with him in Irish is almost as hard as it is," she shrugged, rubbing her eyes. "I figure our best bet is sense memory. Food, the smell of laundry detergent, that sort of thing."

He nodded in agreement, looking over at Sebastian, who was tracing fingers over his bandaged arms again.

"Cén fáth a bhfuil tú ag carve na focail?"

Moran looked up and without hesitation responded "Mothaithe, tá siad mo chompánach."

"Right, well, not that this conversation isn't enlightening, but I'm going to start rooting around this place, see if I can't find something that will bring something back to him," she snorted, standing up. "Holler if you need me, blah blah blah."

"I was going to translate, but if you're going to be sarcastic about it," he muttered, before switching back over to Irish and returning his attention to Moran, who had shifted to sitting on the ground, leaning back against the table leg, eyes closed.

Lorna nodded, sparing one last glance to Sebastian before getting up and heading for the other room. She was going to scour the place. Damn if she was going to let him get put down like a dog.

* * *

It took her three hours working her way through each room of the spacious apartment before she found something. Music. Lots of it. _Country_ music. "You fuckin' kidding me? This is what you listen to? No wonder you despise pop," she muttered under her breath, looking through the CDs and vinyl he had, and picking one that she knew. _Can't Hardly Stand It - Charlie Feathers._ It took her a little while to find where he'd stashed the record player, and then she had to remember how to use it, but when it finally worked, she jumped a little. He had speakers installed through the entire house.

Sebastian jumped, too, but only a few seconds later he smiled, nodding along slightly. "Is breá liom an t-amhrán... Charlie Feathers." Jim nodded in agreement, watching closely. It was on the second chorus that Sebastian started singing along, quietly, but very solidly in English.

Lorna eventually made her way back downstairs, even though stairs were still hard on her, and wandered back into the kitchen, and immediately felt relieved. _English._ That was a good damn place to start.

A few songs later the record eventually hit it's stopping point, but Sebastian kept singing quietly to himself, switching between Irish and English seemingly at random, sometimes in the middle of lines, eyes closed.

She sat at the kitchen table in silence, just watching him, hoping that this really had helped, that he would get better. If he didn't, she wasn't sure what she was going to do.

Eventually he stopped singing, and Jim considered him for a moment before saying "Sebastian, le do thoil éisteacht what I am saying. Can you understand me?" Moran looked up at the Irish, but didn't blink at the transition to English.

"Tá."

Jim nodded. "Is féidir leat in English?"

There was a moment of silence, before he said "Yes."

Lorna let out a quiet breath of relief. "Well, that's one thing solved. I was worried I was going to have to call my third-grade teacher, ask for some speaking tips."

"Seems like he pays better attention if you start in Irish, but that will hopefully wear off," he muttered, eyebrows furrowed as he considered the sniper.

"Hm. I'll try to keep that in mind. Look up a few catchphrases, maybe, to get me started," she murmured, running her fingers absently back and forth across the tabletop. "How did you know where this place was, by the way? Or is that a stupid question?"

"I know- and have access to- all of his apartments save one. He's my bodyguard. I need to know where he is." He glanced at the man now tracing the grain of the wood on the table. "We used to have drinks in his eastside flat after victories."

Lorna nodded, deciding not to comment. She had to wonder what had changed over the years that they'd stopped going back to one of Sebastian's flats for drinks. Oddly, she'd seemed to have taken Jim's place, in that respect. But since she had no desire to know what he thought of her and Moran, she kept the question to herself. "Honestly, I could use a drink. But it's not even three. Probably shouldn't revert to that level of alcoholism yet."

"No," Moran agreed quietly, nodding slightly to himself. Jim smirked. "Well, there you have it."

She smiled. She had no idea what was going on in that head of his, but it was good to hear him say something that made sense.

There were another few minutes of silence before Moran asked "Why am I here?"

"Like, existentially, or... Sorry, not funny. You might need to clarify a little more, though."

"Why am I _here_ ," he said again, rapping knuckles on the table.

She nodded a little. "This place is actually yours. One of... an adjective between several and many. We brought you here because... well, I don't think the normal place we stay would be good for you."

"The darkness?" he asked curiously, turning his head in her direction.

"No, no, that was... an anomaly. That was a root cellar. Your, uh... long lost half-sister tossed you in there. We lived in a place like this, before that. It was smaller, but I guess you can't really tell right now. But you don't remember your time before the root cellar, and that... concerns us."

"Why?" he asked, fingers still tracing over the wood grain again and again, as if he were memorizing it.

"You're..." she trailed off, unsure how to continue. "Well, I care about you, and Jim's invested. Neither of us want to see you.. lost."

"Tá caillte mé?"

"No, you're not lost yet," Jim sighed, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. "You're just being an idiot."

"No, he's not," Lorna retorted, giving Jim an exasperated look. "He was in solitary, in pretty much cave darkness, for _three months._ My captivity was a different but mostly equal level of shitty, but it was the kind of fuckery that didn't make me lose track of... _everything._ Then there's his father, who we can blame literally all of this on," she growled, then cut herself off, because there was too much anger gathering up in her, and she didn't want to alarm Sebastian.

"I'm tired," Moran said finally, deciding to ignore most of what he'd just heard and closing his eyes, putting his head on the table again.

"No, no, c'mon, let's get you on the couch, at least," she sighed, getting up and walking over to him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

He sighed, but stood slowly out of his chair. The white shirt that had once fit with an attractive snugness now hung loose on him, draped across bony shoulders. He shuffled after Harrison as she guided him towards the couch and lay down with a sigh, hands prodding the softness curiously for a few moments before he drifted off.

She returned to the kitchen with a sigh and sank back into a chair, rubbing her eyes. "If you have a nutritionist on payroll, or can find one soon, I'd appreciate it. I can't be responsible for coming up with a meal plan for someone that emaciated."

He nodded. "It wouldn't be a bad idea for both of you to be on some sort of structured diet," he agreed. "I'll get someone by tomorrow." He glanced into the other room, and shook his head a little. "If I have to put him down, I'm going to be furious," he said calmly.

She sighed, resting her cheek on her hand, looking towards the other room. "You have to put him down, I don't know if I'll stick around. No reason to."

He was quiet for a beat. "You realize what that would mean for you," he pointed out.

Her eyes flicked back to him, dead calm. "I didn't say you were going to have to send someone after me. I'll do it myself."

He nodded at that, unaffected. "I'd hate to lose two assets, but I can't stop you, so that's that. Would you rather we keep him around then? Drooling on his shirt and spilling out company secrets, not recognizing you, with the vision of a newborn cat?"

"I'm not saying that," she sighed, shaking her head a little. "I'm not trying to.. manipulate you into keeping him around, if he doesn't turn back into who he was. I'm saying that if he's lost, there's no reason for me to stay. The only thing that kept me going before him was the job, and that's gone now."

"I could still use you," he sighed. "Very well. Especially if we lose him. I'll need a chief of staff. If I can avoid bringing someone in from outside, that's all the better."

"Boss... it isn't about whether or not I have a purpose," she shook her head, letting out a huff and leaning back in her chair, hands in her lap. "I am.. not a happy person. I know you don't care, but it's part of my explanation. Grifting was an escape. I could be someone else for a day or two. Someone happier. I'm not an alcoholic for the fun of it, I'm an alcoholic because it's a rather flimsy band-aid keeping me from going back to heroin. The fucking _ecstasy_ of that shit..." She sighed, falling silent for a moment. "But grifting is gone, now. The alcohol will never be enough to fill that hole. Moran is the only thing left to me that makes me feel like I'm alive, and not a walking corpse."

He sighed. "Yes, yes, all very heartfelt. Like I said, do what you like. I couldn't care less. I'm here because waiting is boring. Things will resolve, one way or another, and I'll move on."

"Cool," she shrugged, grabbing her phone from off the table and pulling her knees up to her chest in the chair. She didn't want him here; he made her on edge. But there was nothing to do about that but ignore him.

Jim stood, walking over to the other room to watch Moran as he slept. His thoughts kept turning to when he had thought the sniper would die, months ago now. The panic and anger and... pain... that had gripped him. Now the thought of potentially putting the man down put an illogical and uncomfortable knot in his stomach. The truth was he _could_ care less. A lot less. He usually did. But something about the man on the couch...

He sighed and left the pointless train of thought where it was.

Eventually she got up and passed him, limped up the stairs, and crawled into bed, feeling cold and a little bit lost herself, and fell asleep, despite the time of day. Her last thought was a hope that she didn't have nightmares while there was no one around to make her feel safe again.

* * *

Jim spent the night in the armchair, keeping an eye on Sebastian- purely for curiosity's sake, he told himself- but it was mostly boring. Aside from quiet muttering in Irish, the sniper stayed asleep.

Her hopes, of course, were not heeded by her subconscious mind. She came back down the stairs at 3, not even looking once at Jim as she passed him, and walked into the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets until she found the liquor. She grabbed a bottle at random and sat down on the floor with it, pressing a hand to her mouth, trying to keep herself together, silent.

Oddly enough, the small sounds seemed to rouse Moran out of his sleep, and Jim made no move to stop him as he ghosted towards the noise, barely and by pure luck avoiding catastrophic shin contact with the end table. He stopped at the kitchen door, heard the hitching breaths. "Are you alright?"

"No," she breathed, clapping a hand over her mouth as a sob welled up in her throat, her entire body shaking. She took a long swig from whatever the bottle was, then pressed her head back against the cabinet, not bothering to wipe away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks and onto her shirt. "I-It's okay, just.. go back to bed."

He walked forward slowly, listening to her, finding her blurred shape in the gloom. He slid his hands along the counter, hands finding a drawer that they remembered, even if his mind didn't. He crouched in front of her, holding the steak knife out handle first, expression genuine. "The words help."

She took it from him, but only to put it back on the counter above her, shaking her head, sniffling. "They- they're not going to help me. I've been cut into enough without doing it with my own hands, Seb," she shook her head again, drawing her knees up to her chest and leaning her forehead into them, breath shuddering. "Three _months._ And I _always_ knew what he was going to do the next day, I always got to dread it, count the days until the worst one in the cycle and then do it all over again. _Three months._ He died in three minutes."

He frowned, trying very hard to understand all of her words, but his concentration still wavered. "Someone hurt you?"

"Yes," she whispered, lifting her head only to take another drink before setting it back down. "Many, many times. Different ways. Some worse than others."

"Why?" he asked quietly, reaching out to touch her face again, tracing the cut he felt before.

"I hurt him first. Months ago. A long time, now. I hurt him pretty bad. But I was angry. He... he'd been very cruel to a friend of mine," she replied, almost soundlessly, trembling ever so slightly under his touch.

His hand traced down her neck, stopping at the ridge of a scar that ran from beneath one ear to beneath another.

"...I hurt you..."

Her teary eyes flicked up at him in the darkness, sharp beneath the water. "I dared you to," she replied quietly. "I dared you to kill me. But you didn't do it. What do you remember?"

"You tasted good," he whispered. Memories were jumbled, coming back in flashes.

 _The knife was hot in his hand as it trembled against a soft throat. Blood hit the ground in thick drops._

 _In the alley, the woman struggled in his grip. He bit down, ripped her throat out with his teeth, blood dripping down his chin as he dropped her lifeless body. He couldn't see her face._

 _Still the knife hesitated, dug in, trembled, repositioned, started a new cut-_

 _Blood across his tongue as he licked the knife-_

 _The knife clattered to the floor at the same time it plunged into a heart-_

Moran curled into a tighter crouch, pressing his head to his knees, hands covering his ears as he trembled, breaths coming short.

She slid the bottle to the side with a clumsy push, moving to him, getting on her knees and gently prying his hands away from his head, pulling him close, through hitched breaths and hard swallows. "Shh.. it's okay. It's okay," she murmured, sliding a hand into his hair. "We've... we've done some fucked up shit, Sebastian. But it doesn't matter. Bloodlust or survival, it doesn't matter. It's okay."

The world around him was melting into dark shadows, prey calling him, his body trembling as the words burned on his arms and in the air and on his tongue, his head on her chest as he tried to keep claws on reality, but reality was finding new meanings, and his claws sunk into bodies and skin, and blood, so much blood...

"Lorna, get away."

He didn't know who Lorna was, but the word was important. Somewhere deep in him had shoved those words forward to his confused tongue and he had spit them out bitterly.

The words made something in her tense up, sink into cautiousness, but she merely leaned back a little, frowning, running a thumb across his too-sharp cheek. "Hey, are you alright? Can I do something?"

"I... I can't... I killed you," he whispered. "I killed you so so many times. I want to do it again."

"No, no, you've never killed me," she murmured, brow furrowed in the dark. "I'm alive. You've done a lot of violent things to me, but I never died. I even liked some of them. It's alright. Just take a deep breath."

He tried, the air rushing in but doing nothing as he shook. "No. No you're alive. It's okay. Why did I try to kill you? So many times I killed you... I killed you because you were dead..."

A tiny bit of realization nipped at her ankles. "I.. have a vague idea of what you might be talking about. I think you might have been trying to save yourself."

He sighed, rubbed at his eyes, trembling. "Who are you?" he whispers.

"I don't know what you're asking," she shook her head. "Are you asking who am I to you?"

"Why would I care who you were to anyone else?" he muttered, hands gripping his hair.

"We live together. It used to be just casual sex, but... I don't know. We started caring. I think the time we spent locked together in a room, as prisoners, is what really sealed the deal," she whispered, letting out a long breath. "I love you. You're the only person I've ever loved."

"Then why would I try to kill you?" he asked, trying to process. He didn't remember her. "Why don't I remember you?"

"The one and only time you've tried to kill me was because you didn't want to admit that what we had was beyond an employee-employer relationship," she replied quietly, shrugging a little. "I was angry, so angry that you wouldn't let me help you, and it just... snowballed. I don't know why you can't remember me. You can't remember Jim, either. You had to be coaxed back into English," she reminded, soothing a hand down his back.

He shook his head, pulling away a little. "I don't understand. I don't. I don't... Who hurt you? I can hurt them. I need to hurt someone.'

"I already killed him. I'd offer rough sex, but I don't think either one of us is capable," she sighed. "Jim can have somebody brought in."

"No, nonono this is wrong. I'm wrong, my head... I'm all wrong..." He hissed.

"You're just a little fucked up right now, it's okay," she murmured, trying not to sound too worried.

He closed his eyes tightly, and though the words were forbidden he started murmuring them anyway, over and over under his breath, the familiar cadence and rhythm smoothing away his terror.

She pulled him close again, in silence this time, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and rocking him, eyes squeezed shut. _It'll be okay. Everything will be okay._

He eventually drifted to sleep in her arms, lips stilling, body falling slack against her.

She remained there, back against the cabinets, cheek resting on the top of his head, and cried in silence, willing Jim to stay out of it, to leave her alone while she was vulnerable. Maybe, for once, she'd get her wish.

There was blood in the water, but for once, Jim didn't have the motivation to go track it down. He was almost concerned for himself. His cruelty was rapidly deflating in this situation, which was completely unheard of. He wondered if he was sick. He sighed, dropped the idea, and pulled out his laptop to find a nutritionist.

* * *

Charlie Feathers - Can't Hardly Stand It

Fall Out Boy - Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea


	58. No One Knows About Healthy Coping Mechs

She didn't fall back asleep again that night, for which she was almost grateful. But when the sun started streaming in through the window with the tell-tale orange of dawn, she _was_ exhausted. She sighed and closed her eyes against the sunlight. She'd made it another night. Her eleventh since killing the elder Moran.

Sebastian woke up as soon as the light hit his eyes, hissing in pain and a bit of sleepy panic, covering his eyes quickly and rolling onto his side.

"Sorry," she whispered, reaching out to brush him with her fingers. "I should get you a blindfold. Help protect your eyes."

"Why is it so bright?" he groaned, rubbing at his eyes to dull the pain.

"It's dawn. The sun's coming up. Your windows happen to be at a great angle to catch it rise. Or, you know, not so great, as the case may be," she murmured, then got to her feet with a grunt, muttering a swear as she almost kicked the open bottle of liquor over and got onto the counter so she could pull the shades down. "Better?"

"Yes," he sighed, curling up on the floor. "The sun didn't used to be that bright..."

"No, it did," she shook her head, picking the bottle off the floor and putting it on the counter so she wouldn't spill it before heading for the fridge. "Your eyes just used to be a lot more accustomed to it."

He had memories of sunrises. Lots of sunrises, from big windows or from the top of a roof, lying on his stomach, hand on something cool to the touch. Death.

He listened to her move around, trying to formulate. "I've killed a lot of people."

"Yes," she said calmly, pulling a carton of eggs out of the fridge that she'd had sent to the flat ahead of them. "So have I. Less, though, I think. I'm not sure how many people Jim's killed by his own hand. Has to be more than one, certainly."

"I tried to kill him. We're enemies," he said calmly. "I tried to kill you, too. Now you've taken me here. I don't know what you want from me..."

"You're not enemies," she sighed, getting out a frying pan. "He's your employer. But he was being a mega dick - I don't care if he hears me say that - and you kinda lost it. He had you put in prison for three months, as a stunt. I stopped you from killing him. There was some shit that happened after that, but you guys worked it out. We brought you here because we want to help you. And, you know, in doing that we help ourselves. Jim gets his chief of staff and bodyguard back, and I get back... hm. Not sure what to call it. You're not a labels kinda guy."

He tucked his knees up against his chest, considering that. "What's wrong with my eyes?" he asked finally. "I don't think this is normal."

She let out a long breath, cracking open a few eggs onto the frying pan with an accompanying sound of sizzling. "We... the extraction team and me.. we didn't think to cover your eyes before taking you out of that cellar. The doctor says we'll know more about your condition in a week. Hopefully it'll heal."

"Ah..." he said quietly, sighing quietly. There was too much information, he wasn't sure how to handle all of it. He needed time to process. "Who was I? Before?"

She was silent for a beat, unsure how to answer. "..Your name is Sebastian Moran. I don't know what your middle name is, or if you have one. Not sure how old you are, let alone know your birthday. You're ex-military. Dishonorably discharged, but that's a whole story by itself. You're a sniper. A really good one. But you know your way around a lot of weapons, not just rifles." She got out a spatula to prod the eggs. "You're a bit of a hardass, but honestly, I'm not sure if you'd be alive if you weren't. With most people, you're as cold as they come. Used to be that way with me, too."

He nodded just a little. "Doesn't sound like I was very pleasant. There's so much to take in... All I have are pictures but they don't mean anything..."

"It'll come back to you. You're already getting some of it back, in pieces, right?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. "And we've barely been here a day. That's good progress."

He sighed, closing his eyes, considering what she'd told him. He had no reason to trust her, no way to tell if she was lying. "Am I free to leave?"

She glanced back at him again, frowning. "I- I guess? But you're literally legally blind at the moment, so I don't know if that's a _good_ idea... And you might run into somebody who knows you, but you don't know them. That could be..bad."

"Right," he sighed, leaning back against the cabinets, rubbing his hands over his arms and frowning in annoyance at the bandages, starting to wind them off.

She got a few plates out and carefully scooped out a few eggs each for the both of them, setting them down on the table. "Alright, breakfast. Get your protein. I'm worried you're literally going to fall apart on the floor."

He stood, leaving the bandages piled neatly on the floor, and followed her voice to the plate, reaching out to take one as carefully as he could, trying to judge the distance of the blur. He wasn't hungry, but he'd eat anyway.

"Do you want a fork?" she raised her eyebrows, eating her own with one across from him. "If not, it's cool. Just... offering." He didn't seem to trust her. She couldn't blame him, of course, but she was disappointed.

"Ah..." he sighed, nodding a bit. "Probably for the best. Not used to it."

"So.. yes?" she raised her eyebrows, sliding a utensil his way just in case. "Sorry, your pattern of speech is a little different to what I'm used to from you."

He nodded, feeling around and picking it up, turning it over a few times and holding it a bit awkwardly as he returned to eating. It took him a few frustrated attempts of trying to get the eggs up to his mouth without them slipping off before he gave up, tossing the fork aside with a clatter and returning to finger eating.

She decided not to comment, just wolfing down her eggs in silence. If he had any more questions, he was free to ask.

He sat back a few minutes later, wiping his fingers off on his shirt and starting to trace them over the words carved into his skin slowly, eyes closed, pressing his long nails in just enough to break open the new scabs.

"Hey. Don't do that. You're going to make it worse. I don't want you getting really infected, okay?" she sighed, reaching across the table to grab his hand.

He frowned, pulling his hand back. "They are my words," he said firmly, resuming his task. "They stay."

"Don't rip open your scabs. I mean it," she scolded, frowning. "If you want to keep them when you're a little healthier you can get them tattooed for all I care. For now, humor me."

"The words are the pain. They can't be separated," he said firmly, almost angrily. "Without the words there is silence."

"If you don't want silence, you talk to me, yeah?" she asked sharply, taking a deep breath. "I'm serious. Stop hurting yourself. Or if you don't want to talk to me, I'll put some more music on. The television. Whatever."

He let out a snarl of frustration, starting to mutter blackly in Irish.

"Look, d'ya want a drink?" she sighed, leaning back in her chair to snatch the bottle back off the counter. "Cause I'm having one."

"No," he snarled, standing and heading out of the room, fingers trailing the walls, blood trailing down one arm slowly.

Lorna slid off the chair and scooted back into the spot she'd occupied the previous night, taking a long chug from the bottle, and getting ready to be right soused.

He felt his way around the first floor for a while, ignoring the man, Jim, he could hear breathing and typing in what he assumed was a living room. The place was too big. He knew he couldn't leave, but maybe he could find a place where they wouldn't find him.

Finally he stumbled upon it, in a room far from the other occupants. It seemed like a closet, but it was small and empty, and with a little work he could probably jam it closed. Without hesitation he climbed in and shut the door tightly, quietly. Finally, in the darkness, he would be left in peace with his words.

She drank irresponsibly, as she felt she could, given that Jim was in the flat and he was just as capable of caring as Moran as she was. She drank until it was a lot harder to think, and the pain was a lot harder to feel.

He traced the words until they came alive again, broken open fresh, disconnecting his skin and connecting his mind with his body, pulling him together like stitching. Confusion faded. It didn't matter who he had been. He was the words.

* * *

It was around dinner time that Jim found his motivation returning to him, and he stood, walking into the kitchen to consider Harrison, who was pissed sideways. "You told me yourself that that wasn't going to help," he said dryly.

"Wrong," she snorted, shaking her head. "I told you that I probably shouldn't revert to this level of alcoholism. _Well._ Too bad. I feel like shit. I'm going to drink until that stops."

"Brilliant plan, truly," he said sarcastically. "And who's going to take care of dear little Sebastian? Me? Ah, yes, that will go very well. I was born a nurturer, did you know?"

"Fuck off," she hissed, taking another sip from the bottle. "You're an international crime lord. I think you can handle one fucking afternoon of babysitting. Why the hell else are you still here? I'm a wreck. Leave me alone."

"Babysitting isn't my job," he returned with quiet anger. "You want him babysat? I'll put him in the med bay at headquarters. But my guess is that he'll do nothing there but panic and get worse, and at the end of the week I'm going to be putting a bullet in his skull. You want him to live so badly? Clean up your act. You can fall apart later."

She slammed the bottle down and lurched to her feet, flipped him the bird, and staggered off to find Sebastian, seething and furious.

He watched her go, before walking over to put the liquor bottle back in the cabinet. He found a padlock in the junk drawer and closed it around the handles. No one here needed alcohol at the moment.

* * *

It took her near 20 minutes to find him, drunk as she was, in a place this big. "What the fuck are you doing in the goddamn linen closet?" she slurred, leaning heavily on the door frame, then stepped in and closed it behind her, thumping back against the wall and sliding down to sit.

"It's dark and alone," he said quietly, wrinkling his nose at the waft of liquor smell that accompanied her. He resumed his task of carving his words into the wall, having completed his work with his body for the time being.

"Jim scolded me for leaving you alone, so, here I am," she sighed, letting her head thunk against the wall, to stop the room from spinning, then pushed off and crawled drunkenly into his lap, making an unhappy noise as she found him bloody. "C'mon, Tiger stop pickin', huh? Please?

He shifted in surprise when she climbed on top of him, unused to so much contact. She _had_ said they were lovers at some point, but the sudden transition was disarming. He sat very still.

"The words have to stay."

"Ugh, fine, I don't want to argue about it while I'm smashed," she mumbled, burrowing into his neck with a long sigh. "I don't want t' think at all."

It took him the next few minutes to slowly relax his muscles, shifting a bit to get more comfortable when it became apparent she wasn't moving. He eventually leaned back into a pile of towels, warm and fairly content, arms stinging pleasantly. "How long have we known each other?"

She hummed for a moment, trying to think. "It's been... what, maybe three, four years? Five, even? I don't know. Time isn't real."

"Oh," he said quietly, nodding a little and trying to remember. He wished he could see her face. That was starting to bother him more and more. In the dark, though, it didn't matter.

"Mm. I remember meeting you. You pushed some idiot down a flight of stairs and into me. I about stabbed you before I realized who you were."

He frowned. "Why would I do that?" He had a vague memory, perhaps. Anger, soft flesh and clothing as he shoved...

"I _think_ he told you that he'd give you respect when you showed that you were 'actually dangerous'. I'm not sure. I got the wind knocked out of me," she chuckled, slinging her arms around his bony shoulders. "I was terrified. I'd only ever seen you from across a room, or down a hallway. I dunno if you even knew who I was yet."

"I don't either... What happened?" he shifted an arm around her, almost instinct. She was warm and comfortable.

"I think you made a joke about my taking a man falling down a staircase and into my chest surprisingly well for my size. You called me shrimp from then on. Not sure how long it took you to get my real name in your head, but I did get you to drop the nickname."

He smiled at that. The nickname had a sort of fondness attached to it somewhere. "Shrimp."

"Tiger," she replied with a chuckle, letting her head roll back a little before curling back into him, limbs loose and sluggish. She was really quite drunk. "I dunno _how_ Jim nailed that one so well. The _teeth_ on you, I swear..."

"Jim calls me that?" he asked, surprised. "That seems... unusual..."

"Jim's not _usual,"_ she snickered, nipping the side of his neck, then cleared her throat, reaching to smooth a hand over the slight mark. " _Sorry_ , sorry, really maybe a lil' too soaked. But yeah, you and him 'ave a strange relationship. Never really knew wha' was happenin' with you guys."

He started slightly as she bit him, surprised, though not _necessarily_ in a bad way, and nodded just a little. "Maybe you are... By relationship, you mean...?"

"Just working," she shrugged, then made a thoughtful sound. "From contextual clues, I don't think you've ever been more. Dunno. I think we've both thought 'bout fucking him, though. Maybe I'm jus' saying that cause I'm drunk."

He shrugged a little, unsure. "I suppose..." He sighed, closing his eyes, thinking. "Why are you so drunk?"

She let out a long breath, closing her eyes, trying to keep herself from becoming upset. "My... my three months were a lil' different than yours, Seb."

"The man who hurt you," he remembered quietly, and held her a little closer.

"Yes," she whispered, trying to control her breathing. She wasn't doing a very good job of it. "I.. I want to forget it. All of it."

"No, you don't," he said quietly, rubbing her arm just a little. "That isn't good, either." But he tucked her into a spot under his chin where she seemed to fit.

"Isn't it?" she swallowed, trying not to break down. "These nightmares... I just... M' so tired of reliving it. Killing them's never enough. Never _enough."_

He didn't know what to do, her panic fueling his own, but he tried to keep it at bay, doing the only thing he could think of and rubbing her back slowly, starting to murmur his words as quietly and soothingly as he could.

She slowly calmed, listening to his heartbeat under the children's rhyme, the liquor still circulating in her system helping her relax back into him. It helped that he was comforting her the same way he always did. The same way he used to. "Gaelic is such a beautiful language," she whispered, eventually. "I always wished I'd learned it. Just.. never came up, you know?"

"Is that what it is?" he asked quietly, considering. "I suppose it would be. I'm... Irish..." He trailed off, then shook his head a little as if to clear it. It was hard to concentrate on much for too long.

She let out a hum, back in happy-drunk mode, and curled further into him. Even so emaciated, he radiated heat, and with the frequency that she was cold these days, it was very attractive. "I hope you get better soon," she sighed wistfully, "You're not going to get any inside jokes like this..."

"No," he agreed, yawning. He was used to sleeping every few hours or so. Bloodloss, malnutrition, and boredom did that to you. "I'm sorry I don't remember you."

"No need to apologize for little old me," she murmured, "I'll live. Or I won't. Whatever."

He sighed, and shrugged a little. "It's all very confusing. Sometimes I feel like I know you but..."

"I know," she sighed, "I know. I just don't know how to help you remember me all the way."

"Neither do I. But I'll get there." The words would help him think. They always did.

"I sure hope so," she murmured, then fell into silence, and then into a doze. If he wanted to keep talking, he was welcome to continue the conversation, but she didn't have the energy to do it herself.

"You shouldn't fall asleep on top of me in the closet," he said gently when he noticed her drifting, smirking just a bit and poking her. "Jim will think something's up."

She snickered, giving him another nip, fingers curling in his shirt. "Jim should just live on the assumption that if we're alone in an enclosed space together, _something_ is going to be up."

It was instinct, really, that drove his next move. She bit him, so he leaned down and bit her back, teeth closing gently but firmly around the side of her throat. He pulled away a moment later, a bit confused, an apology on his lips.

She was already shifting to straddle him, running blunt nails down his shirt-covered sides, her breath already faster. " _Fuck,_ Sebastian," she breathed, kissing him hard.

Her nails broke open carvings on his sides, blood seeping into his shirt, and he growled slightly against her lips, kissing her back hungrily, instinct taking over.

The last sober part of her brain spoke up, stating the dozen reasons why this wasn't a good idea, but the majority, the drunk majority, simply continued partying. "Christ, I love it when you do that," she moaned, trapping his lower lip between her teeth devilishly, and then smirking. "Sometimes I'm difficult with you just so you'll make that noise."

"I'll keep that in mind," he sighed, pushing his tongue past her lips and pulling her tighter against him.

She gave him all she had, so thankful to be close to him again, even if there were pieces of him missing, even if he didn't truly know who she was. She kissed him the same way she'd always kissed him; hungrily, impatiently. It didn't matter what he remembered in his head. His body would remember for him.

It did remember. His hands slid up her back of their own accord, scraped across her shoulder blades, gripped her arms tight before shifting to get a gentle grip in her hair, his teeth nipping her lip.

She arched into him, a shudder going down her spine at the hand in her hair. One that was both good and bad.

 _A strong grip in her hair, rough but kind, teeth scraping down her throat, a growl, vibration passing from his chest into hers-_

 _Sharp pain in her scalp, balance suddenly thrown to the right, yanked into a hard chest-_

 _His fingers in her hair as she cries, the only real feeling of safety she's ever known-_

 _A hand holding, straining her head back like it's on a leash, the word 'bitch' ringing in her ears-_

She let out a ragged breath, hoped it would lost amongst the other happier ones, and kissed him harder, trying to wipe the memories from her head.

Her reaction seemed... off. But he couldn't piece it together and then she pressed into him harder and the thought was lost amongst the others that were emerging.

 _Fucking her against a wall, her nails dragging furrows down his back._

 _Staring her down over a shit poker hand on a plane, daring her to call his bluff. Laughing in triumph when she doesn't._

 _Holding her tightly after... something ... had happened, feeling her trembling slightly, adrenaline racing after the scare..._

 _Making love to her, that rare time, no rush, no anger, and promising himself it meant nothing..._

Both of them were distracted now, thoughts muddling up their movements, and she came to a halt first, dropping her head onto his shoulder, sucking in a harsh breath. "M' sorry. It's too.. too fresh for me. I can't do it. My _head..."_ She swallowed, hands clinging to his shirt. "I can't separate them. And m'not drunk enough to forget it."

He didn't say anything, just pressed his lips briefly to her forehead before pulling her against his chest. "It's fine," he whispered. "More than. Fuck... I'm so sorry. You never should have gotten pulled into all of this."

"I don't know what you mean. I don't think I got pulled into anything," she mumbled, shifting so she was curled up in his lap again.

"Why didn't you tell me it was my father who did this to you?" he asked quietly, still holding her close. He could feel his pulse in the words as they bled.

"You remember?" she whispered, almost dreading that he did. Now he would feel compelled to take a full assessment of the damage done to her. He wasn't going to like what he found. "I didn't tell you because you were.. a little unstable. I didn't see any point in telling you."

"I'm not unstable," he said quickly, fiercely. "I'm just... different." He took a slow breath. "But... yes, that brought some things back. My father among them."

"I was never pulled into anything, concerning your father. I went after him under my own free will," she sighed, staring into the darkness of the closet. "He got his payback."

"Sounds like he got a lot more than his payback," he muttered, working up to a good seethe.

"I could have used a little less of it, to be honest," she tried, jokingly, but it fell flat. She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself from getting upset. "I can't work anymore. Not as a grifter."

"Why not?" he asked, stomach tightening in concern. He tried to think what might have been done to end that, but she felt whole...

"I'm going to have quite the scar on my face. We'll match. Even if they could fix that, I have too many on the rest of me, now. I'm a desk worker now."

He tried to remember what his own face looked like, and remembered suddenly, saw the three disfiguring scars over his eye and nose. He remembered the feeling of the gash in her face with new clarity. "Fuck..."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Even if someone saw past that, I've too many on the rest of me. Your father was quite thorough in taking that from me."

He grit his teeth, taking a slow breath, anger flaring up wildly. A second later though it overpowered him and he let out a roar of frustration, driving his elbow back through the drywall in search of something solid to keep him grounded. It found nothing and his head thunked back, furious, defeated, feeling utterly helpless.

She remained still in his lap, thankful that he sounded almost nothing like his father. Riordan had looked enough like him to make everything that much worse. "Yeah, I'm afraid your coworkers might be a little less jealous of you now," she muttered, not even really trying to make her voice light. All of this was a nightmare. "I'm just... so relieved that it's over."

"Don't be stupid. You're gorgeous. You're always going to be gorgeous. I'm just... frustrated that you can't grift." He was quiet for a moment, then smirked weakly. "Perfect timing, anyway. Won't make a scrap of difference to me."

She let out a tired chuckle, then sighed. "Christ, I hope you get your vision back. I'm sorry. I should have been thinking."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Me too." Blindness had always been his biggest fear. Jim had lorded it over him, threatened him with it, twisted the fear into him further. Blindness made him vulnerable, turned him into prey. Took away who he was. _Christ..._ He suddenly felt like he was going to throw up.

She let out a long sigh, trying to keep the guilt from welling up in her throat, and nestled into him further. "Do you want to go get in a real bed?"

"Yeah," he said quietly, the life sorta drained out of his voice. He waited for her to shift out of his lap, then stood slowly. "Lead the way," he said meekly.

She opened the door, gently grabbed his hand, and pulled him after her to the guest bedroom, because he was blind and she was far too drunk to go up the stairs, and gently tugged him onto the bed.

He lay down, amazed that anything could be as soft as this, and for a moment he was distracted. But the question gnawing at his mind was hard to ignore. "Has Jim given a deadline yet?"

"For getting your memories back?" she sighed, resting her head on his chest. "Just vague mentions. Probably a week, or a little more. But that was when he didn't want you 'drooling and spouting company secrets,' and I think there's little danger of that now. You're... more yourself. That will assuage his fears."

"You do realize that I'm still useless," he pointed out quietly. "I'm... different... and at the very least I'm.. I can't see."

"What matters is that your memories are coming back faster than I could have hoped. Even if you're blind, you're still useful as chief of staff. It'll be okay," she said firmly, almost as if she was trying to convince herself. "It has to be."

"Don't kid yourself," he snorted. "If I am who you say I am- and I'm beginning to believe you- I have enemies. Lots of them. All who will be eager to take advantage of a fucking blind man."

"Almost no one knows where you are," she grouched, "And I'm still capable of killing people."

"I'm _fucking blind_ , Lorna!" he shouted finally. "You're not always going to be here. If at the end of this week Jim thinks I should put me down... I'm not going to argue."

She fell silent, jaw clenched, stomach rolling unpleasantly. She wouldn't tell him that if he wasn't around, she had no reason stick around. She wouldn't guilt him into staying.

He took a slow breath, fingers finding his words and digging in, feeling the blood well up a little around his nails. He was quiet for a few moments. "I don't want to live like this. I'm worse than useless."

"I know," she whispered, glad he couldn't see her face, see the tears that were threatening to spill over. "I understand." And she did. Grifting was gone, now. The administrative work, the handler job, it was child's play, nearly worthless. No reason to stay. No reason to fight.

He closed his eyes, lay back in the bed, and tried to imagine what the words must look like. He had scoured them into every part of his body. They owned him, kept him whole. They were his one certainty in all of this. The words would remain.

He fell asleep thinking them over and over.

She never fell asleep. The alcohol wore off and she lay there in silence for a long time, trying to keep her head empty, full of white noise. That only worked for so long.

She returned to the kitchen, fumbling in the dark for the liquor cabinet, swearing violently when it wouldn't open, slamming her hand against it once with a thud and the sound of shaken glass, and fell to her knees, face in her hands, body trembling with silent sobs. _I just want to forget._

Jim heard the commotion, and stood, walking slowly into the kitchen, observing for a long time. He finally shook his head a little, and walked back into the main room, picking up his phone. It was time for him to intervene.

The tears hurt; the gash on her face was just fresh enough for the salt to sting. But she held onto the pain, pressed her hands harder against it, a ragged sound finally escaping her. She wished with every fiber of her being to not remember the last three months, to just be unconscious without the nightmares, wished it until her lungs seized up and her teeth hurt from the grinding. Maybe Sebastian not recovering was for the best. Maybe it would be easier if her head was no longer in one piece.

* * *

Sebastian wasn't sure what time it was when he woke up, but he knew he was alone. He was starting to relish time alone. It was like the darkness, and he could make his words in peace. He sat up on the bed and started to carve the words out carefully, teeth grit and nostrils flared at the pain, relaxing slowly as it cleared his mind.

It took him about an hour to finish his words, and then he got up carefully and headed for the door, hands sliding over the walls to find his way into the main room.

Jim was waiting. "Sebastian," he said calmly. "Have a seat. Harrison, get in here."

It took her a few moments, but she appeared in the doorway, pale and haggard, and blood streaking down her arms from where she'd clawed bloody furrows into them. Her eyes were unfocused.

"Sit," Jim said sharply, pointing to a spot next to Moran. He waited until she'd lurched over, and straightened his jacket. "Neither of you are remotely fit for duty. However, neither are you, Harrison, in any sort of condition to provide the care that Moran is in need of. As such, I'm committing both of you to the infirmary in a private room. You will be allowed to share a room if you wish, but if that proves a problem I will reverse that decision. I'm having specialists brought in. This is non-negotiable."

"Fine," Lorna rasped, staring off into space. As it was, she was feeling a little unreal at the moment, and she was loathe to make that feeling go away by meeting eyes with anyone. "Sebastian can decide the second part. He used to like his space."

He sighed, thinking. He would likely not be allowed to create his words while in an infirmary, unless he had an ally... "I'd like to share a room."

She nodded, blankly. The circles under her eyes had gotten worse. Everything was getting worse. She had no idea how to tape herself back together and keep pieces from flying off.

"That's that, then. A car will be here in an hour. Do try not to bleed out before then." Jim turned away, walking out of the room.

"Is he always that pleasant?" Sebastian sighed.

"That was actually shockingly nice, for him," she sighed, absently rubbing her stinging forearms on her trousers, trying to wipe some of the blood off, and fell silent again. She felt too empty to speak.

"You're worse," he said quietly. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," she whispered, folding her hands together in her lap, making herself smaller without really trying. "There's nothing keeping me together anymore, now that I found you. I think I'll get worse."

"Normally I would be helping you," he said quietly. "But I'm not. I'm sorry. I should be."

"You don't need to be sorry," she sighed, giving up and putting her head in her hands, exhaustion clear in every part of her body.

He couldn't see much more than her slumped shadow, but reached out to touch her shoulder carefully, rubbing it slowly. "I wish I could make you better."

"I appreciate the thought," she replied quietly, leaning into his touch a little. She wished that, too. Not a lot of her wishes came true.

"I'm sorry I changed. You dealt with so much more than I did... No one hurt me in the darkness." He traced out one of his words on her shoulder carefully, gently.

"I think they're equally shitty, just vastly different genres," she shook her head, letting out a long breath. His touch was, at least, still soothing. "I honestly don't know which I'd have chosen, if given the choice."

"Neither," he said, laughing oddly and leaning back against the couch. "What are your words?"

"Words?" she frowned, then made an 'o' with her mouth. "Oh. I don't have any. I don't think I'd use words. Just memories."

"What are your memories, then?" He asked. "And what did you do to your arm? I can smell blood, not all mine."

"Sex, mostly. Maybe I'd throw in some heroin. And I..." she looked down at her bloodied arms. "I scratched them up. Not really on purpose. It was them or my scalp."

He nodded a little. "You shouldn't do that. They say I'm crazy 'cause I do that."

"I didn't mean to do it. I just... Jim locked the liquor cabinet. I didn't know how to cope. Still don't, really."

He sighed, thinking. "When we get to the infirmary, they're going to take away my words."

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "You can say them, if you want. I don't mind. As long as you throw in some decent conversation once in awhile."

"If you help me keep my words, I'll help you find alcohol or something," he offers.

She was silent for a moment. "What do you mean by keep?"

"Keep them," he said, as if it was obvious. He held out his arm and dug into a letter until it bled. "My words."

She let out a long breath, running a hand through her hair. "No... no, I'm sorry, Sebastian. I'm sorry. I want you to heal more than I want the alcohol. You're the only thing keeping me going, I can't just... give up."

He deflated a little. "No one understands. The words are what keep me together. Without them my brain falls apart..."

"You can find another way to keep yourself together. You're a tough son of a bitch, Moran," she murmured, gently taking his hand. "You'll think of something. I'll try to help keep you grounded. You can teach me the rhyme, maybe."

"No!" he shouted, yanking his hand out of her grip and standing up. "No, no, NO! I need my words! You... just... it doesn't matter! Nothing fucking _matters_ but the words!"

She flinched, hunkering down tense and on edge, jaw tight, eyes on his feet, ready for a blow that wasn't coming. "Sorry," she whispered, swallowing hard.

He heard the fear and tension in her voice, and instantly his expression changed. He sat on the floor, giving her the height and power, and put his hands on his head. "No, no, sorry sorrysorry... It's me... I know... I know I'm different..." He put his head on his knees. "I'll break open the cabinet. We can bring alcohol with us. Or I can find more there. Whatever you want. You just have to help me keep my words. They'll kill me, Lorna... If they take my words away I'll die."

"Fine, I'll help you," she sighed, reluctantly. "But don't break open the cabinet. They'll just confiscate whatever we bring."

"Thank you," he whispered, relieved. "Whatever you want. I'll help. I will."

"I don't know what I want," she shook her head, eyes closed. "I just want my head to be quiet for a little while."

He laughed. "My head is too quiet. You can have it." Then he sighed, and looked up, finding her dark blur among all the others. "When you know what you need, I'll help."

"Okay," she murmured, and leaned back against the couch, letting out a long breath. "I'm going to try and sleep a little. Wake me when the car comes."

He nodded, leaning against the couch and tracing his words quietly, reciting them in his head.

* * *

The ride to the infirmary was uneventful. Even without his memory he knew better than to bolt from Jim, and Lorna seemed to be of the same mind.

Lorna didn't pay much attention until they were led into their room. It was clear that it was hardly used - the decorations were far too nice, and there wasn't a speck of wear on the place. It was probably reserved for any long stays that Jim or someone of their rank would have to take. Comas, maybe. Or something like this. She paused by the door, looking over at Jim. "What kind of specialists are you bringing in?"

"Mental," he says, barely looking up from his phone. "A therapist for Sebastian that specializes in cases like his. She worked with those Chilean miners. And a woman to work with you, as well. She's worked with women in similar cases to yours."

She nodded and walked further into the room, sitting on a small sofa shoved into a corner, because it felt like the safest place in the room, pulling her knees up to her chest. She hoped that they weren't going to get standard infirmary food. That stuff was vile.

Sebastian put a hand on the wall, feeling around carefully until he made it to something soft, which proved to be a bed.

"You'll also be seeing more of the woman I brought in to look at his eyes. I'm not happy with the amount of improvement I've seen so far."

"I don't think anyone is," she sighed, looking wearily at Sebastian before switching her gaze to Jim. "So I'm confined to this room?"

"You'll be allowed some monitored time outside once you're deemed well enough, but other than that, yes. There's a full bathroom through that door."

She nodded, and pointed at the landline phone on the table between the two beds. "Can I order thai?"

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "You may order thai. That phone goes through the front desk. They will dial and connect you."

She nodded, but didn't move. It was mostly for later. "Thanks," she murmured, instead of acting. Then she stared at the wall across from her, hoping he'd leave.

He looked at them both one more time, then did just that, heading out the door without another word. It closed behind him, and there was the sound of a lock clicking into place.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself calm. _You're not in that basement again. You're not being held here against your will._

Sebastian leaned back against the wall next to the bed, starting to trace his words again, just to get used to the space. "What's it like here?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she murmured, looking over at him. "How does it look?"

He nods. "The room. What's it like?"

"It's nice," she shrugged, looking around. "I suspect the paint's not even lead-based. And it's a good color. Nothing that reminds me of vomit. I don't think it's used often. Too much money in here. I can tell from here that the mattresses are good quality."

"What color is it? Are there chairs? How big is it? I can't see anything..." He sighed in frustration.

"It's... maybe two feet square bigger than your, frankly, _enormous_ kitchen," she started, eyes roving the room, looking for details for him. "I'm sitting on a leather sofa against the wall that looks like it's come straight out of a high-end therapist's office. The walls are a mint green, and the light fixture is simple, but you know, elegant. Haven't seen the bathroom yet. Carpet's nice. Plush. Uh... the bed's are fitted with red sheets. A little odd, but I guess they don't show blood."

He nods just a little, pleased by that. His words would show less. "Thank you. I'm sorry. I think I'm used to inspecting rooms closely. Any windows?"

"One. It's small, near the ceiling. I'd have to stand on the bed, on my tiptoes, to see out it," she sighed, not happy with that fact. She went stir-crazy without a view of the outside. "No one could get an angle on us by rifle."

He smiled a little at that. "Thank you." He was quiet for a bit, before asking "Do you feel safe?

"In this room, or with you?" she asked, leaning her head back against the wall.

"Both. I meant right now, but the second one is a good question too, now that you say that." He got to the end of one arm, to the partially carved word on his hand (before Lorna had taken his knife away) and finished it out with his nails as best he could.

She was quiet for a minute. "I don't feel safe. Not locked in this room. It feels like he's going to come through that door any minute. This room is nothing like that basement, but that feeling of being _trapped..."_ she let out a shuddering breath, shaking her head. "I don't distrust you, and I still love you, but it's... you're not who I know, not really. I trust your instincts. I don't know if I trust who you are, right now," she sighed, shaking her head. "I'm just fucking relieved that your face doesn't make me afraid. I was worried it would."

"I look like my father," he realized, nodding a little, gut twisting slightly at that. He closed his eyes. They were useless anyway. "Can I help you feel safe?"

"I don't know," she whispered, swallowing hard. It killed her that he was so close and yet not completely _there._ He came and went in waves; sometimes he seemed more like himself, and then it passed the next minute. "I just... I need time to pass quicker. The faster the memories fade, the easier it will be."

He sighed, shook his head a little. "I can't do that. Don't go to the darkness. Time is too slow there." He considered starting on his other arm, but he was tired. "When you were drunk you crawled right into my lap. If that's a safe place for you, that's okay. If not, that's okay too."

She was silent for a little while, staring up at the ceiling, then got up in silence and walked around the empty bed to his, crawling into his lap and curling up, taking a deep breath. He was still the same. He had to be.

He heard her coming and wasn't surprised when she crawled on top of him, just wrapped the arm not covered in fresh blood around her gently.

"Thank you for not hating me."

"Why would I hate you?" she murmured, relaxing into his warmth. "You haven't done anything to me."

"I got different," he said quietly. "I can't take the bad shit away anymore. My father hurt you, and on top of all that, I'm so useless that you have to take care of me even though I should be taking care of you. I've done a lot to you." He rubbed her back.

"None of that is your fault, Sebastian. What would be the point of holding any of that against you? I have enough strife in my head without railing against you for things you had no control over. I mean, you're still _you,_ deep down. Amnesia can't change that."

"I should have been better," he sighed, hugging her gently. "Maybe that's why I hate the darkness so much. There's nothing to fight but myself."

"You have always relished fighting other people," she snorted, rolling her eyes, then sighed. "I don't think you like to hear your own thoughts for too long. You need to occupy yourself or you start to corrode. I'm the same, except its just memories, and I fix it with substance abuse."

He nods a little. "I'm glad he's dead. My father," he said quietly. "Thank you for killing him."

"I didn't kill him for you," she shook her head, her voice quiet. "I put him in the hospital for you. I fucked him up in his own home for you. But I killed him because I couldn't let him go."

"I know you didn't kill him for me," he said, shaking his head a little. "But still... thank you." He kissed the top of her head gently. "Sometimes it's hard for me to think right. The times when it's easier I promise I will help you if I can. The times it isn't... I'm sorry if I'm awful."

"It's okay. And thank you," she sighed, nestling into him a little. "I'm not exactly... 100% together a lot of the time. I start to break down fast, and then it's just a matter of time."

He hugged her, and sighed. "Weird what so little time will change..."

"I just can't believe we made it out of it alive. So far," she muttered, looking mournfully down at the words scrawled into his skin. She knew now that she couldn't stop him from doing it, and if it kept him from disintegrating, she had no right to interfere. She closed her eyes. "I never asked Jim what happened to your sister."

"My sister?" He thought for a long moment, trying to find the memory, but there was nothing and eventually he gave up. "Neither did I, I don't think. I don't care. He'll deal with her."

"I want her strung up from the London fucking Eye," she growled, "I want them to have to identify her body with dental records. I want her to be the cold case of the fucking decade. I don't care that she's a politician. That doesn't give you a free pass. Not to someone as fucked up as me."

"Why...?" he asked, surprised by the anger. The details of what had happened were still... fuzzy would be too generous. Missing was better.

"She's the one who had us snatched off the street. She's the one who threw you in that root cellar to rot. She's the one who _gave me to him,"_ she hissed, not angry at him, angry with the woman. It was all her fault.

He nodded just a little at that, pieces coming together. "Oh... right. So we kill her."

"That's putting it mildly," she snorted. It was strange, being the one thirstier for blood. He was usually always so keen to get his hands soaked in red.

He nodded a little, not objecting to that in the least. "Let's ask Jim to save her until you're better and can play with her."

"Mm. That sounds good to me," she murmured, nodding slightly. She smirked a little. "My hunger for vengeance is probably a little unhealthy. I wonder my therapist will have to say about it. Probably something unhelpful."

He nodded just slightly. "They don't know anything. Just ignore them."

Lorna sighed, falling silent, just listening to his heartbeat. She hoped that at the very least, the eye specialist would be able to help Sebastian.

* * *

It was about an hour later that the lock clicked and the door opened, one of the infirmary doctors walking through. "Good afternoon, Ms. Harrison, Mr. Moran. I'm going to be giving each of you a medical evaluation, if that's alright."

"Alright," she sighed, shifting out of Moran's lap and onto the bed, not particularly looking forward to all her injuries being marked down on a clipboard. But fighting them would do nothing to help her. The sooner she got better - and that meant cooperating with them - the sooner she wouldn't be locked in a room.

He nodded a little. "Alright. I'll ask one of you to go over to the other bed. The curtain there will give you both a little privacy, okay?" Moran stood, then sighed, frustrated.

"Where is it?" The doctor didn't blink, just walked over to the bed. "Over here, Mr. Moran. You have a clear path."

"Sit," she huffed, rolling her eyes, and tugged him back onto the bed before getting up and crossing to the other bed, shaking her head. "I'm not blind, I can do a little bit of moving around, it's fine."

"I'm not blind, either," he snapped. "It's just foggy. Once I know what something is I can find it."

She let out a long breath. "You know I don't mean it that way. It's just an expression."

He bared his teeth slightly but sat, listening to the _shtink_ of the curtain as it closed.

"Alright, Ms. Harrison. I've got a medical report here from when you brought in a few weeks ago. Does everything here seem accurate?" He handed her the clipboard.

She read over it for a minute - it was a long, awful list - and handed it back, nodding. She didn't want to read everything he'd done to her for longer than she had to.

He nodded just a bit. "Then why don't you let me take a look, see how things are healing. Have you been putting the gel that was prescribed on your burns?"

"I was, until we got Moran back. Then I was a little busy," she shrugged, sighed, and gingerly pulled her shirt off. "They hurt more than the cuts."

"That's common with burn wounds. Do you have the gel here or should I have someone bring another bottle?" He walked around to her back, examining the wounds closely.

"I don't have any on me, no," she shook her head, twitching a little as a small draft brushed over her back. "Better just to get another one." She still hadn't asked how bad the scarring would be. She already knew she couldn't go back to her old work, and she didn't really want to know how disfigured she'd be.

"I'll get you one today," he promised, nodding a little. "They're healing well. Burns are always slow. A few more days and I'm going to ask you to start keeping them bandaged as well. It shouldn't be too painful by that point, and it will allow them to heal faster."

"If they heal faster, I won't argue," she sighed, fiddling with her shirt, balled up in her lap. She didn't like being seen like this. Hated it, in fact.

He nodded just a little. "Go ahead and get dressed," he said, walking around to look at the gash on her face. "The stitches seem to be doing well. If you keep healing at this rate you'll be on track to have them out in a week or so."

She nodded, relieved that at least she hadn't gotten a infection. The infection on her leg had made that scar a lot worse than it would have been, and she was fucked up enough. She pulled on her shirt as soon as he was done looking at her face. The one and only benefit of Sebastian's vision being too foggy to see her was that he couldn't see the extent of the damage.

"Alright. Unless you have any questions, I'll take a look at Mr. Moran," he said, stepping back and removing his gloves.

"I don't have any," she shook her head, scootching back and leaning against the wall, falling into silence. What a nightmare.

The doctor nodded and walked over to Moran, taking a breath. This should be interesting.

"Hello, Mr. Moran... How are you feeling today?"

"Fine," he said, voice revealing nothing. He didn't like this man.

She watched carefully, ready to step in if it started to escalate. As it might, considering it was Moran, but without the majority of his memories. The doctor had a rather strained smile on.

"I'd give you an eye exam, but you have a specialist coming in later today, and... I rather not test your patience."

"Very considerate of you," he said dryly. "Then your point here would be...?"

"To check your vitals," he replied calmly, although with just a tinge of nervousness. "You're very thin. Need to make sure everything is still working as it should."

"Check away," he said, spreading his arms slightly. As long as they left his words alone, he had no objections.

The doctor hesitated as he took Sebastian's wrist, looking down at the repeating words, and took his pulse before speaking. "Mr. Moran... I'm going to have to ask you not to carve yourself up like this."

"You're free to ask that," he said, nodding a little. "Seems a reasonable thing to ask."

His eyes tightened a little. "...I see. Well. Your vitals seem to be doing fine, but I'll check up on you every day. If that's all, I'll leave you two alone."

"That would be appreciated," he said, giving the man a cold smile and wiggling his fingers in a farewell wave.

The man beat a hasty, but dignified, retreat, and the two were left to their own devices again.

He listened to him leave, and almost immediately began to work away on his left arm, carving the words again, half out of need, half out of spite. "Are you okay?"

"Not really," she sighed, giving a dejected shrug. "But I really haven't been for a long time. I'm about the same."

"Okay," he said, nodding a little. "You can come back over here, if you want to."

She got up and returned to his lap without speaking, trying to keep her mind blank, boxed up. If she let anything through the cracks it was going to eat her up. She knew she was being vain - but she'd spent nearly her entire life as something desirable, had been able to use that as a tool, as protection. Now, though.. _For fuck's sake, stop being so fucking shallow. Shut up. Shut up!_

He settled her against his chest, deciding that she probably wouldn't appreciate him working on his words while she was there, and left them be for now. "I remember you more now, y'know."

"Yeah? Good. I was worried I was going to have to pantomime the entire course of our relationship using sock puppets," she smiled, looking down at the bloody words on his arm. At least if she was on him he stopped. "What do you remember?"

"I remember playing poker," he said, thinking. "I remember us drinking, a lot... I thought you died. I remember that... that was... bad. Very bad. But you didn't, so all's well that ends well..." He turned over the next bit, wondering if he should say it. But she had already, so it must be okay. "I remember I love you."

"That hits most of the important parts," she said quietly, feeling like a weight had dropped off her chest. Somehow she felt less isolated.

He reached up to run fingers through her hair. "I understand though, if you don't want to be around me anymore later, if I'm still different."

"Ditto," she sighed, closing her eyes and just appreciating the gentle touch in her hair. "Except I know I'm going to be different. But you... don't worry about it. You can't change enough that I'd stop caring about you the way I do. Maybe it'd be a little frustrating, sometimes, but," she shrugged, "Shit happens."

"You couldn't, either," he says firmly. "Not if memory serves. Which admittedly at the moment it's a little odd..."

"I hope you're right," she sighed. But she couldn't help fearing that he wasn't.

He leaned against the wall. "Get some rest, maybe. Sounds like we have a long time in here."

She nodded, eyes still closed anyway, and slowly relaxed, mind eventually quieting enough that she could drift off to sleep.

He sat where he was a long time, listening as feet walked by the door, murmuring his words quietly so as not to wake up Lorna.


	59. The Rocky Forest Path To Recovery

When she woke up again, she had a distinct feeling she'd been out for a while. She shifted a little, sleepily, yawning.

He stirred out of his doze, smiling a little when he felt her shifting around. "Maidin mhaith."

"I don't know what that means," she mumbled, burrowing into his neck with a content noise. The nightmares hadn't been bad enough to wake her, and that was an improvement.

"Sorry. Good morning," he sighed, shifting a little as she burrowed into him. His fingers were itching for the words, and he angled just enough that he could reach his neck, working on the ones there quietly.

"It's okay," she sighed, shifting off him a little, because it was likely that she was starting to cut off his circulation, if she hadn't been already, but she remained close to him. She didn't like that he was picking at his scabs again, but she'd promised not to fight him on it. "Good morning to you too."

"I don't know if it's really morning or not... Just guessed... Is there a clock in here?" he asked, tracing out the first word and moving onto the next.

She shifted to look at the digital clock on the little nightstand between the beds. "It's like 4 in the morning. More sleep than I've gotten in weeks, though."

"Good. Sleep is good. It passes time," he says, smiling a little. "Makes time go faster. Then your memories will go away."

"I know. It's just the problem of staying asleep," she sighed, settling back down, ignoring the various twinges her injuries gave. "I sleep better with you around, though. Always have. Still not sure why."

He shrugged. "Maybe it's the words. They help." He had moved down his neck and onto his shoulders, shifting his shirt aside to get access.

"You never used to use the words. In fact, I don't think I'd ever even heard you speak Irish until we pulled you out of that cellar. Not sure I even knew you spoke it," she hummed, studying the letters on his arm and then tracing them back out on his hand. Maybe if someone else did it he wouldn't need to damage himself so much.

He tilted his head curiously as she started tracing on his hand, pausing in his work. It wasn't as clear as his letters, not as vibrant, the pain wasn't there to sharpen them. But he stilled for a little under her hand, letting her work.

"So how much do you remember of Italy?" she murmured, curiously, hand still continuing its work, growing a little smoother with time. "That's what the poker memory is. Or, it's the beginning of that trip."

He sighed, furrowing his eyebrows. "Bits... bits and pieces. I hit someone with something, I think... We were... I was calling you my wife, I think. Or something. There was a hotel..."

"We were there to get information from this Don. You were the distant husband, I was the bored wife trying to make a name for myself in the drug world... after I fucked him to sleep and got what we needed, we left, but the plane hadn't cleared customs yet, so we had to stay at a hotel a good few hours away," she filled in calmly, hoping it would help him remember.

He nodded a little, smirking suddenly. "He was terrible in bed," he remembered, chuckling.

She grinned, pleased things were coming back to him. That meant that maybe she _could_ help. "Yeah, he was. Certainly inspired you to take action, though, that's for sure."

He closed his eyes, trying to turned the bleary recollections into actual memories. "Did we... I can't remember..." he sighed.

"Yeah," she chuckled, finishing another line of letters and starting over again, using just the pad of her finger. "You used a dare you'd won in poker to watch me get myself off, 'cause he was so bad in bed. Then we went a little farther."

He smirked slightly. "That's the first story I've heard about me I've actually liked." She got a letter wrong and he twitched a little, almost pulling his hand away, but then she continued and he hesitantly relaxed.

"Sorry, slipped up," she murmured, then smiled. "I have more, believe me. We tended to fight and then kinda crash back into each other."

"Tell me some?" he asked, closing his eyes. "I want to remember."

"Well, after Italy, you got a little lippy with Jim and I got a little pissed, cause I thought you were risking my life - long story, there - and we fought and you called it off. Was a little while after that, I was dating the chauffeur, Malcolm, and I was annoyed because he was clingy. You offered to help, sarcastically, and that you could either resolve it violently or occupy me by nailing me to the wall," she laughed, remembering her cautious knock at his door, bottle of bourbon in hand. "Turns out you weren't completely serious, but you invited me in anyway. Left some pretty good bruises on me, I think."

He smiled a little. Her words weren't bringing up memories so much as images. "I wanted you to come anyway, I think..."

"Really? What was going on in your head in those early days is a mystery to me," she snorted, shaking her head. "You were pretty taciturn. Big on reminding me that what we were doing didn't mean anything. Used me, once, to get back at Jim. I got over it, eventually."

He made a face. "Again with the not liking what I hear so much... What the hell were you doing with me?"

She shrugged a little. "You were hot, I wasn't any happier with anyone else, and I'm attracted to things that are unhealthy for me. And you held me together after shitty things happened to me. You started to make me feel safe."

He sighed, but nodded. "So... would you rather I went back to being that me, or would you rather I be a different me, if I can?"

She shifted a little to look up at him, frowning. "Don't change yourself for me, Sebastian. Be yourself. Whatever that ends up being. I like you dangerous and unpredictable, but I'm capable of adjustment. You're still going to be you."

He shrugged, but nodded a little. She had stopped writing, so he started again on his shoulder, sighing as it scratched the itch that had built up while he waited.

She sighed, not completely satisfied with his silence, and shifted to be more horizontal on the bed, stretching out cramped limbs with a quiet grunt of pain. She missed the Sebastian who was in control, who had his memories. But if they couldn't go back to that, she'd take him this way, too.

He opened his eyes, trying to find her blur, but everything was too dark. "It's just... I don't really matter right now, what I want, because that isn't what everyone else wants. So I'd rather know what _you_ want because I care about you, not anyone else."

She wrapped an arm around his waist, burying her face in his side for a moment, taking a breath. "Seb," she sighed, resting her cheek on his stomach. "I don't want you to change for me. 'Cause then I'd always wonder how much of it you were forcing, or if it was just making you miserable and I couldn't tell. It doesn't matter what everyone else wants. As long as you're together enough to do your job, do whatever feels right to you."

"I don't know who I was," he said quietly. "The only person who knew who I was was me, and now I'm never going to know if I'm him again. It's like I died. The words are the only thing keeping me alive."

Her brow furrowed a little. "I like to think that I knew who you were. It took me a long time, but you stopped being so unpredictable. Maybe that's why we started having less flare-ups, less fights. And you changed, I think. You let yourself have a personal life. I know who you were. But I don't know that I could describe it in words."

"But your mind... it _feels_ like something, doesn't it? Smells like something, tastes like something... you- your essence, who you are- it's all connected together in a big web of things that only you can comprehend and I've lost mine..." He was starting to get worked up, fingers digging deeper. "What if I lose the rest? What if it all falls apart? Tá an sliabh a thiocfaidh bheith brablach, agus an thiocfaidh brablach bheith deannaigh ..."

She sat up, turned to face him, cupping his cheek, careful not to restrict his movement in case it made him more upset. "Hey, hey, it's okay, Sebastian. If it's gone, fine. It's fine! You don't even know what you've lost! That's a second chance that most people can only _dream_ about," she murmured, pushing his hair away from his eyes, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. "You can build whatever you want to in its place. It doesn't make you any less real."

He took a few shuddering breaths, shaking slightly, his knuckles white as his nails bit into his skin, trying to calm down. He started muttering his words quickly. He needed to pull himself together.

She leaned against him again; the best thing she could offer him was her wordless presence. Very little of what she said seemed to help.

He leaned into her almost instantly, breaths slow with hers, trying to calm down. "I'm sorry... sorry sorry sorry... scared..."

"It's okay," she murmured, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "It's alright. Don't worry about it. It's okay."

He pressed his forehead into her shoulder, tracing the words on his legs almost feverishly, breaths slowly calming.

She just held him for a while, hand brushing through his hair as calmly as she could. How strange it was to be the one comforting him.

Eventually his breaths were back to normal, his leg stained with fresh blood, but his tracing calmer, more rhythmic. "Thank you..."

"You've done it for me many times," she murmured, fingers brushing over the nape of his neck. "Don't mention it."

He shrugged a little. "Still..." He sighed, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes, which ached slightly.

She nodded, leaning back against the wall. She wondered if he was as grossed out by feelings as he used to be. Maybe without the years of bottling it up in his memory, he would be a little looser. That didn't mean she didn't want him to get his memories back - she did. But still... if he didn't get them back, could he still do his job like before? Still kill people the way he used to?

He leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, silent. He was a soldier. He needed to act like one.

Was he a soldier? It seemed right, and he didn't question it too much, just let it slip past with the other images and thoughts he couldn't quite grasp.

Eventually she leaned over and picked up the phone, waiting for whoever was manning the front desk to pick up before telling them to bring some breakfast and hanging up, returning to her original position. "At least we have room service."

"True," he said, smiling. "What's your favorite food?" He left the words alone for now, turning his focus onto her.

"As a genre, sushi," she hummed, leaning against his shoulder. "I like things that taste interesting. Which, you know, means spices."

He smiled a little at that. "Pad Thai," he said quietly, wrapping his arm around her. "You scared the delivery boy."

She laughed. "You'd just gotten back from prison the night before. You'd kinda fucked up Jim a little, and that got me a little riled up. Opened the door naked and a little bloody. I might have taken a few days off his life."

He laughed, too, smiling and nodding. "I was angry at Jim... I'd never been that angry before..."

"After that incident, you guys kinda agreed to call a truce. Made my life easier, for fucking sure," she shook her head, resting her head back on his arm.

He nodded a little, falling quiet for a bit until a nurse came in with trays of food for them both. It actually smelled good, and he sat up eagerly.

She pulled a tray into her lap and moved onto the floor to give him some room to eat, digging into hers with her bare hands. _Proteeiiinnn._

The nurse put the tray in Sebastian's lap, and he dug in as well, getting a mouthful of bacon, sighing in content.

She was done within two minutes, leaning back against the bed with a groan. "Christ. Every meal that I've had since I got out of that place is the best one I've ever had, swear to god."

He laughed, nodding. "I sort of forgot food could taste different than whatever they were giving me."

"They couldn't have been giving you anything good. You're so _thin._ Makes me nervous just looking at you," she snorted, shifting so her burns weren't pressed up against the mattress. "They should be feeding you extra."

"It was just crackers and every once and awhile an apple... water from the pipe." He shrugged. "It was okay."

"Christ," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "I'm going to fuck up those people. In the meantime I'm going to stuff food into you like a baby bird."

He smiled a little at the analogy, taking his time on a hashbrown. "I'm not too hungry, really. I'm used to it."

"But you can't be this thin for the job. Need to put some muscle back on you," she sighed, shaking her head, then smirked. "How else are you going to pick me up and twirl me around like a pretty-pretty princess?"

He raised an eyebrow, confused. "Is that something I do?" He set his plate aside, mostly eaten, but he was full. "What happens if I can't do the job anymore? If I'm not blind but I can't?"

"No, you don't do that," she snorted, then fell quiet for a moment, trying to make sure that when she spoke her voice would be steady. "...If you can't do the job, I don't think Jim will let you live. He's not really the kind to put people out to pasture."

"Oh... okay," he said quietly, starting to trace the words on his stomach slowly. He looked small, curled up against the wall as he was.

"I hope for another outcome, if that's the case. But.. realistically... Jim doesn't like loose ends," she murmured, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

He nodded just a little. "I imagine at some point those were the terms I agreed to. It doesn't matter much to me. I'll be dead."

"I think we've both always had that particular point of view," she sighed. "Death doesn't worry me, you know? It's what they can do to you before you die that worries me."

He shrugs. "The words will protect me. Jim won't do anything to you, will he? You don't have the words."

She was quiet for a minute, not sure what to tell him. Even if he'd been normal, he would have objected to her plan. "No, he won't do anything to me. I'm still useful to him, in some sense."

He nods just a little at that. "Good. You matter."

"Thanks," she said quietly, not quite managing a smile. She was glad he couldn't see her face. Christ, she'd be lost without him. "But you matter, too."

"If I mattered, I wouldn't be on death row," he pointed out with an odd chuckle. "Then I'll be dead and dead indeed."

"But you matter to me," she said stubbornly, "And maybe even Jim, personally, even if he'd never admit it. If he's got real people emotions for anybody, it's you. You must have been working together for almost a decade, now."

He sighed. "Well, that's good, then." He cocked his head as the lock clicked and the door opened, opening his eyes, but it did him no good.

"Hello, Mr. Moran," a woman's voice said. "My name is Dr. Ellis. We've met before to look at your eyes. Do you remember?"

He nodded just slightly. He had a vague recollection.

"Alright, well, I'm going to take a look at your eyes again, see if there's anything I can do to make them better. Does that sound good to you?" she asked as Lorna got up and moved to sit on the other bed to give the doctor room to work.

"Yes," he said firmly. He wanted his sight back badly. "Please do."

The doctor nodded and drew her tiny medicinal flashlight out to shine in Sebastian's eyes, and as she did so, she was eerily silent for a few minutes, a look of intense concentration on her face. Finally, she turned off the light and stood back. "I can't be sure, but there may be something I can do for you. If the eyedrops I give you don't work, we may even have to try stem cell therapy. I hope you have good insurance."

He tried not to flinch away as the bright light hurt his eyes, and nodded a little when she spoke. "I... uh... I don't know if I do..." he said, trying to think.

"We do," Lorna answered for him. The truth was more complicated than that, of course. Neither of their names could make it into any system that could be accessed by the authorities, or rivals, so the coverage mostly came from a fund that Jim set aside for a certain number of his employees. The ones that would be a detriment to lose, mostly.

He nodded a little. "Thanks," he said, before sighing. "What sort of drops?"

"They're still in clinical trials," Dr. Ellis replied, a little absently, having grabbed a small notebook out of her pocket to write notes in. "They'll either help you or they'll have no effect at all, and we'll have to try stem cell therapy."

"Right... okay," he sighed, curling up in a bit of a ball. "How long until we know, with the drops?"

She slid the notebook back into her pocket, looking down at the man with a quiet sympathy. "A few hours, at the most. Your eyesight won't return fully for at least a week, but you should see some improvement within five hours. If not, well.."

He nodded a little, expression resolute. "When can we have the drops by?"

She brought out her phone, typing fast, then put it away again. "I just sent them to the pharmacy. Half an hour, maybe."

He nodded again. "So we'll know by tonight, then," he said calmly.

"Yes. Have someone call me tomorrow if you're not improving. If you are, continue administering drops every... eh, three to four hours."

He nodded. "Okay.. thank you. I appreciate your help." He sighed, leaning back against the wall again.

The doctor didn't make the rookie mistake of just nodding. She'd been examining the eyes of the near-blind for almost six years, after all. "Your welcome. Have a good day. I hope the drops help," she said professionally, then dipped her head to Lorna and exited, the lock clicking behind her.

He sighed as the door locked, then glanced over at Lorna. "Just in case, do I have a will?"

"Yes, I think so," she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "I think you've mentioned it. It was a while ago. If you didn't, it's unlikely that you would have been unprepared for that eventuality."

"Right, okay," he sighed, nodding. "I guess we'll know by tonight, then."

She nodded, mostly to herself, and walked back across the room to sit down on the edge of his bed again, silent. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what was more important to him than his sight.

He felt around for her when he felt her sit down, finally finding her hand and then her arm, tugging on her gently. He wanted her close.

She let him pull her over, curling up against his side again, her head on his shoulder. "I don't know when we stopped using the excuse of warmth for this," she murmured, a tiny tinge of humor to her voice. "But it was before you lost your memory."

He smiled at that, laughing. "That is what we used to do... I didn't want it becoming habit."

She smirked. "Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and tell you what was going to happen with us, just to see your face turn purple. Although, you might have shot me on the spot."

"I might have," he agreed, nodding just a little. "I thought it would be... problematic?"

"At first you were concerned it would affect my ability to work. Or maybe that was Jim's concern. I don't know, it was a long time ago. Then I think you were afraid that you'd develop personal feelings, and it'd make you weak. A chink in the armor, so to speak," she shrugged a little. "I didn't particularly want to care about you, either. You used me against the boss in some little power play you guys were doing, and I stopped.. functioning as well for a while. Took us being locked together in a dark room for.. fuck, three weeks? For us to mend our differences. I think that's when we actually became close."

He nodded just a little, holding her close but making sure not to hold her tightly enough to hurt her. "Well... I'm glad it worked out, then."

"Me too," she murmured. It had taken her a long time to even work up the courage to _hope_ that it would work out.

"Maybe it'll keep working out," he sighed, stomach in knots.

She shifted a little so she could wrap an arm around him, a small frown on her face. "I won't give up if you won't, yeah?"

"Maybe it's better to give up, though," he pointed out. "Then anything better than complete failure is a pleasant surprise."

"Christ, I really need to tone down my pessimism around you, it's starting to get to you," she muttered under her breath, trying not to sound too worried. Moran was a fighter. Always had been. Seeing him flag like this... "I'm not willing to leave that up to chance, Sebastian. I don't know about you."

He sighed, and closed his eyes, starting to trace his words for the third time that day. "What am I supposed to do? Punch my eyes until they get better?"

She didn't say anything, just shook her head, taking a deep breath. He had a point. "I just... I don't like seeing you like this."

He chuckled a little. "I don't like not seeing you like this," he shot back, amused.

"Ha ha," she said dryly, though it was a relief hearing some of that old sarcasm again. "Well, you'll be seeing me soon enough, don't you worry. What a shock _that'll_ be."

"Why?" he asked, sucking some blood off his fingers and pausing for a moment, wondering why he hadn't put the words on his tongue. He'd have to do that next.

"I look different than I used to. I mean, not _awful,_ I'm still pretty where it counts, I have a very symmetrical face, blah blah blah, but... different," she sighed, shoulders lifting and falling a little. "I mean, that's assuming you remember what I look like in the first place."

He shrugged a little. "It doesn't matter either way. You're beautiful." He closed his eyes, wanting to sleep, but someone unlocked the door and entered.

"Mr. Moran," an unfamiliar voice said cheerily. "I have your eye drops." He tensed at the voice, waiting for Harrison to confirm that whoever this was was indeed friendly before he relaxed.

"Thanks, Johnson," she sighed, getting up to take them from him. He'd always shown a lack of fear around Moran that she'd always found a little disconcerting - perhaps he was one of those rare people who had no concept of consequences for their actions? But then, he _had_ made it this far up the ranks. Maybe he was just spectacularly lucky. She checked the box to make sure the bottle was contained within (you never knew what had happened on the way from the pharmacy) before waving a hand at Johnson, effectively dismissing him, and turning back to the blond. "Alright, let's get you medicated, huh?"

He took a slow breath, but nodded just a little. "Let's... do it, I suppose," he said quietly, before starting to mutter his words under his breath quickly.

She took out the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and gently tilted his face upwards with a finger under his chin. "Alright, try not to blink," she murmured, squeezing out one drop into one eye, and then the other.

He continued his murmurings, though he did his best to keep his eyes open. The drops stung and burned, and he almost reached up to rub them out, but instead closed his eyes and kept his head tilted back, waiting to adjust.

She put the bottle away and sat back down on the edge of the bed, reading the back of the box. "It says any discomfort you feel should pass in the first ten minutes or less. Then you might want to try and take a nap, to pass the time."

He nodded just a little, laying down on his back on the cot and starting to trace his words to pass the time, picking up where he'd left off. Maybe in a few hours he would get to see them. His words... Lorna. Everything.

She eventually settled back down beside him in silence, hoping until her chest hurt that his sight would come back. They were both fucked if it didn't.

He pretended to sleep, but for the most part he just felt the time pass with agonizing slowness, not daring to open his eyes.


	60. P-tothe-T-tothe-S-tothe-D

She shifted a good three hours later, waking from a light doze to roll a little and see what the time was before putting her head back down on his shoulder, stifling a yawn. "You awake?"

"Yes," he said quietly, wiggling a little to wake up his arm which had fallen asleep under her head.

"You should... open your eyes. See if you can.. you know, see," she mumbled, taking in a slow breath. _Please be improved._

"I don't want to," he breathed, his free hand tracing words on his chest and trembling slightly. "What if I can't?"

"Then we'll try the stem cell therapy. It's okay," she whispered, taking hold of his free hand to squeeze it. "It'll be alright."

He lay there for a few more moments, trying to get his courage up, but then the part of him which lay mostly dormant stirred its head, and he opened his eyes without further wallowing.

It was _bright_. He hissed and closed them again almost immediately, before taking a slow breath and opening them again, just a crack. Then another. Then a bit more.

There was a very blurry shape above him.

"Ceiling fan..."

"Thank god," she huffed, running a hand over her face. "Oh, Christ, I was worried. This is good news."

He shifted, looking over in her direction. She was still little more than a blurry shape, but the shape had color and a few fuzzy details, which was miles more than a few hours ago. He smiled. "Hello."

She grinned, forgetting all about her damaged looks. "How much can you see? How much better is it? _Fuck_ I'm glad those drops are helping."

"A bit. Colors... lots of colors. Really blurry still. Sort of an abstract watercolor." He smiled wider.

"Better than nothing, right," she smiled, sitting up and running a hand through her hair.

"Much better than nothing," he said, laughing a little as he was able to track her movements.

She let out a relieved sigh, a much more content sound than anything she'd made in a while. "This is a good start."

He nodded in agreement, sighing quietly and reaching up to rub at his eyes a little. "Yeah, it is."

"Jim will be thrilled. With any luck, we'll have your eyesight back to normal in a week or two," she sighed, leaning back against the wall. A little bit of her worries came back. "And you'll probably remember some more, by then."

"With any luck," he sighed, nodding. "Christ. I thought I was... done."

"I was... a little worried you might be," she replied quietly, keeping her voice steady. _You have no idea what losing you would have done to me._

He nodded just a little, reaching out to touch her knee just a little, just wanting the contact.

She started, then made herself relax, leaning against him to let him know it was alright. Where she'd spent the last three months hadn't been his fault, but there were still a certain few things that made her, just for an instant, think she was back there.

He felt her start, and pulled his hand back, but she leaned into him and he relaxed. "Sorry."

"It's alright, I'm just jumpy," she sighed, shaking her head a little. "Still expecting the worst. Gonna take me a little while to get over it."

He sighed through his nose. "Guess we both have some recovering to do."

"Yeah, well," she snorted, "At least mine won't affect my job performance. Christ. I don't have a clue who's going to replace me. No one in my department's qualified to take on that many jobs. I'll need to bring in some new talent, start spreading the workload..."

"I'm still not convinced that you're done... It can't be all that terrible," he said, shaking his head a little.

She was silent for a moment, not sure how to describe it. When she spoke it was with a quiet voice; "I'm not soft anymore. I don't look harmless. People... they look at me now and they think _danger._ Even if they didn't, if my face didn't tell them about the baggage I'm carrying, about the shit I survived, I couldn't fuck my way into the White House, or whatever," she huffed, rubbing her eyes. "I'm... The damage he did to me was extensive. I've got these.. _layers_ of scars some places. The burns are the worst, I think, though there's not very many of those. I think he was worried I'd die from going into shock."

He swallowed tightly at the description, and he held her a bit closer. "I wish you hadn't killed him."

"I had to," she murmured, leaning into his warmth. "He would be stronger than me at the best of times, and I was malnourished. I needed out. I had an opportunity. And I was angry. I'd stopped fighting him, after the first month. I had too much pent up to stop myself."

He nodded. "I just wish I could pay him back. Keep him alive until he dies in old age, make agony his normalcy..."

She shook her head a little, wearily. "We don't get justice. We're not the good guys. I've made my peace with that."

"I know that. Doesn't mean I don't wish otherwise." He sighed, tucking her under his chin. "Tell me if I do something that bothers you."

"I will. Even if I didn't, you'd know. I'll either freeze or try to kill you if I let that feeling grip me for too long," she whispered, curling up a little. "I don't think I'll be okay for a long time."

"Well apparently I won't either, so I guess we'll have to be patient," he sighed, eyes closing again.

She smirked a little. "Well, god knows I was never any good at that. I suppose I'll have to take up a hobby. Tattoo artist, maybe? Cooler than birding, in your eyes, I bet."

"Birding..." he muttered, confused, but let it slide. "Can you draw?"

"Yeah," she hummed, remembering the time he'd asked her to teach him. She still was amazed that he'd taken the time to notice her doodling. "But I don't really have the time to practice like I should."

He nodded a little. "You should give me a tattoo," he said, smiling.

She laughed. "As soon as I learn how to use a tattoo gun again, I'll give you whatever you want. Been awhile since I picked one up. Years. I've had a lot of strange hobbies..."

"My words," he grins eagerly. "My words, then, when I can see, I won't need to carve them constantly."

"Alright, maybe I can swing it, in like a month," she murmured, deciding that it would be better not to fight him.

He heard her deflate slightly though, and sighed, shrugging a little. "Maybe not, though."

"Whatever you decide, I'm good with. Unless it's Jim's initials. I'm already pissed every time I see those."

"The JM?" he asked, brushing the spot where they, too, were carved open. The anomaly in his words. "Why do they make you angry?"

She shrugged a little, sighing. "It's a jealousy thing."

"Ah." He tilted his head a little, trying to remember. "Why are they there?"

"I don't know the story," she sighed, shaking her head. "I assume it was an ownership thing. Your initials are on him, too. That was an anger thing."

He nodded a little, letting it slip past, not trying to listen much anymore. He was tired, suddenly, the energy of his enthusiasm wearing off and leaving him waning.

She didn't force conversation. He was, naturally, a slightly quieter person than her, and all of this must have been exhausting. She just nestled into him a little more, letting out a long, slow breath. _Things will be okay._

He sat quietly, finger tracing his words gently on her arm, leaving no marks. Eventually it stilled as he fell asleep.

* * *

She drifted off without really realizing it, and when she woke, it was with a good amount of disorientation. She groaned, shifting with a popping of joints.

He was already awake, studying the blurry world around him with quiet fascination, trying to sort out what was what.

"Hey," she murmured, when she realized he was awake. "I think it's probably time for another couple drops. Just give me a minute to wake up so I don't drop the bottle on your face."

He nodded a little, not really paying much attention, squinting hopefully at the red on the blur that was his arm. It didn't quite focus.

She lay there for a minute or two, trying to wake up, then yawned and finally sat up, fumbling a little on the table between the beds before she got the box. "Alright, lemme see your eyes," she said, stifling another yawn as she turned back to him.

It took him a few moments to remember that she was speaking to him, but he turned his head towards her, tilting it back a little. The drops still stung as they hit, and he closed his eyes as soon as they were in place, huffing through his nose in annoyance.

"Sorry," she said quietly, putting the drops away again and leaning back against the wall next to him.

He shrugged a little. "If they do as much as they did yesterday, they could hurt a lot more than this and still be worth it."

"Let's hope they keep working they way they have been," she sighed, looking up at the ceiling. It was surprisingly clean. "Though any improvement is good improvement."

He nodded a bit, sighing. "How long do you think we'll have to stay here?" he asked quietly.

She gave a helpless shrug. "I honestly don't know. However long Jim tells us to. There's not a lot of argument to be made to let us out, that's for certain."

He sighed. "How did you sleep? Any nightmares?"

"No," she murmured, "but I'm still exhausted. I get the feeling that my sleep was just too shallow for dreams. I'd kill for a cup of coffee."

He nodded towards where he could see the blur of the telephone. "Ask for some with breakfast. Or whatever meal we're on... what time is it?"

"It's.. damn, it's near 7. At night. We were out for a while," she snorted, reaching for the telephone. "What do you want? Breakfast anyway?"

He shrugged. "Get whatever you like. I'm not very hungry."

She sighed, but nodded, dialing the front desk. "Send up whatever the nutritionist recommended. Wh... If you don't know what I'm talking about, ask someone who's _with the program,_ moron." She hung up the phone, letting out a huff. "I have no idea how this place gets on without us."

He laughed a little, shaking his head. "Sounds like you do a lot to keep things running," he smiles.

Lorna rolled her eyes, groaning. "So much more than my job calls for. I have no idea how this much responsibility got piled on me. A few years ago, I did everything I could to be lazy. Ugh."

"Who's filling my role while I'm gone? Is it you?" He closed his stinging eyes again, beginning to trace his words. It'd been a few hours, and they'd sealed.

"I'm in here with you," she shook her head, sighing. "I don't know. Jim, maybe. Or he's relegated the task to someone he thinks is capable enough."

He nodded a bit, looking up as their latch clicked and a blur he supposed might be their doctor entered.

She tensed as the doctor entered, fighting back the impulse to cringe away. She _hated_ the feeling of being locked up in here, being trapped like an animal. She knew it was silly of her; she recognized this doctor - he'd been working here for years. But it didn't soothe her enough for her to relax."

"Good evening," he said, smiling. "I tried to check in with you earlier but decided to let you sleep. How are you both?"

"I'm fine," she cleared her throat, looking through his chest, a good alternative to meeting his eyes or at the floor. "Moran's vision is coming back a little, with those drops."

"Excellent! That's wonderful news. I'll let his specialist know. Right now I'd like to give you each a once-over. Later tonight you'll each have someone coming in to talk to you, see how you're handling everything emotionally."

"I'm fine," she said, a bit tersely. "You don't need to check me over. Nothing's worse. Just send me a cup of coffee or a cigarette or something before the fucking therapists arrive, huh?"

His expression didn't falter. "I'd like to check your wounds daily while you're here. I was unhappy with Mr. Moriarty's initial decision to release you. And I most certainly need to check over Mr. Moran."

A muscle in her jaw jumped. "What you'd like doesn't really matter to me, thanks," she snapped, eyes flashing up at him and then snapping back to his chest, her teeth gritting. "I'm in no immediate danger. Leave me alone."

The doctor did balk slightly then, seeming to think it over for a moment, as if trying to compare the relatively docile Lorna of yesterday with the seething danger today. Finally he sighed. "Very well. At least let me look-"

"She said leave her alone," Sebastian said from where he now stood a mere foot behind the other man, having taken advantage of his distraction. The doctor jumped and turned.

How the hell Sebastian had moved so quietly while half blind was beyond her, but it seemed that his wraith qualities were inborn, not learned. If not inborn, then he'd been so good at it for so long that his muscle memory held up perfectly. Either way, she appreciated the support. "Just give me my burn gel and leave me be, yeah?" she muttered, holding a hand out towards him. "And do send me coffee. Wasn't joking."

He sighed, but slowly walked over to hand her the bottle from his large coat pocket. "I have to look at you, Mr. Moran. That isn't negotiable. I thought we discussed your carving? You agreed to stop, do you remember?"

"No. I said it was a fair thing to ask."

Lorna snorted, scooting back to sit against the wall again, knees drawn up to her chest. She was looking at the doctor sardonically. "You didn't get that yesterday? Did you really think anything would be that easy with him? Christ."

"I was hoping we could work something out. I'd rather not have to take active steps to prevent that, but if I need to, I will."

"No, you won't." His voice had a deadly tone to it that it hadn't taken since he'd been rescued.

"Don't try to fight him. If I can't stop him, there's no way you can. The most you can do is force him to wash his hands so he's not causing himself infections," she sighed, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes.

The doctor squared his jaw. "I'll wait to be advised by your specialist." He turned for the door.

She made a face at his back as she heard him go. She sighed when the door closed behind him. "I'm not looking forward to having to talk about this."

"Don't," he said, smiling. "Just growl at them and act completely bonkers around them, but the moment anyone else is in the room act completely sane. Drive them mad."

She smiled a little, but shook her head. "I can't. If they tell Jim that, he'll know I'm just fucking with them. I doubt he wants anything less than my full cooperation."

He sighed, leaning back against the wall, thinking that statement over. "Mine, too, probably, correct?"

"He probably has higher standards for you. Sorry," she grimaced, looking over at him.

"What does he expect, then?" he asked with a sigh. "Me to give up my words?"

"My best guess would be yes. And I don't know if you can afford to say no to him."

He contemplated that in silence, heart thundering in his chest. He _needed_ the words. That was a certainty. Without them, he would become trapped in the darkness.

"Jim can only kill me."

"That's where you're wrong," she said quietly, then let out a long, drawn-out breath. "But maybe he'd make an exception for you. You've worked together a long time. I don't know if he would kill you slow, with you like this."

He sighed, running soft fingers over his words, not breaking them open, not yet. "I can work with the words. They won't stop me. Why can't I have them?"

"He'll think you're unstable. And you being unstable... that's a recipe for disaster, believe me. There are so many things that could go wrong..." she rubbed her eyes. "He wants you sound and whole. He wants you back like you were before, in mint condition. That'll be proof that you're not."

"My words are what _keep_ me stable. They make me sound and whole. If I lose the words..." He swallowed tightly, making his decision and starting to trace them again. "He's reasonable. He'll understand."

"I don't know. I don't know," she sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Normally she would have told him that he knew Jim better, but, right now... it wasn't clear if that was true or not.

He pressed his head to his knees, breathing slowly. "Are you okay? He wouldn't leave you alone."

She gave a small shrug, not looking at him. "I'm... not doing real good. I don't like feeling trapped at the best of times. Now, it's... everything feels like life and death. But worse. Death is easier."

He sighed through his nose. "Can I help?" He paused in his tracing. She didn't like it.

"A little. C'mere, please," she murmured, reaching a hand out in his direction. He made her feel small and secure, not pinned down and caged in.

He walked over towards her blur, reaching out to take her hand as he saw it and sitting next to her.

"Sometimes I hate the things that have led to what happened to me," she sighed, leaning into his side, soaking up the heat he still radiated, even at this level of body fat. "My parents, my childhood. Shit I've done. It's pointless, but I can't help it."

He listened quietly, rubbing her back gently. "Seems logical."

She was silent for a while, not having anything to say, then spoke again, voice tired. "My stepfather pushed me into smuggling a week before I turned 17. He was a small dealer. Just needed a mule he didn't have to pay. But even after he was gone, that's not an occupation that you just.. _leave._ A few buyers knew where we lived. They came looking, once, when I took a chance and stopped going."

 _Pushing Eric into the linen closet - he's too young, they can't see him - running down the hall, yanking out the dirty backpack beneath her bed and sprinting down the stairs, ricocheting off the wall with a painful spike in her shoulder, staggering into the kitchen, throwing the bag on the table. They put their guns down. Mom's_ okay.

"Until I picked up grifting skills, until I was free from DeWitt, it was just surviving. But then it was _fun,_ you know? I loved it. The excitement, the ability to put on different people and try them out like shoes. It made the risks worth it. I knew that even if something shitty happened to me, if I got out okay, I had something to throw myself back into. But I don't, anymore."

He considered that for a while, turning it over. "I want you to stay," he said quietly. "But if you don't want to, if you want to go somewhere else, that's okay."

"There's nowhere for me to go," she whispered, shutting her eyes, her cheek resting on his shoulder. "I don't get to just.. leave. There's no retirement, either, if I make it that far. Until either me or the boss dies, I'll be working for this network."

He sighed, thinking. "Maybe I can bargain with Jim," he said quietly. "Tell him I'll stop my words if he lets you go."

"I appreciate it, but.. somehow I doubt that he'll risk it," she sighed. "I know who he is. I've seen his face. I know a lot about this organization. Thank you. But even if the choice was open to me, I'd stay here with you. I don't know how to function out there. How to get a real job. How to pay taxes. But you're reason enough to stay."

He shrugged. "I'm not me anymore. I make you upset." He was torn. "How can you love me, but not my words?"

She didn't know how to respond for a moment, frowning a little. "It's... the words aren't you. They're a children's rhyme, a rhyme that must have come back to you while you were in that hellhole, and they must have been _something_ to hold onto. Some kind of noise, something besides that awful silence that creeps up when you're alone. And they still help soothe you. I understand that. But they don't have a personality. They're not alive, to me. You're alive. And you say you're not you anymore, but the more I watch the more that peeks through. It'll just take time."

He closed his eyes, listening to her talk, trying to understand, but she was the one that wasn't getting it. "The words _are_ me. They're all that holds my body together. If I lose them I'll fade away."

She rubbed her eyes, trying not to get angry at him. "That's not how life works, Sebastian. But... Christ, I'm not in the mood to argue about it."

"I _know_ how life _works_!" he snarled. "You all are the ones who don't understand it. Life is very very simple. The words keep away the darkness. Nothing matters but that. Everything else is secondary." He closed his eyes tightly.

She didn't say anything else, just sat there, just barely managing to keep herself from tensing a little. He kept pitching into these holes where she didn't know him anymore, where he turned into a complete stranger for a terrifying minute. She just had to let it pass. She sucked in a breath and got up, heading for the bathroom. She needed a shower, anyway.

He felt her leave, and took a few shallow breaths, hands trembling as he tried for a moment to avoid the urge to trace his words.

He lasted a very long eight seconds.

Showers _hurt._ It didn't matter what temperature she put it at; standing under the spray gave her trembling hands and gritted teeth. Cooler water was less painful, obviously, but overall, it didn't matter. But she didn't want to be out there. Physical pain was better than the pain she felt looking at him and barely recognizing the person there.

By the time he heard her reemerge, he had done his words, far faster than usual and far more roughly. Now he was laying on the bed, blood trickling gently over his skin, resting, feeling the words as they burned and pulsed in his skin, a ward against the darkness.

She sat down on the other bed, grabbing a tray of food from the small table as she passed it - someone must have come in while she was in the shower - and setting it on her lap to eat in silence.

He wasn't hungry, feeling vaguely dizzy and off, and eventually an odd exhaustion slipped over him and he fell asleep.

She was relieved when he fell asleep. It meant she didn't have to pretend to be normal. She slid to the floor, leaning back against the bed, and put her head in her hands.

When he woke up, he felt cold and shaky, and the sheets were stuck to him. He ignored it, used to feeling off, and sat up, wobbling slightly with vertigo.

She looked up as he moved - she'd been in roughly the same spot for the last few hours - and frowned a little. "You look like you might have a fever. Do you feel okay?"

"Fine," he murmured blearily, rubbing his eyes. He pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, skin pale under the blood, except around his words, where the skin was inflamed and pink.

She sat up a little further, then stood, walking over to check his temperature with a hand on his forehead. She frowned. "You're burning up. I'm going to call in one of the doctors, I'm worried about this."

He didn't argue. He didn't have the energy, eyes bright, jaw a bit slack.

"Fuck," she muttered, whirling for the phone and nearly knocking it clear off the table in her worried rush. She was a bit short with the man at the front desk when he was too slow redirecting her to the infirmary, which was right _outside,_ if only the door wasn't fucking _locked,_ but she finally got on the line with one of the nurses. "Moran is sick. I need someone in here immediately."

The door unlocked a few minutes later, their doctor walking in quickly and heading straight for Moran, starting to look him over immediately.

"These are deeper than I've seen them before," he said evenly, guiding Moran to lay down. "He's lost some blood and it looks like he may be developing infection..." There was a hint of frustration in his tone.

"Christ," she muttered, raking a hand through her hair, her jaw tight. "Fuck. Alright. This is gone past what he can tell you to do. Sedate him, strap him down, I don't care. Just make sure he gets healthy again."

"We may need to do that," he agreed. "I'm going to work with him. Meanwhile, your specialist has arrived. Go ahead out, the orderlies outside will escort you to a private room to talk with her."

She nodded, steeled herself with a deep breath, and headed for the door. This was not going to be a fun experience. Where was her damn coffee?

The orderlies outside kept a careful eye on her as they walked, as if preparing for her to bolt, and when they finally made it to the assigned room they looked relieved. "In here," one said, pushing the door open to reveal a small but comfortable looking room with soft couches. A woman was sitting on one of them.

She didn't even think about running, really. Where would she go? What would be the point of running only to get stopped in the lobby and hauled back up? She stepped into the room with a sigh, and moved to take the other couch in silence. However this was going to go, she wasn't going to start it.

"Hello, Lorna," the woman said. Her voice was solid, down to earth. "I'm Reina. Do you know why I'm here?"

Lorna sighed, leaning back a little gingerly into the sofa. At least Jim hadn't hired someone completely frivolous. "I would assume to make sure that I'm mentally sound."

She nodded in agreement. "That sounds like a good reason to me. Would you say you're mentally sound right now?"

"Depends on your definition of mentally sound," she muttered, then rubbed her eyes, sighing. "I'm not experiencing any unwarranted fear, at the moment. And I won't, unless I feel trapped or pressed. Men are worse."

"Alright," she said, nodding. "That's understandable. You're in a room with Mr. Moran from what I understand. Would you like to change that?"

She shook her head. "No. He's fine. Makes me feel better, most of the time."

She nodded a little bit. "What about stress? How are you feeling with that?"

"I hate being locked in there," she snorted. "I start to imagine he's going to come back at any time."

She nodded a little. "That must be difficult. Do you understand why they lock the door?"

"Of course I do," she rolled her eyes, sighing. "I'm not an idiot. But knowing why doesn't fix the habit I made from being locked in a basement for three months."

She didn't seem ruffled by her bite. "Alright. I'll see what I can do about getting you time outside the room during the day. Would that help?"

"That might help. I don't know. I can't predict what shit my brain will make up in the future," she snorted, looking incredibly tired with herself.

She nodded again. "What sort of shit does your brain make up now?" She didn't shy from the swear in the least.

"Not.. hallucinations, or anything, if that's what you're thinking," she shrugged. "It's.. more like flashbacks. Triggers, I guess. The door opens just right, someone moves in a certain way... then it feels like I'm somewhere else, for a moment. Or I just have this vague feeling of panic sitting in my chest."

She nodded a little. This woman sure nodded a lot. "We can work to try and minimize those. For instance, if I asked the doctors to knock before they entered, would that help?"

She was silent for moment, her face expressionless, then she gave a tiny nod, her jaw tight. She hated letting people see her weaknesses, even if it was a goddamn therapist.

She nodded, too, noting the tension in her shoulders. "Tell me a little about yourself, Lorna. Something simple like your favorite book or television show, or food."

She let out a long breath. Her first instinct was to lie, of course. But it would only be hindering herself, wouldn't it? "I like thai. And sushi. Stuff with spice."

She smiled a little, nodding. "I like thai, too. Do you know any good places around here?"

"Yeah, but I was basically kidnapped from there," she deadpanned.

She nodded just a little. "That must have been a surprise. From what I understand it's unusual for the two of you to take relaxation time. Does that sound about right?"

"Yeah. Neither of us really has the time. I used to, then I started doing more... _managing._ I don't know. I just wanted to get out of the damn building for a while."

"You don't sound like you enjoy managing. You prefer to be in the field?" Reina asked, sitting back.

"Vastly so," she huffed, looking irritated. "I don't want to be responsible for the fucking idiots who work for me. Do you know how many of them don't even know how to use a hot glue gun properly? Christ. I loved the field. I _lived_ for the field. And now I can't go back."

"Because of your injuries," she said, nodding. _How many fucking nods has that been?_ "Are there other ways that you could go into the field? Surveillance or hits, for instance?"

Lorna gave a mild, slightly stiff, shrug. "I've considered the possibility of surveillance, but I'm still too... _striking,_ now, should I say," she said dryly, her lips pinched just a little. "And hits... If I start to go crazy in here, I'll resort to those. But I tend to get carried away a little too much with those."

"I'm almost certain that we can find a way to get you into the field regularly, if that's what you want," she said firmly. "If not, that's fine, too."

"I'll go crazy, stuffed into some office. If somebody can think of a way to get me back out there, I'm all ears," she shook her head. It wasn't worth it to get her hopes up.

"What about something similar to what Moran used to do?" she asked. "Long distance surveillance and covert operations?"

"A lot of staring through windows, basically," she summed up, then pinched the bridge of her nose. "Whatever. It's better than the office."

"You could expand from there, but it would be a start," she pointed out. "This is going to require some adjusting, but it doesn't mean you can't enjoy what you do any longer."

She pursed her lips, looking quietly thoughtful. Vaguely, she wondered how much this woman was paid. "Well, it won't be ideal, but next to the alternative..."

She nodded. "How's Mr. Moran doing, by the way?"

Lorna lifted a hand to rub her eyes, sighing. "Not as well as I'd hoped. I don't really want to talk about that."

She nodded a little. _Jesus Christ..._ "That's fine. We don't have to right now. Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"

She shook her head, standing. "No." There were things she was just not going to talk about.

She nodded again, slightly. "We'll be meeting again at the same time tomorrow at the request of Mr. Moriarty."

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me," she muttered, then turned for the door, walking out it and almost directly into a couple of orderlies. She gave them a tired look. "Alright, take me back."

They nodded slightly, before one of them spoke up. "We were told to give you the option of returning to a different room. Mr. Moran has needed to be restrained and is expected to be disagreeable once he wakes up."

She bit her cheek, taking in a slow breath, then shook her head. "No. I'll stay in the same room." It would be unpleasant, but she owed that much to him. She wouldn't abandon him the second he got a little grouchy.

He nodded, and they headed back to the room.

Sebastian was strapped down to the bed with cloth lined leather straps across his wrists and ankles, asleep, bandages wrapping the majority of his body.


	61. Non-Standardized Testing

She sat down on the other bed in silence, looking over him with a sinking stomach. He looked in bad shape, and it was partially her fault.

It was a few hours later that he staggered into consciousness, eyes slowly opening. It took him a few attempts at moving before he seemed to realize there was a problem. "What..."

"They thought it was best to restrain you," she murmured, from where she was sitting on her bed, her back leaning against the wall. "You were making yourself sicker."

He tugged at them a little, then noticed the bandages. His heart froze. "They took my words..." He took a breath, looked over at her. "Untie me?"

She looked away, swallowed hard. "I can't. They'll just restrain you again and move me into another room." _And I hate watching you do that to yourself._

Now he was starting to panic a little. "You promised," he pointed out, opening and closing his hands a few times, testing the bonds. "Remember? You promised you would help."

"I _can't,_ Sebastian," she whispered, looking over at him finally, trying and failing to keep her face neutral. "What if you get an infection that they don't catch in time and you die? You're incredibly malnourished - what if you just can't make enough blood to keep up? I can't be responsible for that. I rather you hated me, and lived."

"No... nononono..." He muttered, starting to twist his wrists in the straps. "I'll die. If I lose the words..." he was starting to breath more quickly, tugging again, trying to sit up.

"You're not going to die without them. Your health doesn't depend on a children's rhyme. It never has," she said quietly, still barely resisting the urge to go over to him. It would likely only make him more upset. "You'll see. It won't kill you."

"I'll fall apart," he whimpered, pressing his head back hard against the pillow. "Tiny pieces, all skin and bones and muscles all falling apart..."

She couldn't take it anymore, she got up, crossing the room to kneel by his bedside, face pained. "No, no no no, it's okay," she shook her head, hands clutching the edge of the mattress. "It'll be fine. The bandages and me will you together. You'll be fine."

"They keep me together," he gasped, looking over at her pleadingly. "Otherwise I'm blank. Otherwise there's nothing and I die..."

"No you won't," she whispered, smoothing a hand over his hair. "You won't. Trust me. Please. It will be okay."

"Dead dead dead," he said, almost singsong, before he started muttering his words, almost desperately, as if he could keep them in place.

She just stayed knelt at his side, in silence, running her fingers through his hair every so often, and trying not to feel like she was mourning him.

Eventually he relaxed a little under her hand, his muttering never ceasing, his voice hoarse, eyes closed.

She didn't know how long they remained like that, but it was long enough for her body to start aching, and, eventually, her hand stilled, and her posture drooped. The two of them were not in the best condition at the moment.

* * *

It was a few hours later that the door unlocked and Jim came striding in, eyes cool, calculating. He looked over the two of them and sighed. "Wake him up."

She jolted a little at his entrance, but made herself relax and did as he asked, shaking Sebastian a little. "Moran, wake up. Jim's here."

He opened his eyes, trying to move again and then remembering his position.

"Jim... you can get me out. Please."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to continue to deface yourself?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

"Wouldn't you?"

Jim laughed and walked over to release his wrists and ankles. "While I'm here only."

Lorna moved to sit on the other bed, trying to stay out of their way, though she kept a close eye on Jim. There was a part of her that was worried he was going to kill Sebastian right now, right here.

Sebastian sat up quickly and tried to start unwinding the bandages, but slowly ground to a halt under Jim's glare, fingers tensing but stopping.

"Good," Jim said, sitting in a nearby chair.

"Why are you here?" Moran asked.

"I've been wondering the same thing," Lorna added quietly, cautiously.

"I'm here to assess your progress," he said evenly. "I haven't seen you since I checked you in."

"Ah..." Moran said hesitantly, nodding.

"What do you remember? Any progress?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

He sighed, sitting up more fully. "Yes... bits and pieces. I know who you are. I remember when you hired me, I remember some of what I've done in your employ... It's all disjointed."

He made a thoughtful noise, tapping his fingers on his knee for a moment before he spoke again. "Alright. That's better. Do you think you could still work a gun?"

He nodded just slightly. "I believe so, yes. Yes, I could. Skills like that don't seem to have suffered as much."

"Good," he nodded, sitting back a little.

It was then the door blew open. A moment after that two men stormed into the room, and Lorna flinched, then swore as one headed for her. Jim only looked at them, a challenging grin on his face.

Had he paused to think, it would have been far too convenient. He would have realized that Jim's timing on that had been too casual, too pleased, and that there was no real danger.

Had he had more time to think, he would have then concluded that, knowing Jim, if this was a test, he likely wouldn't have told the attackers that and they would be thinking they were there to assassinate him and there definitely was real danger.

There was, however, no time to think. He was on his feet before the logical part of his brain had engaged, and already halfway through disarming the first attacker to head for Jim. By that point, it didn't matter, and he decided to listen to the part of his mind that had already reacted and keep going. He broke the man's wrist and took the gun, kneeing him in the groin and turning as he was distracted to sink a bullet into the head of the one that had grabbed for Lorna. He turned back to the man that was getting back up to his feet and put him down execution style. Then he headed for the door, gun raised, to clear it.

It was over within twenty seconds.

Watching the two of them move was fascinating. Both had viscerally different reactions; Harrison shrunk away from the door and into the corner like tissue paper being sucked through a vacuum, and Moran practically teleported into the would-be assassin's space, and he moved with surprising speed for someone who looked so frail. When it was over, he was still sitting in the exact same position, grinning coolly.

Lorna wiped specks of blood off her ghost-white face. "What the _fuck,_ Jim?"

"He's going to be fine," Jim said smugly, standing. "You can stand down, Sebastian. That's all that's coming."

Moran slowly relaxed, clicking the safety on the gun.

Lorna stayed where she was, molded into the corner of the room, trying to slow her heart rate back down. _You're fine, you're fine, don't break down with Jim here, you're FINE._

He walked over slowly, handing the gun to Jim, his heart slow and steady despite the adrenaline. _Sniper's training._ He looked Jim over for injury, and when he found none, walked over to where Lorna was crouched and sat down in front of her, a few feet away with his back to her, facing the door, creating a barrier of sorts. Plus he needed to sit down. He didn't have much in him at the moment, and he'd just used most of it.

Her breathing eventually slowed, and her heart calmed, and staying so tightly pressed against the wall became painful for a variety of reasons, so she shifted a little to let Moran know she was functioning again. She didn't want to climb into his lap with Jim right there, who was looking _unbearably_ smug. "I could have used a little warning, sir."

"Warning would have made this whole operation completely pointless," he drawled, still looking Moran up and down, evaluating. "Good. I wasn't looking forward to finding your replacement, it was going to be incredibly tedious." He stood. "I want you back on duty by the end of the month. That gives you approximately seventeen days. Use them wisely."

"Fantastic," she muttered, leaning her head back against the wall. She was going to go insane before then.

He waited until Jim left to slump sideways against the wall, utterly exhausted. "Fuck..."

"Are you okay?" she murmured, giving him a once over, then glancing at the two corpses on the floor. She hoped someone came to pick those up soon.

"Yeah," he sighed, running a hand that shook slightly over his face. "Just amped up on adrenaline..." He took a slow breath. "I suppose that answers the question of whether or not I can do my job."

"Yeah, that it does," she agreed, moving up to sit beside him, shoulder brushing his. "That's good. Means he's probably not going to kill you."

"Brilliant," he sighed, wanting to reach out and pull her closer but deciding it was probably better for her to do what she was comfortable with. "How are you?"

"I'm okay. Getting over the shock, now," she murmured, scraping at some dried blood on her neck. "My therapist mentioned that I can probably still do some degree of field work."

"Okay, well, that's encouraging," he sighed, looking up passively as some medical staff peered through the destroyed door with a mix of hesitation and curiosity before moving quickly to the men on the ground, starting to take pulses and calling for more staff.

"Listen, that one's definitely dead, don't even bother," Lorna rolled her eyes at the closest nurse. "I'm covered in his brain-mist. It's revolting, honestly. I hate brains. Please remove him."

The nurse looked up, and walked quickly over. "What happened here? Are you alright?" She tried to crouch down to look at them but Moran shifted slightly and bared his teeth, and she stopped.

"The boss sacrificed a few contractors for the greater good," she shrugged slightly, giving up and leaning against Moran. "We're both alright."

"Oh... okay..." she said, standing up and glancing at the men on the floor. "Alright... We'll clean up then."

She nodded, and gave up her final scrap of dignity to move into Sebastian's lap, the craving more powerful than the urge to not let other people see her so weak and vulnerable.

He wrapped his arms around her without comment, scooting back further into the corner to lean against the wall.

She didn't miss the glances their way from the nurses as they dragged the body and it's, shockingly, still-alive companion out of the room, but she found it hard to care. Whatever morons in the company didn't know about the two of them by now needed to get with the program or get swept up by the tide.

He pressed his face into her hair, breathing slowly as what had just transpired in the last ten minutes or so slowly took effect. "We agreed not to play games. Then he pulls that."

"To be fair, I don't think it was a game. I think he wanted to see if you'd lost your reflexes. That's as much to protect your safety as it is his," she murmured, glad, not for the first time, that she was of significantly shorter height than him, because it meant she fit tidily in the space he made for her. "Sometimes instinct counts for more."

He nodded, breathing still slow and even, taking in the smell of her shampoo. "Well, great, then. I'm not going to die."

"That's convenient for me," she chuckled wearily, then sighed, falling silent again, and hoping he wouldn't question that. She didn't know what he'd have to say about it.

He frowned a little at that, turning it over a few times. "Convenient?"

She was silent for a moment. "I wasn't really looking forward to a purposeless existence."

He considered that for a few moments, then decided to leave it where it lay, though he did hold her a bit closer.

Sometimes it baffled her how far they'd come, that she could say something like that and not be immediately rebuked, rebuffed, pushed away and sneered at. Instead he'd tightened his grip on her just a little. She was grateful for that.

He finally got to the point where his arse was falling asleep, and he shifted gently, pushing her off of his lap so that he could get unsteadily to his feet, offering her a hand up as well. Bed. Bed sounded wonderful. He tried to ignore the fact that there were straps on his. It was impossible to ignore the bandages, but he was doing his best there, too.

She crawled into bed with pure exhaustion, making room for him on the small space and grabbing his shirt to pull him down beside her so she could curl up with him, and, immediately pass out.

He lay there for a little while, watching her sleep, before he rolled onto his back carefully and neatly beginning to unwrap the bandaging on his left arm. It took him a few minutes, but then his words were free and his breath caught in his chest in victory and he started tracing.

For the first time, however, the victory tasted sour. He felt guilty for doing this next to her, when he knew how much it bothered her.

When he finished his left arm, he rewrapped it neatly with the hopes of evading detection, but after a moment's consideration, didn't unwrap anywhere else. Not yet. He would wait. He would try to sleep.

* * *

She woke up hours later, and rolled into him, burying her face in his neck with a slow sigh. He smelled like gunpowder again; it was a surprisingly comforting smell by this point.

He turned his head towards her, taking a slow breath. "Hey there... how'd you sleep?"

"I've had worse nights," she mumbled. "You doing okay? How're the eyes?"

He opened them slowly, looking around and turning towards her, before smiling. It was still fuzzy, but her face had details. "Hello, gorgeous," he laughed.

She grinned, letting out a short laugh of relief. "Christ, those drops are a fucking miracle. God, I'm so glad they're working."

He nodded, reaching out to touch her cheek carefully, and smiling. "Yeah. They are."

She cleared her throat just a bit nervously, still smiling a little. "Well, I guess if you didn't remember what I looked like you know now. I'm assuming it's not an unpleasant surprise, but if it is, keep it to yourself if you know what's good for you, huh?"

He shook his head, removing his hand. "No, I remember you... Now I do, anyway. Your face." His eyes traced the cut over her face. "You look beautiful. The scar doesn't change that. It's just different."

"But just different enough to put a stop to my grifting career," she shrugged, though secretly very, very relieved that this was his reaction. Maybe the rest of her would go over nearly as well. "Oh well. Guess now I can get a tan from being perched on roofs all the time."

"It's not bad," he said, shrugging. "There's a certain thrill to seeing while not being seen, holding life and death in your hands... I used to feel like a god."

"If I was a little less fucked up and the two of us weren't so unhealthy I'd make an innuendo there, but as it is I thought it'd be best to just tell you about it," she chuckled, yawning and rubbing her eyes tiredly. "It's going to be weird working out of another department. I wonder if I'll have to punch anybody to assert my dominance."

"Maybe. I doubt it, though. You know how to play people." He disentangled himself carefully and sat up, a hand going to his arm before he remembered the bandages. He needed to do it in private, only, or they'd strap him down again. Play their game.

"You're not wrong," she muttered, then waved a hand at the table, where the eye drops were. "You should medicate your eyes again. Help you work on hand-eye coordination."

He reached out to pick up the small blur that was the dropper bottle, unscrewing it and managing to get a drop in each eye after a few attempts. "I wish we didn't have to be here any longer."

"You and me both," she sighed, pushing herself up with an uncomfortable groan. "But nothing we can do about it."

He sighed, closing his eyes as they started to sting from the drops. "Maybe we could sneak out."

"And go where? Anyways, we're in here because Jim wants us to be. I don't think that noncompliance will go over well, I don't know about you," she sighed.

He sighed, but nodded. "I know. I just hate..." He trailed off and motioned around himself.

"I know," she replied, sympathetically, "I do, too. Reminds me of being captive again. Not exactly the kind of thing I want to be reminded of."

He nodded just a little, a hand rubbing over his bandages absently until he caught it and forced himself to stop. He _needed_ his words, but now wasn't the time. Right now was the time for cunning. "If there's any way I can help, let me know." She couldn't be trusted to help him, that was clear. She didn't understand. But he loved her all the same.

"I will. Thanks," she murmured, running a hand through her hair, trying to tame it a little. It still took some effort not to be surprised when he asked her in such a straightforward manner, not throwing in the bullshit about employees and efficiency. It was nice, that they'd reached some stage of normalcy, even after three months in their own respective hells.

He headed for the bathroom to try and find a toothbrush and toothpaste, wondering when the last time he'd brushed his teeth had been. He felt fractured, like half of him was ready to cower and die, and the other half would fight endlessly. It was disconcerting.

Lorna called the front desk and ordered breakfast in a typically grouchy manner that she had with everyone except Sebastian when she hadn't had a cup of coffee yet that morning, and then wandered around, digging through cabinets until she found a suitable change of clothes.

He emerged a few minutes later, feeling much fresher except for the bandages covering his body. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the way they compressed him, hid his words. He tried to focus on other things. Lorna, for example.

"I ordered breakfast. And I'm considering my future in a world where the fires in the grifting department aren't my problem. It's hard to believe I'm free, really," she said casually, sitting on the edge of one of the beds in a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. It was easier to ignore the twinges of pain she got when she couldn't see the source.

He smiled a little. "They really excel at setting things aflame. We should just rebrand them as the arson and pyrotechnics department."

"Some really attractive, people-people arsonists," she snorted, smirking, then laughed. "Christ, I could be an arsonist for my new job."

"You could," he agreed, smiling and laughing. "There's a lot that you could do. A whole lot of doors wide open."

"Thank god I have a lot of marketable skills. I'd be up shit creek without a paddle if I was only good at the one thing," she chuckled, plucking at the hems of her sleeves, pulling them down over her hands. She wished she was wrapped up in bandages like he was.

He walked over to sit next to her, wincing a bit as the bandages tightened across tender areas. "You're brilliant. You'll be fine."

"If I hadn't known you for such a long time, I'd think you were being so nice so it'd be easier to kill me," she smirked. He seemed to be doing well enough that she could make that sort of joke now.

It took him a moment to recognize that she was joking, but then he smiled a little. "You're awfully confident."

"I feel like you've invested enough time in me for me to be relatively safe. If I'm not the person you've slept with the most times, I'd be surprised," she chuckled, looking up as the door opened and an orderly came in with a tray of food big enough to feed several large dogs and a small pony. "Oh, thank god. I was going to eat my own hand."

He was grateful for the change of subject, sighing eagerly as his stomach rumbled. He took the plate he was handed and dug in ravenously.

Lorna waved a dismissive hand at the orderly (who made himself scarce very fast) and followed suit, beginning to wolf down every single piece of food in reach. Starvation sucked.

He left most of the food to her consumption, eating just enough to cease the rumbling. He didn't want much beyond that. It felt odd to be full. Unpleasant. Slow.

When she was stuffed full of as much as she could possibly eat, she fell back on the mattress, groaning. "Christ. I feel like a python."

He smirked a bit. "You need it. You're almost as skinny as I am." Which was saying something. The white bandages compressing his already nigh-skeletal body did little for his figure.

"Yeah, we really need to put some weight on. And I thought the last time I was starved like this was bad. Oh, boy, if I could tell past-me about the joint pains..."

He nodded a little in sympathy, trying to get his gaze to focus on the bandages. He was longing for her to go to sleep again. Then perhaps he would be able to see the words...

"How are you doing?" she asked quietly, after a few minutes of silence.

He broke out of his reverie, and looked up. "Fine," he said easily, tucking his arms back against himself.

"Okay, well, I'm going to pass out for a while, but if you want to chat feel free to wake me up. My beauty sleep has fallen much lower on the priority list," she murmured, curling up with the pillow.

He nodded a little, leaning back and closing his eyes, listening.

It was half an hour before he felt like she was actually asleep, and almost immediately he started peeling off his bandages, eager to see his words underneath.


	62. Incorporeal Prisons

The nightmares were all too real. They weren't even dreams, not really: they were memories, replayed again and again, like she could have done something differently, made some other choice to prevent Riordan Moran from abusing her the ways he had. The worst part was his face. So _similar_ to Sebastian's. The same eyes, the same jawline, the same cruel quirk to his smile when he was really enjoying another's pain.

She woke up with a small start, fingers tight in the sheets, sweat sticking the linen to her side and back.

He saw her jump and tense, and immediately started to rewind what was still undone of his bandages, observing her carefully. "You... are you alright?"

She looked at him with wild, scared eyes, jaw tight, transported for a moment back to the basement.

 _Crumpled on the floor, a throbbing ache radiating through her face, sending a clear message. Resistance is futile._

 _"Are you alright?" he asks sarcastically, bending down to haul her up by her stained and ruined dress, one she thinks she won't have much longer if he keeps treating it like this, and then she's slammed up against a wall and it's better not to think._

"Yes. No. I don't know," she whispered, burrowing her face in the pillow.

The animalistic fear was easy to read, and had it been on any other face, it would have given him a thrill of power. It still did, just oddly mixed with nauseated fear himself, and concern.

"I'm not my father," he said slowly, carefully, making no sudden moves and forgetting about his bandages for now. "Tell me what you want me to do right now."

"I don't know. _I don't know,"_ she got out through trembling breaths, torn between reaching out for the safety he offered and recoiling from the acrid fear he reminded her of. She'd never wanted a hit of heroin more in her life.

"Okay," he said softly, still keeping his voice as gentle and unthreatening as he could. "I'm going to stay right here and I'm not going to move or talk unless you ask me to, okay?"

"Okay," she rasped in response, and then fell silent, curled in a ball, shaking like a leaf. It took a full half hour before one of the impulses won out, and she moved stiffly into his lap, her eyes red.

He was beginning to think they'd be there all day, when finally she stirred, and shifted over to him. Still, he left his arms at his side, letting her move him as she willed, very cautious about pushing her.

She didn't speak for a long while, sitting there listening to his heart and trying to flush the helpless anger and terror from the pit of her stomach. Self pity was useless to her. "I love you, but I wish I'd never gone after your father like I did," she whispered, reaching for his hand, blinking back tears.

He gripped her hand gently. "I feel the same way," he said softly. "I wish I'd killed him when I had the chance."

"I wonder what they're saying on the news about him. I assume they've found his body by now. I hope they're disgusted with him," she breathed, just the slightest bit of an edge entering her voice before she sagged, the fight leaving her. "I didn't think it was ever going to end."

He nodded just a little. "He'll be remembered with disgust," he said quietly. "We'll make sure of that. Tear down everything he ever was." He was quiet for a moment before he said "I can't imagine what it must have been like. But you're safe here, now. I promise you that."

She shifted to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her face in his shoulder, unable to speak. She didn't know how to convey just how thankful she was that he was there, that over the course of their tumultuous relationship he had been, for the most part, an unwaveringly safe haven. That wasn't something she'd found in anyone else.

He rubbed her side gently, careful to avoid the wounds he knew lay on her back, and relaxed back against the wall with her resting against his chest. He didn't speak, either, had said more than part of him seemed comfortable with, but she seemed to know she was safe, and that was the important part.

"I don't know how the fuck we've managed to survive all this," she murmured after a long time. "I don't know whether we're incredibly lucky or the opposite."

He nodded a little. "I don't know either," he whispered. "Sometimes I wish I'd died before the darkness. But I can't now, and that's how it is."

"I can't believe that Jim still keeps us around; We're nearly _useless_ like this. I can't believe that it's more efficient to keep me around," she shook her head faintly.

"Want to know something?" he asked, smirking just a little and lowering his voice. "I think he might actually have a heart."

She gave a disbelieving snort. "For you, maybe. He's worked with you for like a decade, and you've saved his life multiple times. I hardly ever see him. The most I ever saw him was the three months you were jail. What's his reasoning for keeping me around?"

"Because I care about you?" he asked, before realizing that sounded very stuck up and trying again. "Plus you're talented. Even if you can't use the talents like you used to, he sees things differently."

"I guess," she said, sounding unconvinced. "I think you're probably more right on the first count."

He shrugged. "Who knows, with Jim." He certainly didn't. He had only vague memories of the man, the phrases he used spurred more by intuition than fact.

"Only him, I'd guess," she muttered, rolling her eyes. At least she'd managed to soften up _one_ of the murderous, stone-cold men who controlled her life.

"I suppose," he said with a nod, sighing and reaching up to rub at his eyes a little. He had a headache.

She sighed. "We should try and sleep. Maybe this time I won't have nightmares."

He nodded just a little. "Yeah. Y-we should. If you have them, wake me up."

"Alright," she replied quietly, shifting off him until she was back on the bed, where she curled up by his hip and promptly fell back to sleep.

He watched her drift off. He knew he should probably sleep, he hadn't in... a long time, but to do so would mean sacrificing the best time he had to form his words, and he couldn't do that. So he reached for the bandage on his leg, unwinding it methodically. He could survive like this. He would have to.

* * *

She woke up a long time later, sighing and snuggling into his hip a little more. "Mmf. What time is it."

He looked down at her. She'd slept a few hours, and he'd managed to finish his words for the day. "Just before three in the afternoon."

"Mm... I'm glad you can read the clock," she murmured, rolling onto her back with another small sigh. "That's coming back splendidly. "

He almost hadn't thought about it, and it startled him slightly when she mentioned it. "I can, can't I?" he muttered, almost awed, before letting out a bit of a laugh. "Brilliant."

"Jim'll be pleased. He hates for tools to be one-dimensional," she chuckled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

He didn't quite understand what she meant, but didn't particularly care, sighing in content and starting to look around the room more carefully now that he could. A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. "I'm going to come in now," came a voice, before the door unlatched and their doctor entered. Sebastian immediately stiffened.

Lorna groaned, rolling back over and burrowing back into Sebastian's side. She did not want to deal with this.

"You can relax, Ms. Harrison," the doctor sighed. "I'm simply here to change Mr. Moran's bandages... I understand you both had quite the scare earlier."

"Good," she muttered, deciding to ignore the process for the most part. "I just woke up and I am not feeling chatty."

He sighed but seemed to take that for what it was, walking over to Sebastian who reluctantly allowed him to begin unwinding the bandages.

The doctor was not pleased with what he found. "These are fresh. Mr. Moran, if I have to restrain you, I will. You simply have to stop this."

Lorna lifted her head a little, frowning. "Fresh? What?"

Sebastian pulled his arm away. "He doesn't know what he's talking about," he said defensively, sitting back.

"I'm afraid I do, sir," he replied tersely, and Lorna's jaw tightened. _I thought he'd stopped._ "If you won't agree to stop, I _will_ restrain you. The boss's orders."

He was breathing through his nose now, body tense, evaluating the situation. He could kill this man, but Jim would hear of it and others would come and restrain him, and he would lose the words. It would almost be worth it to see the man who was taking them away die, but not quite. He could lie, say he would stop, but the next time the man changed his bandages the game would be up, and he would be restrained, and he would lose the words. He could agree to stop, and he would lose the words. There was no good way out. He remained silent, feeling trapped.

"Sebastian," Lorna interjected quietly, looking up at him with serious grey eyes, "You won't stop existing if the words stop. They aren't you. They helped you, when you really needed it; I don't doubt that they probably kept you alive in that shithole. But now they are hurting you. You've got to let them go. Please."

He didn't want to listen to her, but he was slowly losing the ability to just let voices slip by unheard, just when he was starting to want it.

"They're my words. It's my body. I choose." He never took his eyes off of the doctor.

"If you get a blood infection, and you die, that decision affects me. The boss will fire me, in a creative way, I am sure," the doctor said, losing his cool a little. "Now, I restrain you, or you stop. Which will it be, Mr. Moran?"

His nostrils flared, then, and he stood, his hand snapping out to grab the man by the throat, tightening...

A second later he let him drop, power in his stance despite his frailty, eyes blazing. "You will not restrain me, you will not give me orders. I will do as I please. I will not die. _If_ I choose to stop, it is because- and _only_ because- Moriarty ordered me to. You need to remember your place."

The doctor was cowed, but not entirely beaten; as he made a run for the door he glanced over his shoulder with a look that said he would be back, however reluctantly it may be. Lorna was quiet for a minute after he was gone, calming her heart, then cleared her throat, very quietly. "If Jim's ordered you to be restrained if you don't stop... I think we can take the next logical step."

"And what would that be?" he asked quietly, ripping off the rest of the bandages and tossing them angrily into the bin. Christ, he felt awful. But he could see his words for the first time, and they were glorious. He smiled a little.

She took a slow breath. "That he's ordering you to stop."

He sighed as she said that, standing there in his pants in the middle of the room, before walking over to the bathroom to see himself in the mirror. The words were backwards there, but he knew them by heart and read them happily, turning to see his back, smiling at how neat the letters were carved even there. "How can no one understand this?"

She remained silent. She didn't know what to say. How to help him. How did you convince someone that they would be real even without the letters they'd carved into their skin?

He stayed there for a little while, looking at them and turning over his loyalties in his head. Finally, he walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. "Jim is asking me to die," he said finally, taking a slow breath. "But that's my job. To die for Jim."

"You know, the words will still be there, even if they're not bloody," she replied softly, leaning back on a pillow she'd propped up against the wall. "Those will scar. They'll still be visible."

He considered that quietly, looking at his hands. "The point wasn't seeing them," he said quietly, turning that over. "It was feeling them. I couldn't... couldn't see. I tried writing them on the walls but they didn't matter there. I had to _feel_..." He opened and closed his fist a few times, watching the words on the back of his hand crack and spill blood like lava breaking through rock.

"But you don't need to feel them anymore. There are other things to feel," she shook her head, voice still gentle. "You don't need to be dependent on them."

He sighed tiredly, walking over to sit on his bed. He was quiet for a long time. "If I can still see them, maybe I won't die," he said softly.

"You won't die regardless. But there are some things that just keep the human spirit alive, I suppose," she sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. _Please stop hurting yourself._

He sighed, running his fingers over the words on his neck, but not cutting in. He looked over to where the bandages the doctor had brought in sat. "Help me with those?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," she murmured, getting up to grab them, then motioning to the bed. "Sit for me, though. Otherwise my arms going to start to hurt."

He nodded, sitting again, posture defeated. He felt sick.

She started the long process of wrapping him back up, careful not to make the bindings too tight. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, when she was almost done. "I know this isn't easy."

He shrugged a little, expression tired and a bit pale. "Nothing is," he said quietly.

She finished and set the bandage roll aside, then tugged towards him gently, giving him the option to ignore her if he wanted.

He leaned into her almost immediately, however, trying to find a way to do so where bony points weren't jabbing into her somehow.

She wrapped her arms around him and tucked him under her chin as best as she could, resting her cheek on his head. Sometimes the best she could offer him was wordless comfort.

He lay there for a long time, silent, not used to being on this side of the hug, eyes eventually drifting shut as he fell asleep.

She leaned back against the pillow she'd propped up and slowly fell asleep, hoping that his sleep was good, and empty of nightmares.

 _He was blank, his skin empty and fragile, and even as he watched, it was torn asunder and fell away, and all that was left was the darkness..._

He woke immediately but without movement, his first response to fear to evaluate. Someone in the room, he was leaning against them- _Lorna_ \- The rest of the room empty. One door locked, one leading to a bathroom. One window, too small to be useful. He took a few slow breaths, trying to calm his heartbeat. He could feel the bandages snugly in place. For now, his words still existed beneath them.

She shifted sleepily, letting out a quiet sound of contentment and tightening her arms around him a little, then sighing.

He stiffened when she tightened her grip on him, automatically tensing his muscles to make himself bigger, so that when he relaxed he could slip away-

 _It's Lorna, you idiot. Relax._

She mumbled something under her breath about bagels, relaxed her grip on him slightly, and then fell back into a deeper sleep.

He smiled a little at that, glad that she seemed to be free of nightmares for once, and forced himself to relax in her grip, not wanting to wake her.

* * *

She shifted again a few hours later, letting out a long yawn. She stretched a little. Then sighed. "..You 'wake?"

"Yeah," he said quietly, looking over at her. "How'd you sleep?"

"Better, much better," she sighed, lifting a hand to rub her eyes. "Still tired, though."

"I think we both are going to be for a while," he sighed. He sat up, bandages making him a bit stiff.

"Yeah. We're not exactly healthy, are we?" she snorted, stretching out again to get some feeling back into her limbs. "This is the thinnest I've ever seen you. It's alarming."

He considered his hands, which, even with a layer of bandages, were skeletal, and a memory of muscles and strength flashed by. "It does seem to be unusual."

"It is. You are usually capable of lifting something, like, two and a half times larger than me at my full weight. It's intimidating. I love it. But it's also why I've been trying to stuff you full of protein. You make me anxious just looking at you."

He laughed just a little, sighing and rubbing his eyes. "I appreciate that... I'll work on trying to regain my appetite."

"I understand it's hard. I could barely eat, the first week I was back," she sighed, shifting around uncomfortably and then giving up, carefully peeling her shirt off and reaching for the burn gel on the nightstand. "Christ, these things hurt. I _hate_ burns."

He watched her for a moment, then indicated the gel. "Can I help?" he asked quietly.

She paused for a moment, considered it, then nodded, handing the bottle over and turning to face away from him. "Yeah. Don't think I can reach them without hurting myself."

He nodded, sitting carefully behind her and pouring the gel onto the unbandaged portion of his hand, carefully beginning to spread a thick layer of it across the burns. Now that he could see more detail, his brain was providing information as to the probably methods of injury (where from, and how learned, he had no idea) that turned his stomach.

She tensed a little under his hand, but otherwise made no movement or sound, trying not to think too hard about how those burns had been put there.

 _Hands tied together, hanging from a hook on the ceiling on her very tiptoes. He's got a red-hot poker, is circling her with it, expressionless. But there's a danger to his eyes. He passes out of her field of vision and then pain so fierce it's blinding._

He could almost see the poker that made most of the marks. His mind told him the length, the diameter, the heat at which it must have been for each strike. Information from experience. He could smell burning flesh, somewhere, see the metal coming to temperature... He shook his head a little, closing his eyes, lost in the memory for a moment. It was blurred, and he couldn't see his victim, but he remembered Lorna's screams. Not then, but it had happened...

He opened his eyes, returned his focus to her, realized he'd stopped applying gel. He started again quickly.

"I wish I didn't remember things so well," she said quietly, a little more relaxed now that some relief had come to her tortured skin. "It's usually not so much of a hindrance. But I guess there are exceptions to everything."

"Trade you," he said, teasing, as he spread gel over the last burn. "Anywhere else you need it?"

She shook her head. "No. He kept the burns in one place. Think he didn't want me getting too gnarly," she snorted, her tone bitter. She hated him, more than anyone else she'd ever met. She reached for her shirt then, remembering suddenly that she didn't want him seeing her like this. "Thank you."

He nodded a little, sitting back and closing the bottle. "Should probably give the gel a minute to dry," he pointed out quietly.

She let out a long breath, but nodded, balling her shirt up in her lap and sitting there, trying to pretend like she wasn't trying to recoil from his gaze. She couldn't hold back her fear that he'd be disgusted.

He saw her discomfort, trying to figure out why it was there, but then his eyes fell on the way she clutched her shirt like a lifeline, and he made the connection.

"My words..." he asked after a moment. "Do they bother you?"

"What?" she glanced back at him, a little surprised, a lot nervous. "...You mean the way you've marked yourself up like that? No."

He considered himself for a moment, running fingers over his bandages. "When they scar, will they bother you? Because I know... I'm a lot different, in my head, and you say that doesn't bother you, but you didn't say about my body."

She shook her head a little. "No, of course not. It's just like a tattoo, isn't it? They won't bother me. They're pretty inoffensive, as scars go."

He nodded a little, then looked back up at her. "We see a fair lot of scars in our line of work, I suppose. I tend to find them attractive, I think. Old me did, and I do, too. They show someone's fought for something."

She swallowed, not looking at him, and nodded a little, trying to keep herself from inexplicably tearing up. _He's not going to leave you for a few scars. You know better than that, don't you?_

He looked over at her, and sighed. "Subtlety is not my art. Stop being an idiot. You're fucking gorgeous."

"Sorry," she whispered, running her thumb anxiously over the oldest scar on her thigh. "I'm just... not used to being this way, yet. I've always valued myself by how well I could do my work, and now..." she let out a shuddering breath, shrugging a little, helplessly. "Sorry."

He sighed, trying to think of a way to help her, meticulously searching through his woodchippered memories. Booze wasn't an option, physical contact was iffy at best...

He eventually reached out to take her hand in his, letting her see it before he touched her. Finally he gave a frustrated sigh. "You value is not dependent on your work. That's how Jim thinks. You aren't him. You matter to people."

She sighed, holding his hand a little tighter. Then she gave up and just leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder, so she didn't get burn gel all over him. "Thanks," she murmured, eventually.

"Don't thank me, it's just the truth," he sighed, still frustrated, wishing he could turn his thoughts into words more easily.

"Yeah, but sometimes saying it is difficult. For one reason or another," she shook her head, then rested her cheek on his shoulder. "I know I'm only good with words when I'm lying. The truth is hard."

" _Words_ are hard," he snorted in annoyance. "But neither of us are really in a good place for actions regarding this subject, so words it is."

She let out a tired chuckle, but nodded in agreement. "We'll get there. Eventually. We got a little time."

He nodded, reaching up to rub at his eyes a little. It was becoming a habit. "I wish I felt like me," he sighed.

"I know," she murmured, leaning up to kiss his cheek before pulling on her shirt, finally. "You'll get better. You've already improved so much in such little time."

He nodded just a little. "I'm not who you expected to find," he said suddenly. "I should have been him. Old me.

She frowned. "But you are him, Sebastian. You may have resorted to a strict pattern to keep yourself anywhere close to sane, and lost your memories, but at your core, you are still the same person. When Jim pulled that shit earlier and you put them down, so fucking fast, even as weak as you are right now... some lost memories can't take your core away from you."

He shrugged, looking over at her. "You expected me to still be... normal. I failed that. I'm sorry."

Lorna shook her head again, sitting to face him, hands on her knees. "Sebastian, I don't know what I was expecting when I pulled you out of there. I knew you wouldn't be the same. Solitary does bad, bad things to you. More than most people. Was I surprised, when I got you out? Sure. But it's not like I could expect you to be the same. _I'm_ not the same. Why should you be?" she shifted and crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Don't worry about it. We'll get through this shit. Promise."


	63. A Dish Served Cold

Playlist: Florence + The Machine - My Boy Builds Coffins

* * *

It was a long couple of weeks. Both of them slogged through their required meetings with their therapists, and Sebastian fought off the urge to trace his words, though the further they healed the harder it got.

Finally, two days before they were to go back on duty, they woke up to the news that they were going to be released. Neither of them dawdled, and an odd half hour later, they were both staring at the elevator door, waiting for it to arrive.

"Christ, am I glad to be leaving this place," she breathed, running a hand through her hair, which was finally beginning to be truly healthy again. She'd made good progress towards getting her weight back to what it was. The nightmares had gotten better, and some of the sessions with the therapist had even been... slightly helpful. She'd been able to describe some of the things done to her that she'd never want to inflict on Sebastian. That had helped her make progress.

He nodded in agreement, rubbing at his bandaged arm absently, as had become habit. The cuts were almost completely healed, but still he wound the bandages tightly in place. Otherwise the impulse to cut into them again became nearly overwhelming. "I was starting go more mad than I already am, staring at those fucking walls all day."

"I'm right there with you. It will be good to see home, again, too. I've missed liquor. And windows." She stepped into the lift with a sigh of relief. "Hell, maybe the flat will bring back those last few memories, too."

He nodded a little in agreement, stepping in with her and reaching for the buttons, before pausing to stare at then for a while, thinking. Eventually he sighed and shook his head, motioning for her to make the selection.

She pressed the appropriate floor button without making a fuss; things were still coming back to him, one piece at a time, and spending the time verbally correcting something that was best done without words was detrimental. When the lift dinged open she stepped out with a bit of a spring to her step. "C'mon, let's get ridiculously drunk."

He smirked a little and shook his head, but followed after her, taking in the hallways with a sense akin to deja vu. She stopped outside a door and he waited for her to key in, following slowly behind her.

She walked into the flat nearly as slowly as he did; it'd been a long time since she'd been there, and it was weird to finally be back. Home. As strange as it was. "I'm going to get into some more comfortable clothes," she sighed, heading for the bedroom. "Then its whiskey time."

He nodded just a little, walking around the room slowly, taking it in, mapping out the strengths (there were many) and weaknesses (very few) in its defensibility.

She returned five minutes later, decked out in a soft hoodie and sweatpants, and headed for the liquor cabinet in silence, letting him adjust to the room. She grabbed a bottle of whiskey and then sat down on the sofa, throwing back a swig as soon as immediately possible, and letting out a quiet hum of contentment.

He looked over at her, the bottle clicking something together that had gotten lost in the haze of memories. "We shouldn't... get too drunk. Bad things happen."

"That's only in public. But... you're right. We'll take it easy," she murmured, then held out a hand to him, beckoning him to sit.

* * *

It was two months later that they dragged in Charles Augustus Magnussen. The man who had indirectly set her back on the path that would lead her to DeWitt. She and Sebastian were much healthier now, in all fields. She didn't flinch from his touch anymore, or jump when someone raised their voice. Her injuries, for the most part, didn't trouble her, and most of it had scarred well.

So as she waited outside the basement cell for Sebastian to arrive, she didn't feel trepidation. She would not cower before Magnussen's gaze. She would enjoy watching him die.

He walked into the elevator, full of confidence as he punched the button for the basement and leaned back against the wall. He was mostly who he had been, memories still falling into place every once and awhile, but if prompted he could remember almost anything. His body was free of bandages, the fresh scars standing out pale pink against his skin. Moriarty's marks no longer drew attention.

He strode out of the elevator, every breath filling his lungs and sending a new drive of energy into him. Magnussen. Charles Augustus _Magnussen_.

His hands itched to be bloody, crawling with energy begging to be released.

He saw Lorna at the door, her gaze as hungry as his, and smiled. Feral.

"Thank god you're here. I thought I was going to start crawling up the walls if you didn't arrive soon. Come on, then, I want to make the bastard pay," she laughed, holding out a hand towards him. "If we get a little bloody in the process I won't weep any tears, either."

He took her hand and gripped it for just a second before he straightened, taking a slow breath. Then he dropped her hand and reached out to unlock the door, slipping into the dim room and observing the man tied up in the center of it. "Hello, Charley. Nice to see you again."

"Mr. Moran," Magnussen smiled, as if he wasn't tied to a chair that was bolted to the floor. "So nice to see you doing well again. I hear you hit a bit of a rough patch not so long ago," he sighed mournfully, then brightened up as Lorna entered the room behind him. "Oh, and Ms. Harrison. I don't think I've had the pleasure."

"No, I don't think you have, but you've influenced her significantly and she's been eager to meet you," Moran purred, still smiling. "Now, I want you to know that there is nothing you can do or say in the next... however long we decide to play that will make your life any easier. This is good old-fashioned revenge. Nothing else."

"Oh? There's always _something_ that can be done," he replied, focusing his gaze on Lorna. "What would your _brother_ thin-" He was cut off rather suddenly as she punched him in the face. When she'd put on brass knuckles wasn't quite clear.

Sebastian grinned, an odd sort of glee inflating his chest as blood spurted out of Magnussen's broken nose. "Beautiful," he sighed. "You know, Lorna... We always need people to talk. I so rarely get to practice dentistry."

She laughed, dropping the bloody brass knuckles in their captive's lap with a dull thud as he groaned in pain, bending forward. "You're right; this is a perfect opportunity. I think there's pliers in here somewhere."

"I'm certain of it, in fact," he said, walking over to the space of wall he needed and scanning his thumb, the cabinet popping open. He pulled out a drawer and tossed a pair of pliers at her feet, returning with a set of his own. "You really need to get down here more. Some of these cabinets are fucking fantastic."

"Maybe I will," she chuckled, bending to grab the tool and and then pulling the man's head back with a handful of thin hair, looking down at his pained face with dark eyes. "I'm looking for a new position, after all. Do you want to go first, or shall I?"

"Go ahead first," he said, smiling. "You deserve a little close personal contact with Magnussen. I've already had the pleasure."

She just smirked, a dangerous, vindictive look, and forced Magnussen's jaw open, nails digging into his skin, her own teeth bared in a gleeful snarl. He didn't make a sound until she jammed the pliers in his mouth, got a hold of a molar, and yanked it out with a sharp twist, and then he screamed. "You should have given more thought to sending my own brother after me. You'll pay for that."

Sebastian watched her, eyes switching between her face and Magnussen's, giving the man a few breaths to recover, before walking forward. Magnussen clamped his mouth shut, trying to breathe through his mangled, bleeding nose, but that didn't last long and he choked, his mouth opening for a split second. Moran was on him instantly, pliers in place, closed around one of his front uppers, pulling it with an eager yank, part of the tooth breaking off in the process. Magnussen screamed again, but Sebastian was already sighing, apologizing. "Sometimes they break like that. Don't want that, though. That isn't nearly so painful." He immediately shoved the pliers back in, digging around for the remainder of the tooth. "I might need needle nose..."

Lorna tossed the pliers to the side and returned to the cabinet, looking through the contents within while Sebastian rooted around Magnussen's mouth. She came back a moment later with a short, thick knife, and stood off to the side, looking thoughtful, though intensely interested. "I want to carve something up, you know? Hm... maybe I'll leave my initials in him.." she muttered, then stepped forward, slipping around and under Sebastian to kneel on their prisoner's lap, tearing open his shirt, and slowly, deliberately, with all her weight behind the knife, began carving her initials down his sternum.

Magnussen screamed and writhed, biting down on the pliers and tossing his head, trying to get the knife away from his chest.

"Easy there, darling. Hold still," Sebastian chuckled, gripping the man's throat and holding him forcefully in place, even as he yanked at the restraints.

"If I'm naughty you gonna tie me up and call me darling, too?" she hummed, adding a slow, deliberate curl to her _L_ and then moving on to the _H,_ a little deeper than the first letter, eyes raptly watching the blood well up from beneath the skin.

"Only if you beg nicely," he shot back, smiling as Magnussen gagged on blood again and spat, trying to clear his throat.

"What, begging _and_ manners? Somebody's full of themselves," she smirked, pausing her carving as Magnussen coughed blood onto her cheek, looking at him thoughtfully. "I don't think he's bleeding _nearly_ enough, do you?"

"They never are," he chuckled, eyeing the knife hungrily, fingers itching for it, curling and uncurling. He could retrace his words...

He shook his head a little, clearing it, and walked over to the cabinet to grab another knife. If he couldn't carve them himself, why not on Magnussen?

She slowly finished the _H,_ then sat back a little, admiring her handwork, before taking his chin in her hand again and holding his face still as she started slicing parallel lines down his face as he groaned and shook. _Revenge._ This particular dish was served so cold it almost didn't taste like anything anymore, but hell, a couples torture session? How could she have ever said no?

He walked back, and couldn't help bending to nip at the back of her neck as she worked, smiling. "He looks brilliant," he laughed, walking over with the scalpel he'd found to start working his words into the inside of Magnussen's arm. They flowed perfectly out of his hand, a rush, a release.

She grinned, not bothering to hide the shiver that went down her spine, her next line down his face just shy of a straight line. She met Magnussen's eyes for the first time, and she was thrilled to see disgust in them. "I'm _sorry,_ are we too gross for your, frankly, _vile_ sensibilities?" she purred, resting the blade just under his eye.

Moran laughed as Magnussen squirmed again and spat "Forgi' me if I'm not 'hrilled wi'h you car'ing into my fa'e."

She pressed her fingernail into one of the cuts with unrelenting pressure, watching as he flinched under her, another gush of crimson rolling down his face, off his chin, onto her knee. It didn't look like she'd heard him. By now she'd accepted that living with Sebastian was not really all that conducive to keeping this part of her under wraps. And if she was going to resign herself to that fact, she might as well enjoy it. She leaned back a little, running her fingers along the bloody knife, and sighed. "All the things I want to do to him would kill him. I hate when that happens."

"Hmm?" he asked, looking up from where he'd just finished his words, blood welling up to stain Magnussen's arm crimson. "Oh, come on, I know you're creative. I'd been considering amputation but that leaves us with less canvas."

"I'm creative, but there's not a lot that can substitute being elbow-deep in someone's rib cage," she said neutrally, looking thoughtfully down at Magnussen, her head tilted just a little. It felt a little like an itch she couldn't scratch, seating at the nape of her neck. "What do you think about _scalping?"_

He sighed, standing up and licking the blood off his fingers. "Head wounds bleed like crazy. We'd have to cauterize it."

She made a face. Even though the burns on her back had been healed for quite a while, she still didn't like to go near things that put off heat. She buried her knife in his arm for safekeeping and climbed off his lap to stand by Sebastian, bloodied hands on her hips. "Alright, fine. You just do whatever the hell you want to, and when you're done I'll cut him open like I'm really dying to. I'll just watch and maybe admire your arse a little."

"Christ, you're impatient," he laughed, walking over to kiss her, giving her a taste of the blood on his lips. "You don't want to leave him to fester for a week or two?"

"Honestly, I just don't give that much of a shit about him," she smirked, her pupils dilating as the taste of copper spread over her tongue. She hooked a finger in one of his belt loops. "Sue me if I want to get to the _really_ fun part."

He laughed, nudging his hip against hers before he walked back over to Magnussen. "Guess you're mine for a few minutes, then," he said with a smile. "She's bored without open chest cavities."

She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk on her face. Magnussen cleared his throat, spat a little blood, which only went as far as his chin before giving up on momentum and deciding to just make a mess of him instead. "'Harming couple. 'Ust ge' on with it."

He laughed, walking over to the wall and opening a new cabinet. "I'd use a hotknife but Lorna wouldn't approve, so you can thank her for that..." he muttered, thinking before pulling out a set of long, thick needles. "This is more what I'm looking for."

His eyes stayed carefully on the needles, caution and confusion present there. Whatever Moran was about to do to him, he had no idea what was coming. He was beginning to regret going after Jim's top employees, so, so many months ago.

He started to walk over, putting one of the needles up to his lips and blowing, confirming that they were hollow. "I love these things," he said with a laugh. "Great for under fingernails, but that isn't what I'll be doing with them today." He walked up to Magnussen and set most of the needles aside, his fingers tracing over the man's bloody chest, counting ribs. A moment later, he drew a fist back and slammed it down against Magnussen's chest, driving the needle into his lung.

He didn't so much scream as gasp, jerking against the restraints, clawing at the arm of the chair beneath him. Lorna watched from the side, biting her lip, entranced. Years ago she'd thought she was pretty hot shit in the torture game, but Sebastian was something else.

"I'm guessing that probably hurt, and I'm going to let you adjust before we keep moving," Sebastian soothed. "I'll take this one slower." He held up another needle and started slowly pushing it through Magnussen's chest on the other side.

This time Magnussen did scream, though it couldn't have made the process any more bearable, but by the time the needle had punctured his lung he was just panting for breath, skin glistening with sweat, eyes wild and frantic. Pointlessly so. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Now, I want you to understand what's going on here, while I do it, alright?" he walked towards the cabinets again. "What I am about to do is fill your lungs with water." He opened a cabinet full of tubing, flicking through rolls until he found the right grade, and pulling a small pump out with it. "I'll let you drown for a bit, then drain them again. We can do that as many times as we like. Like waterboarding, but much more fun." He chuckled slightly.

Perhaps he would have tried to beg for mercy, if he'd been able to get a decent breath in - as it was he was struggling to compensate, his panicking not making it any better. Lorna was smirking at the wall, eyes flicking between the two of them with a hungry sort of amusement.

Sebastian walked over, sliding the tubes onto the ends of the needles and connecting them to the pump, grabbing a bucket of water from the corner and walking over to pour it in. "This water isn't really clean, but you don't care, right? You're not going to live that long anyway. I could piss in there and it really wouldn't make much difference. Might do that, now that I've thought of it... we'll see."

The effects were near-immediate. He started coughing, then gasping again, arching away from the chair, sputtering, watery breaths the only thing that managed to leave him. Lorna walked forward, finally unable to keep herself back, running her nails lightly down Sebastian's back.

He arched slightly under her touch, trousers tenting slightly as he hummed in pleasure, looking over his shoulder at her, eyes black and wild, teeth bared in a wide grin. "We should do things like this more often."

"What part? I don't know about you, but I think the simulated drowning should be saved for major holidays," she smirked, tugging his shirt out of his belt while Magnussen drowned a few feet away, stepping to his front so she could start to unbutton the article of clothing.

"How conscious do you want him when you start ripping into him?" he asked, reaching out to turn off the pump with the toe of his boot, watching as Magnussen managed watery half breaths between his body's attempts to cough the stuff up.

"He doesn't need to be conscious. I just want his heart to be beating," she hummed, leaning up to kiss his collarbone, nails biting into his side.

He tilted his head back with a soft groan, his hands running up her sides, tracing her curves and pulling her tighter against him, erection nudging at her hip. "I'd like to play with him just a little longer, if that's alright..."

"Well, if you're going to ask so nicely..." she smirked, leaning into him a little harder for just a moment before stepping aside with a wink, her eyes going back to Magnussen with a predatory intensity.

He smirked. "That's the only time I'm going to ask nicely for anything, so remember it well," he said with a laugh, walking over to the pump and turning it on reverse, which was no more pleasant for Magnussen, creating a vacuum in his lungs that forced him to inhale far more than felt natural while his lungs still tried to cough the water away.

She didn't retreat completely this time, standing only about a pace back from him, thoroughly enjoying watch Magnussen gulp like a fish for air.

The water that poured back into the bucket was tinged red, and Sebastian smiled. "Christ, I wish I had some hotsauce handy. I'd dump a whole fucking bottle in there," he chuckled, giving Magnussen about two full breaths before he reversed the pump again, sending the water back in.

She turned for the cabinet, rummaging around for a bit before coming back with a tub of salt, handing it to him wordlessly, just looking amused. If Magnussen had enough air in his brain to be paying attention to them, he probably would have started to thrash a little more.

He laughed at that, pouring it into the pump. It took a few seconds, but then Magnussen let out a gurgling scream of pain, thrashing a bit harder before his movements started to slow and dull, eyes slipping shut. Moran reached out to reverse the pump, watching with interest as Magnussen's lips pulled in with the pressure before something unclogged in his nose and air whistled through. "He's all yours," he said with a smirk.

"Oh, good," she replied pleasantly, stepping forward and retrieving the knife that she'd left in his arm earlier, immediately taking the blade to his chest, carving a slab of flesh from the left side of his rib cage, emulating the way Sebastian had killed her father, a good long while ago. "I've never gotten to kill anybody this way," she said conversationally, readjusting her grip on the handle as the warm liquid poured over her fingers, an unsteady ooze, dark red and sticky.

He walked over to stand beside her. "The ribcage is the real bitch. Outside of that it's mostly just fun," he smirked.

"Yeah," she sighed, resting the knife on the unconscious man's thigh and giving the bone structure an experimental push before standing up straight, taking a short step back, and giving a sharp kick to the exposed bone with a sickening crack. She stepped forward again, curled her fingers under the edge of the bottom rib, and pulled hard, until a good section of it broke off in her hand. She dropped them in his lap. She didn't want them. And then she was utterly still for a moment, just observing what that had done to his body; the lung, struggling to inflate, blood practically pouring out of his chest cavity, just the edge of his heart peeking out from behind the intact bone. She picked the knife back up, and slowly, deliberately, shoved it up the hole she'd made, scraping past bone and lung. She knew when it hit the heart; it jerked in her hand, and a water-balloon's-worth of blood gushed onto her fingers and coated her arm. She waited until the knife stopped dancing in her hand to let go of it, still embedded in the chunk of muscle, and withdrew her arm with a squelch, only just realizing how hard her heart was pounding in her chest, how every nerve in her body seemed to be firing at once. "I think that was worth it," she murmured.

"Next time, you should try ripping it out," he said quietly, stepping up behind her, body pressing up against hers, hands sliding over her blood-soaked arms. His lips found the back of her neck. "Feel it pulsing in your hand as you reach for it, squeeze it..." His hands squeezed her arms and pulled her tighter to him. " _Feel_ them die..."

"I thought that I ought to try and do _something_ different from that kill you did," she bit her lip, rolling her hips back into his, lifting a hand to cup the back of his neck, smearing crimson across his skin. "But I'll do it next time. You're welcome to tag along and watch."

"I just think it's a little more intimate that way," he smirked, biting the side of her neck, hard, his teeth breaking skin, tongue tracing the wound.

She gasped, nails scraping the back of his neck, her brain half shorting out. "I don't know, I think this is intimate enough to make up for it," she laughed breathlessly, grinding back against him again, her free hand slipping around behind herself and between them to start undoing his belt. "Speaking of which, I'm pretty sure that door's unlocked, so we better get a move on."

"Do you know how much I _don't_ care if someone walks in on us? It's an astronomical amount," he muttered, grinning and shifting his hips back a bit so she could get at his belt more easily. "Is it safe to say your shirt is ruined?"

"It's ruined," she agreed, snorting, completely aware of what he was going to do next, and just kept working one-handed on his belt. "But really? You, who never wants to be caught off guard? With the proverbial pants down? Christ, you must be harder than I thought," she smirked, finally getting his belt undone and pulling it off to throw against the wall, stepping back to rub against him like a cat again.

"I'm fucking aching," he muttered, tearing her shirt slowly but steadily down the side and working it off, tossing the bloody cloth to the side as well. "And if someone walks in here while I'm naked and bloody, who do you honestly think is going to have the advantage of surprise? It will be me."

"I'm not arguing," she chuckled, turning to face him so she could push his already-unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders and start kissing a line down his muscular chest (the two of them were not quite where they used to be in terms of weight, but they were close).

He smiled, sighing quietly under her lips, his hands finding the waistband of her trousers and pulling her against him firmly.

She scraped her teeth across his skin as she started to unbutton his trousers, then leaned up on her toes to kiss him, biting his lower lip with a barely-hidden smirk. She loved trying to rile him up.

She was succeeding. He shifted his hands to push under her waistband, grabbing two handfuls of her arse and grinding against her as he kissed her back solidly, his tongue chasing after hers.

"Fuck, you're hot with blood on you," she gasped between kisses, finally getting his trousers down and taking the opportunity to palm him through his pants, and groaned. " _Christ,_ Sebastian."

"I told you," he half muttered, half groaned. "Do you know what it fucking does to me, watching you rip someone apart like that?" He moved his hands forward again, finding the fastening of her trousers and working quickly to undo it.

"I gotta do that more often," she mumbled, kissing down his throat, biting hard where it met his shoulder, then soothing over the mark with her tongue, all the while stroking him through his pants. Honestly, if anyone was unlucky enough to interrupt them right now, she thought Sebastian might kill them.

"Yes, you do," he breathed, finally getting her trousers undone and letting them drop. He rolled his hips slowly against her hand, hands tracing down over her pants-covered arse and between her thighs, then back up over the small of her back, leaving behind streaks of blood. They continued on up to her shoulders, and one lifted, fingers tangling in her hair and pulling her head back so that he could kiss her again.

She let out a quiet groan against his lips, dragging her nails down his side, kicking off her trousers and sliding a hand into the waistband of his pants -

Jim had been busy with some inane work, sending contracts to be filtered out among his employees, but he couldn't completely pass up the chance to see his former business partner beaten and bloodied in his basement. The walk from the lift to the holding cell was quiet, and filled with good daydreams and colorful details of blood and tears. When he opened the door however, he was, to be completely honest, a little bit surprised to find Magnussen dead, and Moran and Harrison mostly naked, bloody, and about two seconds from fucking. He was more surprised to find that his first reaction wasn't contempt, and it wasn't anger. It was arousal. "Well, _helloo."_


	64. Girls-Boys-Boys

Playlist: Panic! At The Disco - Girls/Girls/Boys

* * *

Sebastian froze and turned to look at his employer, first instinct to try and get a read on his expression to find out how much shit they were in. The result was not as he suspected, and he considered Moriarty with dark, interested eyes.

Then, for reasons he was rather unsure of, he was stepping back from Harrison for a moment and turning to walk towards him. He stopped about a foot away, and didn't say anything.

Simply reached past Jim and pushed the door shut, locking it.

Lorna had taken up a spot against the wall, the arousal not forgotten, but too unsure of the situation to do anything about it besides watch the two most powerful men in her life look at each other like they were considering a five-course meal.

Jim was the first to make a real move, reaching up and getting a grip in his short blond hair to pull the taller man down for a dominating kiss.

Moran grinned and kissed him firmly, hardly believing what was happening but in no mood to argue. A few moments later he snarled slightly against Jim's lips, fighting for control, a hand finding his chest and pushing him back until he had him up against the wall.

Lorna barely dared to breathe, watching the two of them. Jim had a grip on Sebastian's wrist, and he only allowed Moran a few seconds of dominance before he raked blunt nails down his arm, getting back control with liberal use of teeth and a strong hand in his hair. She had no idea how this conflict would be resolved; what if neither of them backed down?

Moran didn't go belly up, but he knew better than to push his luck, letting Jim take the lead with only token resistance, hands moving to push off the boss's suit jacket.

Lorna was feeling more pinned to the spot by the second, unsure what to do, how to react. Jim was an unknown factor; different enough to send even a grifter like her into serious doubts.

Moran stepped back after a moment, tossing the jacket over a chair in the corner and nodding to Lorna with a grin, motioning her closer as he walked back over to start undoing Jim's shirt, bending to kiss him again. Jim let him work, exploring the situation, his brain taking a step back for once as he reached up to resume his hold on Sebastian's hair.

She started forward slowly, somewhat nervously, and skimmed her fingers over Sebastian's back, tracing the curve of his spine before she stepped up to start kissing down it, careful not to touch Jim, unsure what the rules were, now. Until she knew them, she'd follow their lead.

Sebastian inhaled sharply at her lips on his spine, and Jim pushed him away, finishing the removal of his shirt and trousers. He considered Lorna carefully for a moment, then gave a slightly mad grin, reaching out to grip her throat gently but firmly. His eyes met hers, and then he was kissing her forcefully, putting his claim on her, half for the hell of it, half to see what Moran would do.

She let out a surprised huff and arched as a thrill went down her spine, then caught up and kissed him back, her brain giving up and her heart racing to make up for it. It turned her on to no end that he was handling her this way, especially in front of Sebastian; just the imprints another man had made on her had driven him just the smallest bit mad, and whatever his reaction would be, it would be spectacular.

Sebastian was less than thrilled with this change of pace, though for some weird reason it was doing a hell of a lot for his lower brain. He stepped forward, slipping in behind Jim and slipping an arm around him, massaging his cock gently through his trousers, teeth closing around the back of his neck, intent on distracting him.

If anything, Jim grew more determined (he'd agreed to stop playing games, but the bedroom was always going to be an exception to that rule), pulling Lorna closer by his grip on her throat and sliding a hand between her legs, drawing a gasp from her. He was, however, not entirely unaffected, hardening further under the sniper's touch, his breathing becoming just a bit heavier.

He growled against Jim's neck at that, his grip on the man's cock tightening slightly, just enough to be uncomfortable, just enough to exert a little control, his free hand reaching up to grip Jim's hair.

"Touchy," he laughed, though he dropped his hand from Harrison's neck in favor of reaching behind him and haphazardly pushing Moran's underwear down, his other hand still rubbing the woman in front of him, fingers brushing aside her pants to circle her clit, pulling a sound out of her that made him grin. She ran her nails down his abdomen, tongue tracing the shell of his ear, now far too aroused to worry about what would happen after this.

"Just a bit," he agreed in a rough voice, groaning a little and grinding forward against Jim's arse, the hand on his cock relinquishing its hold to start doing away with Jim's trousers. He released his grip in Jim's hair slowly, leaning forward to kiss Lorna across the other man's shoulder.

She still had to lean up to reach him, kissing him with a mixture of pleasure and relief for something familiar, but she moaned as Jim pressed two fingers into her, biting Sebastian's lip just a little harder than she meant to.

He moaned at that, managing to get Jim's trousers undone and finally pulling away, crouching down to get rid of his own boots and then work on Jim's shoes.

Jim kicked off his shoes as they were undone, Lorna following suit a moment later, too distracted by what Jim was doing with his fingers to be 100% with the program.

Moran pulled off Jim's trousers, and was about to stand up, when he got an idea and smirked, shifting instead to kneel between Jim and Lorna, one hand reaching up to battle with Jim's for position inside of her, the other freeing Jim of his pants while his lips closed around his semi-hard cock, smirking.

Both of them groaned, Jim finding a grip in Sebastian's hair with his free hand, unable to help rocking forward a little, chasing the sensation, and then leaned forward to capture Harrison's lips again, even more dominating than before, and pulling another moan out of her, thumb pressed to her clit, not to be outdone.

As soon as Harrison moaned, Sebastian pulled away from Jim a little, fighting the grip on his hair, eyes glinting. When she calmed slightly he moved forward again. He had no doubt that Jim would piece together the message. _I am in control of how you feel. She's mine._

Jim was willing to let it go; it was one small game among many to come, and this was certainly a preferable way to lose, looking down at those clear blue eyes and tousled blond hair. He gave Sebastian the control for setting the pace with Harrison, drawing back his hand a little, much to her disappointment. She scraped her nails over Jim's hip, sucking a mark on his shoulder before sinking her teeth in until she drew blood. "If one of you doesn't fuck me soon I'll do it myself, I swear to god."

Moran grinned as he won the battle (though he was well aware that war had just been declared) and pulled away from Jim slowly, raising an eyebrow at him, almost certain about how this was going to pan out. "I'll be the middleman if you prefer, sir," he said with a mix of sass and respect, toeing the line.

"I was going to suggest Harrison be it, if she's so eager to be fucked, but if you'd rather take that position we can save that for another time," he smirked, giving the slightest tug to Moran's hair. Lorna made an impatient sound.

"I'll take it, unless she wants to," he said, nodding and laughing a little as Lorna whined, leaning over to kiss her greedily. "Just a second on the logistics," he smirked as he nipped her lip. "Do you want to be middleman, or shall I?"

She was too wound up to mince words. "If there's lube, yes. If not, good fucking luck," she snorted, then kissed him again, because she would _not_ let things grind to a halt.

"Probably some around here somewhere," he muttered, still kissing her. "I can check the cabinets..." he slid his fingers back into her, curving and twisting slowly.

She moaned, gripping onto his arms, breaths coming heavier, in gasps, warmth curling up her spine. Jim took the opportunity to check for him, silently rummaging through the cabinets until he found a bottle, and returned with a smirk on his face.

Moran looked up and groaned, smiling. "Brilliant," he murmured, watching as Jim poured a generous amount over his hand, and then reached down, sliding a slick finger slowly into Lorna's puckered entrance, Sebastian's fingers still working slowly inside of her.

She was vaguely amazed that she was still standing, though it probably had something to do with the fact that she was clinging onto Sebastian for dear life. Jim's lips were trailing across her shoulders, and he surprisingly gentle; perhaps he knew that if he treated her too roughly Sebastian might step in, and there would be no repeats of this.

Sebastian felt her knees go out a few times and finally knelt, taking her slowly down with him, giving Jim time to adjust. He kissed her again, slowly, fingers curving inside of her to brush against her walls, keeping her distracted as Jim stretched her with surprising gentleness.

Jim slid a hand down her side, over the curve of her hip, skimming over a few small ridges that a knife had left in her skin to massage her thigh, teeth scraping ever-so-slightly over the back of her neck as he worked a second finger into her, relishing the moan it drew from her lips. He was a man who generally preferred other men; the women he took to bed usually were astoundingly attractive, or at least interesting in some way. And Harrison was of far-above-average beauty, but the fact that Moran - his bodyguard for almost a decade now, and a cruel killer all of that time - had developed _feelings_ for her made her interesting.

Sebastian leaned back a moment later, watching Lorna as she leaned back into Jim, her hips rolling against both their hands. He was enraptured for a few breaths, their combined beauty dazzling and incredibly erotic. He spent a few moments considering Jim, wondering what in hell had brought this on and how dead it was going to make them, but his cock was informing him that that information was currently completely irrelevant. He was dying to be inside of Lorna, but he would wait for Jim, so instead he shifted to lay down, slipping his head between her thighs and pulling her down a little further until he could press his mouth against her dripping heat, tongue beginning to trace through her folds and circling her entrance teasingly.

" _Fuck,"_ she gasped, hand curling into a fist on her thigh, then shifting to plant it on Sebastian's chest as Jim added a third finger and she couldn't help but arch, taking in a sharp breath. It was all becoming overwhelmingly teasing, so close to what she wanted but not quite, her core practically aching to be filled. "Shit, _Seb,_ you're _killing me,"_ she moaned, digging her nails into his skin. "I'm fine, I'm fine, let's _go, fuck me."_

"Is she always this impatient?" Jim chuckled against the nape of her neck, a little amused and very interested at the tangible shiver that went through her. He was just as eager to bury himself in her, but hell if he was going to admit it. "But she's ready. After you."

"Always," Sebastian said with a smirk as he shifted out from underneath her and turned to face her, considering logistics before lying on his back. "It's part of her charm." He reached out to put a hand on Lorna's hip, the other piloting his dick as he pulled her onto him. He bit into his lip, nostrils flaring and his head grinding back against the ground as he let out a low groan. "Christ, Lorna, you're fucking soaked..."

The sound that came out of her was pure relief, bracing a hand on Sebastian's chest and rolling her hips, only to be stopped a moment later by Jim's hand on her waist. He'd slicked himself up as Moran had pulled her forward, and he pressed into her slowly, grip tight enough on her skin to leave marks. He let out a heavy breath as he bottomed out; Lorna _whined,_ and he had to restrain himself from leaving bloody marks across her hip.

Moran gasped noisily as Jim pushed in. He could feel the other man's cock through the thin barrier of tissue between them, and moaned, reaching around Lorna to grip the other man's upper arm in an iron hold as he started to move slowly, testing the arrangement.

Jim waited a moment before setting up a counter rhythm, gritting his teeth so he didn't let out a string of expletives, the slow pace a delicious torture, and slid the hand from Harrison's hip up to her throat, getting a light grip, just enough to let him feel as if he was totally in control. Lorna was almost thankful to have something keeping her upright; it was all she could do not to just fall over, her thighs shaking, core strength threatening to fail her completely.

The view Moran had was something he wouldn't have dreamt up on the best drugs money could buy. Lorna- covered in drying blood- arched over him like some succubus, her breasts full and round, accenting each of her movements and contrasting with her taut, muscled abdomen. Her neck was pale under Jim's lean, long fingers, red near where his nails bit in, and Jim's eyes were black and demonish, teeth flashing white as he thrust and rolled against Lorna with agonizing, slow precision.

Sebastian continued to move, felt Jim moving opposite him, and turned his attention to Lorna's face, eyes on hers.

Lorna had been in this position before, with other men, but the contrasts were staggering. Then, she'd been in absolute control, playing them like a fiddle, her mind more on the job than the sex. Now, she'd never felt so _owned_ in her life, caught between the man who had her heart and the man who controlled her life, in the best possible way. It was getting increasingly hard for her to focus her eyes, so she gave up and shut them, riding out the burning pleasure and letting herself get lost in it, biting her lip, reaching up behind her to slide a hand into Jim's sweat-dampened hair. She wasn't going to last long at all, and judging by the way the boss picked up pace behind her, they could tell.

Moran didn't bother holding back anymore as he saw Lorna start to lose control, the speed and power behind his thrusts increasing, thighs brushing against Jim's legs. His hand slid over to Jim's chest, thumb rubbing over his nipple firmly.

Jim snarled slightly as Moran's hand found his chest, head tilting back, and he matched the sniper's pace, closing his eyes and listening to the odd rhythm they created, punctuated by groans and cries from Moran and Lorna, his own mouth still shut tight.

She cried out as she tipped over the edge, nails biting into Jim's arm half to keep herself up, half so she could just grab onto _something,_ the coiled spring that had been winding up in her abdomen finally fucking releasing. Jim made his first sound when she came, a low growl, his precious control slipping away as she tightened around him, driving into her with a few last powerful thrusts before he emptied himself into her, leaving bloody crescent moons on her throat with his fingernails.

" _Fuck_ -" Sebastian growled, teeth set, his hand raking down Jim's chest as he bucked his hips desperately upwards a few more times, body burning, until he finally came, lights flashing behind eyes that had at some point clamped shut. He lay there under a melted Lorna, chest heaving, expanding and deflating like an explosion going off in a cartoon barrel.

Jim didn't waste any time recovering, just pulled out - to an discomforted sound from Harrison - and cleaned himself off with the nearest article of clothing, which turned out to be her already-ruined pants, and got up to start getting dressed without another word to either of them, his face pleasantly neutral, though there was something smug in his eyes.

Lorna stayed melted on Sebastian's chest, feeling thoroughly fucked out, and extremely tired.

Sebastian rubbed her back slowly, exhausted as well, though he turned his head to watch his employer, trying to judge his state of mind. His expression was, as per usual, an enigma, but he didn't seem pissed off, at least, which was alright. "We'll clean up here in a bit, sir," he said, voice a bit hoarse.

"As far as I'm aware, there's no pressing issues to be taken care of. But I'm sending in cleaning in half an hour whether you're still in here or not," he smirked, buttoning up his shirt and expertly redoing his tie before retrieving his suit jacket from the chair in the corner, and suddenly he looked like he hadn't touched them at all. Then, without another word, he disappeared out the door, as suddenly as he'd arrived through it. Lorna let out a tired sigh into Sebastian's neck, struggling not to fall asleep.

"Nope, no sleeping," he grunted, jostling her a bit before pushing her gently off to flop sideways onto the floor, wincing slightly as that pulled her off of him at an odd angle. "We should be out of here before cleaning gets here. There's enough rumor as it is," he sighed, standing on slightly shaky legs and finding his own ruined clothing, starting to pull it on.

"Ugh, don't make me _stand,"_ she groaned, rolling onto her back and gingerly picking up her irrevocably ruined panties before flinging them in the general direction of the trash. "Besides the obvious laziness, I know what's going to happen when I stand, and I don't know if I can walk out of her with a straight face with both yours and Jim fucking _Moriarty's_ cum dripping down my leg."

"Fine," he muttered, rolling his eyes and walking over to the far corner of the room, opening a cabinet. A moment later he returned with a sheet, dumping it over her and scooping her into his arms in one swift motion, grunting slightly. "You'd better be a fucking quiet corpse."

She stifled a laugh, a little giddy already, but surprised and delighted that he was actually going to carry her out. "Not even a giggle, I swear."

"I'll believe it when I hear it," he deadpanned, heading out of the room and calling the elevator with his elbow.

She smirked under the sheet, but remained silent, deciding that the fact all her clothes remained in the room with Magnussen was bad enough without adding to it.

The elevator was mercifully empty, but they stopped at the main floor and picked up a couple of employees. He debated just staring at the wall, but decided not to pass up the opportunity, and gave them a toothy grin from across the elevator car.

They all got out on the next floor, and he managed to stifle his laughter until the door shut.

"You have to try this."

"Try what? I can't see what you're doing," she rolled her eyes, though her voice was amused. She gave him the lightest prod with her foot.

"Carrying a body in the elevator and grinning at people," he said, still chuckling. "It's beautiful." They stopped on their floor and he headed for his apartment, managing to shift her enough to scan in, shoving the door open with his elbow and walking over to dump her unceremoniously on the bed. "Voila."

"God bless," she groaned, throwing the sheet off and sliding off the bed to head for the bathroom, just a little uncomfortably. "I'm going to shower, and then I expect to be unconscious for the next twelve hours, and then I'll probably ask if that all was real or if I was slipped a hallucinogen."

"Yeah, that's what I was just about to ask," he sighed, peeling off his clothes and tossing them in the wastebasket. He paused, considering, then walked over into the bathroom. "What the fuck just happened?"

She was already in the shower, braving the cold stream for the sake of cleanliness. "I'm pretty sure - correct me if I'm wrong - we just had a threesome with Jim Moriarty, criminal-extraordinaire," she replied, as normally as she could manage, standing under the shower with her eyes closed, letting it wash away the blood and filth. "I'm pretty sure he left some marks on my throat as proof. I cannot believe we did that. Holy shit."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he sighed, stepping into the shower with her and swearing at the surprise splash of cold. "So the next question is how long we have to live." He leaned against the wall, watching the red run down the drain. " _Fuck_..."

"Wait, what? What?" she spun to face him, wiping water out of her eyes. "What makes you think he's going to kill us? We had a three-way, we didn't sit around a campfire talking about our shitty childhoods."

"I don't fucking know! He doesn't _do_ this shit! That was completely out of the blue." He took a breath, shook his head. "No, he probably won't kill us. I was mostly joking. Mostly. Just... what the _fuck..."_

"Yeah," she sighed, deciding she was clean enough and getting out of the shower to grab a towel. "I mean, I was reasonably sure he's not asexual, so the logical assumption is that he finds time to fuck _someone_ now and then, right?"

"Yeah, of course," he said, sighing. "Not all the time and not recently, but yes. Just... still processing, I guess," he sighed, ducking under to rinse out his hair before turning off the water. "I mean... it was great, not saying anything about that..."

"No, yeah, it was, but... a little unbelievable, yeah," she muttered, shaking her head and giving her wet hair a good scrub with the towel before dropping it on the counter and heading for the bedroom. "Tell you what though, gonna be _sore_ tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'll believe that," he said, shaking his head a little, following her. "I'm surprised you aren't sore _now_ , honestly." He flopped down onto his side if the bed with a groan.

"I think I'm still too much in post-orgasm bliss to really feel it," she mumbled, crawling into bed beside him, sporting several sets of teeth marks and quite a few scrapes from fingernails. "Just kinda tender."

He nodded in agreement, reaching out to pull her closer, hands gentle, wary of bruises as he tucked her against his chest. "Christ... I have a meeting with him tomorrow morning..." he sighed. "That should be interesting."

"I wish you luck," she yawned, burrowing into him, exuding contentment. "Try not to stare at the hickey I left under his jaw."

"Fuck, that's going to be difficult," he sighed, yawning a little and giving up on trying to stay awake, shifting a little to get a bit more comfortable. Within five minutes, he was asleep.

She crashed soon after him, very glad that he was so warm, and slept dreamlessly.


	65. 007

He woke early the next morning, and lay there for a few minutes, turning the night before over in his head slowly. Then he shook his head a little and sat up, careful not to disturb Lorna. He headed to take a proper shower and clean up.

Half an hour later he was shaved and dressed, in the elevator, heading up for his meeting with Jim. He paused outside the door, wondering one more time whether he was about to be shot, and knocked.

"Come in," Jim called, in his usual bored way, reading over the newspaper, mostly because he'd set it down on his desk to protect it from his breakfast. He didn't normally have breakfast, but when he'd made a big expenditure of energy the night before, he indulged. He didn't regret his decision. In fact, he was interested to see what effect it would take.

Moran walked in calmly, closing the door behind him and walking over to his usual place, standing at parade rest. No unusual signs as of yet. It appeared Jim had eaten breakfast, which was a small victory as far as the bodyguard was concerned. His employer was frequently far thinner than Moran as his bodyguard deemed healthy. "Good morning, sir. We were going discuss the Armetti situation."

"Mm. Right. Take a seat, if you want. Or not, I've noticed how strangely uncomfortable you are when you sit in those chairs," he rolled his eyes, cleaning up his breakfast and pushing the trash into the rubbish bin.

"Yessir," he said, nodding a little and sitting down, though it was true he was less comfortable. "Have you considered my suggestion?"

"I have. But I wanted to know a little more of what you thought of him, first," he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together in his lap. Lorna had been right; she had left a mark on his neck.

He glanced at the mark, but schooled it away quickly. "He's a pretentious bastard. Intelligent, insane, but oddly honorable and humble if you catch him in the right mood. He accepts when he's wrong, which is an interesting trait for someone in his position. I personally despise him, but professionally, he'd be a good asset and I'd enjoy strong-arming him."

He nodded, drummed his fingers on the desk a few times, then leaned over to turn on his computer. "Consider him part of the American branch, then. Pick out someone reasonably reliable to head the expansion. Someone who won't make stupid mistakes, preferably. I tend to like my employees with their hands completely functional."

He nodded with a smirk. "I look forward to informing him of the new management. I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

"That dislike goes both ways, does it?" he smirked, glancing at Moran from the screen with something akin to mischief. It wasn't hard to guess what the animosity was about. He returned his gaze to the computer. "Yes, I imagine his reaction will be satisfying. What does Harrison think of the expansion? I don't particularly care, but we haven't mentioned a name or breathed the air in here of someone she _hasn't_ fucked, so I assume she has a perspective."

He sighed. "Yes, they have a history. It shouldn't be a problem. She may actually be useful in communicating with him. He seems to sort of worship her." He took a breath.

Jim smirked, and refrained from making the obvious, rather crass statement along the lines of 'Well, with that ass...' and simply typed in a few things on his keyboard, adjusting his schedule. "I'll keep that under advisement. Now, unless you had something else you wanted to cover..."

He debated for a moment, but decided if Moriarty wasn't going to bring it up, he sure as hell wasn't, at least for now. "No, sir. That's all." He stood.

"Oh, _do_ inform Harrison that if she leaves visible marks above my clothes-line again, I shall be very displeased," he said dryly, and without looking up from computer. "You're dismissed."

 _Again_.

"Yessir," he acknowledged, heading out the door at a brisk pace.

 _Again. There's going to be an_ again.

He shook his head just a little, slightly mystified by whatever had come over his employer, but then pushed the confusion aside and headed back to his apartment.

He keyed in, and shut the door quietly behind him. Harrison seemed to still be sleeping, so he headed for the bedroom, debating whether to wake her by cuddling or a bucket of cold water, just for the hell of it.

He compromised, walking over to the bathroom and running his hands under cold water for a few minutes before drying them off and climbing into bed, pressing his frigid digits against her warm back with a sigh of content.

"Wh' the _FUCK!"_ she squawked, waking up fast and jerking herself away with a sleepy, uncoordinated motion, then fall back into stillness, face buried in the pillow, a muffled groan coming from her. " _Owww. Seb,_ what the _helllll."_

He laughed, pressing his fingers against her back again and sighing in contentment. "I wanted to see what it was like to be you for once. You're right. This is nice." He relented, pulling the blankets up over her back again. "Morning. How are you feeling?"

"I thought the 'ow' covered it," she mumbled, reluctantly moving back over as his fingers started to warm up. "How did your meeting with Jim go? I assume you already had it."

"It went fine. We're going to make Armetti our American branch. I look forward to informing him of that." He wrapped his arms around her gently. "He also would like me to inform you that if you leave marks above his clothing line again, he's going to be displeased."

"Again. Interesting," she murmured, muffling a yawn into his chest. She hurt, but it was only slightly unpleasant. Most of it was the kind of satisfying she got after sleeping with Sebastian. "God, I thought I was done sleeping with crime bosses."

"Me, too," he said with a smirk. "And yet here we are." He shook his head a little. "You fucking called this, too."

"Did I?" she raised her eyebrows a little. "I don't remember calling a threesome with Jim a few feet away from a still-bleeding corpse, but I won't argue."

He shook his head a little. "Jim wanting to fuck me, remember? The threesome and the corpse were, admittedly, outside the scope of that prediction."

She had another twinge of doubt. That prediction had been from a time where this thing between them had been fleeting and inconsequential; now, she was very much committed to him. "I'm a little surprised he didn't kick me out, to be honest," she sighed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

He shrugged. "He seems to be considering you part of the equation, given his commentary," he pointed out, rubbing her back gently.

"Yeah, I guess being surprised at one _specific_ thing kinda seems a waste of time," she snorted, a little bit reassured.

"Yeah, especially given the entirety of that situation," he snorted, before sitting up. "Alright, well, I need to break the bad news to Armetti," he said gleefully.

"Alright," she sighed, rolling onto her stomach and looking like she had no plans on getting up. "If you're feeling particularly nice you could bring me some coffee. But, you know, it's optional."

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment, pulling out his phone as he headed for the kitchen and dialing Armetti. He'd had the number ready.

Vince Armetti had spent the last six months continuing business as usual, trying to forget the ache Lorna Harrison had left in his heart. He regretted spending that night with her; it'd brought it all back, and it'd made it just that much harder to watch her go. So when he got a call with an area code from London, he answered it with embarrassing enthusiasm. "Hello?"

"Mr. Armetti," Sebastian greeted in an oddly cheerful tone. "This is Sebastian Moran. How are you today?"

Vince's face fell. His tone did, too. He _hated_ Moran. "Fine," he said shortly, jaw tight.

"Excellent. I'm calling to make you a business offer," he leered. "We have a sizable budget allotted for expansion within the United States. Now, we have several options among your competitors- Mallory's old network, for example, if... overreaching... did have sizable hold within the Americas, and his former second in command is eager to make amends. However, Mr. Moriarty- for reasons which are his own- feels you would be a valuable leader of his American division. The choice is yours, of course, but you should consider that a sizable portion of that budget will be dedicated to eliminating competition. If you aren't the beneficiary of that budget..." He trailed off, still sounding smug.

Vince mouthed a swear, glaring out the window onto the street. The sun was just beginning to rise. It took him half a minute, but he finally responded. "Fine. It's a deal. Send me the contract and I'll have it approved by this afternoon."

"Excellent. I'm glad we could do business," he sneered. "I look forward to working with you to improve and expand your operation."

"Fantastic," he replied, voice dry, and then hung up, unable to maintain an air of civility any longer.

"Christ, that was the most fun I've had in a long time," he said, starting to laugh as he tossed the phone onto the table.

Lorna walked out of the bedroom, wrapped in a sheet, walking just a _tiny_ bit stiffly. "Coffee," she yawned as she passed him, heading into the kitchen.

"Right, sorry, I forgot," he said, heading after her. "He's agreed."

"He's usually a fast adjuster. Knows when he's beaten," she mumbled, banging around until she found the bag of coffee beans. "He will, of course, be bitter for a little while, but you know, shit happens."

"I couldn't possibly care less if he's bitter," he sighed cheerfully, walking over to prep the coffee maker. "I've been wanting to do that for months."

She chuckled, grinding up the beans and then pouring the grounds somewhat messily into the machine. "You hold grudges, you know that? This one is kinda cu-" she cut herself off with a cough, hiding a smirk in her hand.

"You better not have been about to say what I think you almost said," Moran said, voice low, eyebrow raised.

"I know better than to invite certain death, c'mon," she shook her head, carefully not looking back at him.

"I think you're lying," he muttered, walking over to bite the back of her neck slowly.

She gasped, hands going to grip the counter. This had not been the reaction she'd expected. But she wasn't sure she should be surprised, really. "What if I am?"

He reached up to get a grip on her neck, his hand making it well past halfway around. "I might be a bit annoyed by that," he muttered, pulling her back against his chest firmly. "My feud with Armetti is hardly 'cute.'"

She felt like her heart was going to beat its way out of her chest. And she was _embarrassingly_ turned on. "Yeah? What are you going to do about it, then?" she said softly, a hand on his wrist, more on principle than anything.

He tightened his grip on her neck just a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to be uncomfortable. "Does this feel familiar?" he asked huskily, sidestepping her question, lips brushing her ear. "Jim had you like this. You went belly-up for him. And for Armetti. Sometimes I think you forget who has a claim on you." He slid his free hand over her hip.

"I've never gone belly-up for Armetti," she breathed, squirming just a little under his grip. "I know you have a claim on me. I _love_ it."

He let out a skeptical hum, finger tracing over the marks Jim had left on her neck, relaxing his grip on her just slightly. The hand on her hip slid over her belly slowly, pulling her back against him further, teeth nipping her ear. "I am not someone who shares well. Remember that." Then slowly he relaxed his grip, finally leaving her free and moving to get a couple of mugs for coffee.

She let out a mildly unsteady breath, trying to calm her heartbeat, and as she picked up one of the mugs from the counter she thought that maybe the caffeine wasn't really necessary anymore, but she'd drink it anyway, just to look like he hadn't completely broken her so easily.

He smirked slightly to himself as he poured his own cup. He could see her fingers, pressed white against the mug, and brushed a hand along her shoulders as he passed by to sit at the table.

"You're an evil, evil man," she muttered, suppressing a shudder and pouring her own mug before sitting at the table.

"I feel like we both forget that sometimes. Reminding was in order," he smirked, sipping his coffee.

She took a sullen sip of her coffee. "Hmmph."

He shrugged, still grinning. "I might need you to help with Armetti, actually. Calm him down throughout the process. If you're up to the task.

"What, over the phone? I'm not sure how that's supposed to help," she raised her eyebrows.

"Phone him, skype him, hell if I care. You work odd magic with him." He shrugged.

"Alright, if you feel it's necessary," she shrugged a little, sipping from her coffee. Then she smirked. "But I can't promise I won't try to rile you up about it."

"If I feel it's necessary," he agreed, glaring at her a bit. "This is a last resort sort of thing."

She laughed. "That's fine. I have no desire to speak to him. Your claim is completely safe and unchallenged."

He grinned then, flicking her knee before standing and walking over to the sink to rinse out his mug.

"So... where do you think Jim will strike next? God, it'd feel weird if he showed up at the door..." she shook her head, sitting back in her chair with her coffee, determined to enjoy it. "We don't exactly make it a habit to fuck where someone might just... show up."

He shrugged. "Fuck if I know. Who knows if he even will? He could just be toying with us." He picked up his phone, starting to go through messages.

"Yeah, I wouldn't put it past him," she sighed, finishing off her coffee and standing to dump the dregs in the sink. "It's working, if he is."

The message seemed innocent enough, among the dozen others, but as soon as he read it, his gut tightened.

 _Update overdue. MH_

There were 26 letters in the Roman alphabet, and millions of people in Europe. Hundreds had to have the initials MH. But instincts were worth a lot in this business, and his assured him that there wasn't a doubt in the world.

He saved the number, and deleted the message quickly, keeping his face as passive as he could, mind racing.

"Alright, I've been awake for my allotted time, I'm going back to bed until someone finds a job for me," she yawned, fixing her sheet toga and shuffling back out of the kitchen.

He didn't respond, even though she'd only been up for about ten minutes, and walked over to pull up his laptop, starting to search, and search, and search... trying to trigger memories, _anything_...

 _Am I a double agent?_

* * *

Lorna was sitting in the break room a few days later, reading over a file Kelly had asked her to look at. He'd asked so timidly, and she was so often bored these days, that she didn't have the heart to say no. Sebastian had seemed a little off these past few days, which was why she was here, and not in his - their? - flat. Maybe he needed a little space.

Nothing. He'd found nothing. Spent the last few days tearing the flat apart, searched every file on his computer, checking phone logs. Finally, he had no choice, and pulled up the number he'd saved.

 _There have been complications. Request orders._

The reply came with little delay.

 _Report operations and developments. Details, if applicable. Soon. MH_

"Fuck..." he muttered, sitting down and setting the phone gingerly in front of him, staring at it for a while. Then he shook his head, and deleted the message. He couldn't deal with this.

* * *

Playlist: Green Day - Know Your Enemy


	66. Amnesia Is Never Convenient

It was a couple days after that she was sitting at the kitchen table, eating chicken curry across from him, that she finally spoke up. He'd been distracted and twitchy for days, and if it didn't have something to do with Jim, she didn't know _what_ it could be. "Alright, c'mon. What's bothering you?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, stirring at his food but not eating.

She sighed, resting her fork on the side of her plate. "You've been acting weird all week. You _flinched_ the other day. You never flinch. Something's up."

"Nothing's wrong. I've just been drinking too much coffee. I'm fine." He stood up, walking over to stick his bowl in the fridge.

She gave him a skeptical look, but sighed. "Alright... if you really mean it. If I can help, though..."

"I really mean it," he said a bit harshly, closing the door to the fridge and heading out of the room.

She fell silent, and returned to eating, trying to stuff down the helpless feeling in her chest. Whatever was eating at him, she didn't know, but if it started to affect his work she was going to have to step in, or risk him getting shot

He closed the door to his bedroom- he had to move the wastebasket, the door was very rarely used- and sat, head in hands, trying to think.

He turned the situation over a few more times, then decided the best option he had was an ally. And the best option for that... He walked out quickly and headed for the kitchen. "We need to talk."

She looked up from her mostly-finished curry, eyebrows rising a bit in surprise, then furrowing in concern. "...O..kay?"

He sat across from her, turning the chair backwards and straddling it, looking at her for a while. "Nothing we say here leaves this room."

"Alright," she agreed, with little-to-no hesitation. She trusted him. It was amazing that she did, but she trusted him.

He took a slow breath, staring at his hands for a moment, debating the wisdom of this. Finally he said, "Before I lost my memory... there's evidence that I may have had... conflicting loyalties."

She was silent for a long moment, not sure what to say. Not sure how to feel. She took a long breath. "Okay. Alright... What's... the evidence?"

"I've been receiving text messages from Mycroft Holmes requesting what appears to be a routine information update," he says, sighing through his nose.

She ran a hand through her hair, letting out a long sigh. "Fuck. Wow. Okay. Not really what I was expecting to hear. I don't know _what_ I was expecting, but that wasn't it. Shit. Okay." She pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath. "...I don't think you're a spy. Especially not for Mycroft Holmes. You're far too shitty a grifter to do that, and I like to think that I know you reasonably well. I think there's a strong possibility he's trying to exploit your amnesia. I _hope_ it's a strong possibility. God knows we never found that other mole..."

"You never did, at least. I don't think Jim ever had anyone look into me, and even if he'd done it himself, it would have been easy to tamper with anything suspicious. I know more about our data systems than anyone."

"Fuck, Sebastian," she breathed, running her hands down her face. "I mean... what the fuck are we going to do about this? Shit, I can't think of a way to _clear_ you, and we can't bring it to Jim..."

He shook his head a little, before dropping it into his hands. "I don't know. He texted me almost a week ago now."

"Okay. What if we... shit. I don't know." She rubbed her eyes. "What if you play along, and he lets you in. You could do some searching on the inside, try to find evidence of you being there all along. Real, tangible proof, not something they could've slapped together in an afternoon."

"Yes, brilliant. I try to convince Jim I'm not working for Mycroft by _going and working for Mycroft._ " He groaned. "Maybe though. If it turns out I was a double agent it would get me out of here when I find that out..."

"You can't be a double agent. You'd die for him. You know it, and so does he. Fuck, if we can figure out a way to get Jim's permission first..."

"Yes, that will go over well," he sighed sarcastically. Then he leaned back into his chair. "You're probably right. I'm just frustrated."

"And I don't blame you. Amnesia's a bitch," she snorted, getting up and heading out of the kitchen, only to return a moment later with a bottle of vodka. "Although I kinda want to forget about this conversation until I know I can do anything about it."

He nodded just a little. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I didn't know what else to do. It's an unpleasant feeling."

"No, don't be sorry. I'm glad you told me," she sighed, resting her hand on top of the bottle. "I was worried about you. I mean, now I still am, but I can at least try to think of something to do to help. I hate sitting and wondering."

He nodded, then glanced at the bottle. "Are you just going to fucking sit on that, or are we drinking?"

She snorted, then rolled her eyes, uncapping the bottle. "We're drinking."

"Good," he muttered, waiting for her to take a swig before reaching out for the bottle to take his own. Drunkenness and forgetting sounded fine to him.

She wanted to ask him what he would do if he really was a traitor. Would he flee? Accept the fate Jim gave him? But it just seemed so _unlikely._ After all the things Mycroft had done to them, or had had done to them, how could he have remained loyal? For fuck's sake, he'd been hooked on _heroin._

He took another long pull of vodka and passed it back, taking a slow breath through his nose. He'd barely slept in the last week, too on edge, and he was exhausted.

"How are you coping with this?" she asked after a few minutes of drinking, beginning to feel a little bit of fuzziness crawl into her head.

He shrugged a little. "It is what it is. If I was spying for Mycroft I must have had a reason. I'll figure out what it is and deal with it."

"Christ, I hope you weren't," she sighed, taking a long sip from the vodka. "Cause then my loyalties are going to get real conflicted, real fast."

He shook his head a little. "Don't be stupid. Jim will kill you. I won't. Simple as that." Which was hardly simple at all. He'd tried to remain under the illusion that if he needed to kill her- really needed to- he would. The admission was chilling.

"Sebastian..." she sighed, resting her cheek on her hand, because she was beginning to feel literally tipsy, and it was only fun falling out of your chair from being drunk if you were at a party. "I don't know what I'd do around here if you weren't also around. It seems... kinda pointless."

"We talked about this," he sighed. "You'll have plenty to do. You already do. You have a flair for torture, though I know you're hesitant about exploring it. Your long-term grifting ideas have _Jim_ impressed, for Christ's sake. You can still enjoy work. If you don't love it, use your days off for once and find something you do."

She groaned, taking another swig from the bottle and then putting her head down on the table. "That's not the _same_ , and you know it."

"Then grift! For fuck's sake, Lorna, you've convinced CEOs to hand you their companies, you can't convince them that your scar is exactly what they want in a woman? I highly doubt that." He shook his head, reaching out to grab the bottle.

She groaned again. She wasn't really surprised that he wasn't getting it, and even though she couldn't explain it to him she wished that he somehow understood. It wasn't _about_ the job. Not anymore. Grifting was like slapping a band-aid on a third-degree burn. He, on the other hand, actually made a difference in her life.

He sighed. "Look, Jim is always telling us, right? Someone has to die first. Might be you, might be me. We both need to be ready for that. You'll be fine."

"Oh, shuttup," she muttered, reaching across the table without looking to poke his arm. "I do not have the self-control to pretend to be completely okay with this while drunk. Lemme sulk."

He snorted through his nose, but nodding a little and leaning back, taking another long pull of vodka. "Fine. I'll drop it."

"Thanks," she sighed, lifting her head and waiting for him to finish before taking the bottle to drink herself. "Christ, we need to get back to your place sometime soon."

He nodded. "High time we have a _pleasant_ evening there," he agreed, fingers tracing absently over the words on his arm.

"No kidding. We haven't been since you lost your memory," she sighed, feeling distinctly melancholy about the whole thing. It would be good to just stop thinking about this shit, even for a little while. "Well, as you said, I have vacation time. When you find a good time for yourself, we can go."

He nodded a little. "Not now," he sighed. "I'm too on edge to enjoy anything."

"Yeah, I figured. Just tell me when, and I'll dump whatever little menial project they've given me while they figure out exactly where to put me," she shrugged, resting her cheek on her fist and considering what he'd said about grifting. Maybe, if she sifted through the marks right, she could find a few jobs for herself. Who knew how the department was getting on without her.

He nodded a little, standing and walking over to scoop her up into his arms. "That's enough vodka for now."

"You know, just saying that was probably enough to convince me," she muttered, though she didn't sound particularly unhappy about it. When she was drunk it was particularly pleasant to be carried places.

He hid a smile, walking into their bedroom and setting her down with a bounce on the mattress, flopping down next to her a moment later.

She curled into him without another word, burrowing into his side and then foggily drifting off to sleep, her worries too obscured by the drink to keep her awake any longer.

* * *

He woke in the middle of the night to Jim's voice over the intercom. "Moran. My office. _Now_."

He rolled out of bed a bit groggily, still slightly drunk, and started to get dressed quickly.

Lorna rolled over, groaning, one eye peeking open to glance at the clock. She groaned again. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Everything's fine. Go back to sleep," he said quietly, buttoning his shirt and pulling on his shoulder holster and jacket.

"Mmph," was all that came out of her in return. She burrowed back into the pillows, and was back asleep in an instant.

Ten minutes later he was outside of Jim's door, taking a slow breath before knocking, a sinking feeling in his gut as to what this was about.

"Enter," Jim snapped, drumming his fingers on the desk, one of many indications of his current mood. He didn't even wait for Moran to shut the door behind him before he was speaking again, tension clear in his voice. "You wouldn't fucking believe who just called me. CALLED me. At this phone. Without going through any filters or extensions or secretaries. Care to take a guess who it was?"

"Not really, if you don't mind, sir," he said, keeping his voice level. "I'd rather be surprised."

"It was _Mycroft Holmes,"_ he said tersely, his jaw tight, eyes menacing. "Now, the only reason I didn't have you snatched in your sleep and stuffed in the basement to stew until morning is that his call was suspiciously lacking in details. Start explaining, if you know what's good for you."

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as he considered the situation. When he started speaking, he met Jim's gaze. "About a week ago I received a text from Holmes- or, from an 'MH', but I made my guesses- requesting an overdue 'update'. I had no idea what he was talking about, but again, had my guesses. I held off, but finally responded asking for clarification, and was informed that I had supposedly been providing him information for an unspecified period of time. I have absolutely no memories pertaining to this, and find it unlikely, but given that my memory is so unreliable..." He fell silent.

Moran was telling the truth about that, at the very least. If he had been spying for Mycroft, he didn't remember it, as far as Jim could tell. And he doubted that even Sherlock Holmes matched him in reading skills. It was difficult to imagine that the man in front of him had been a traitor for who knew how many years, but it was more difficult to make it all add up. Why would Holmes give up a mole like this? Especially one so high up in the organization; in fact, the highest one could get, besides Jim himself. No, something here wasn't quite right. But throwing caution to the wind wasn't an option. He'd need to follow this through.

Jim let out a slow, quiet breath, tapping the pad of his finger silently on the top of his desk. "Here's what we're going to do, Moran, and I want you to listen carefully, because I have no intentions of repeating myself," he started, after a moment, dark brown eyes on Moran's clear blue ones. "You are going to 'flee' from me. You're going to run to Holmes, and you're going to ask for asylum. I have no doubt that he knows about your memory problems; do not try to hide them. Tell him that since I'm going after you and you can't even remember helping him, you assume you're his man. You'll be taking Harrison with you. She knows better than to run from me, or lie to me, and I need to keep tabs on you. _Do_ fill her in on her mission. I would make you go tonight, but considering I see _you_ were drinking I can assume she was drinking more." He paused for a moment, ran his hands through his slightly less-than-immaculate hair. "She can determine through your new coworkers whether or not they're familiar with you. If she can't, I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

He took a slow breath, surprised at the mercy but in no mood to complain. "Of course, sir. We'll get going first thing in the morning."

He nodded, eyes still on his right-hand man. Then, "I do _so_ hope you weren't spying on me, Sebastian. That would be real shame. For you, particularly. You're dismissed."

He nodded a little, heading for the door without further comment and shutting it quietly behind him.

He wasn't dead. That was a miracle. He'd fully expected Moriarty to put him down like a dog.

Lorna shifted when he came back, squinting at the light from the living room. "Y'gonna tell me wha' that was 'bout?"

"Mycroft called Jim," he explained as nonchalantly as he could manage. "Told him I'd been spying for him but had stopped responding. Jim doesn't seem to believe him completely, seeing as I'm not dead."

"Christ," she muttered, running a hand sleepily over her face. "What's he going to do about it?"

"That's where it gets interesting," he sighed, stripping out of his clothes, intent on a few more hours sleep. "You and I are going to go running to Mycroft for help."

"Jesus," she groaned, pulling the covers up a little more, as if it would help the situation. "That's going to be a real interesting day. God. How many times have we ran into him, now? And it's gone horribly wrong? _God."_

He nods, crawling into bed. "I know," he sighs. "But it's grifting. You love grifting. Have fun."

She sighed too, then curled into him, deciding it was best not to worry about all of this until tomorrow.

"Stop sighing and get some more sleep," he muttered, rubbing the top of her head.

"You get some more sleep," she retorted, out of principle, but then quieted and relaxed a little more. Within the next few minutes she'd fallen back into a drink-heavy sleep.

He set an alarm for around eight, and allowed himself to drift off as well.


	67. Asylum

The loud music came far sooner than he wanted it to, and he reached over to slam a hand down on the alarm clock with a soft groan before sitting up slowly.

She sighed, shifting as he sat up, trying to hold on to the last lingering seconds of the bliss of sleep before giving up and rolling onto her back. She sighed again, ran a hand down her face, then up through her hair. "I can't believe we're going to go find Mycroft Holmes today."

"And beg him for help. Don't forget that part," he said expressionlessly, pulling on his clothes from earlier and sitting on the bed to lace up his shoes. "It's going to be thrilling."

She groaned, sitting up unhappily. "Fuck, don't fucking remind me," she muttered, shifting to slide out of bed with a decidedly sullen air. "What do you think I should go for; desperate and slutty, or desperate in sweaters?"

"Do you think you can get a boner out of him? If so then do it, the less blood to his brain the better," he muttered, managing a small smirk. "If not then whatever you want. I don't care."

"Shit, I honestly don't know," she snorted, heading for the closet to start rifling through her dresses. "Is he even into women? Most of my experience with him has been me strapped to a table while he dropped flesh-eating beetles onto me; not a lot of time for seducing."

"Good question. Maybe I should go for desperate and slutty, too, just in case," he deadpanned. "We can pretend we were swimming. I think I might have a speedo somewhere."

"God, no, don't," she laughed, pulling out a sweater dress short enough to give her dead mother a heart attack. The best of both worlds, right? "It's guaranteed that you look _way_ hotter naked than in one of those atrocities. Leave the 80's behind."

"Hey, who's giving the orders around here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and smacking her arse lightly as he headed for the kitchen to make coffee.

"Jim, usually," she quipped, slipping the dress over her head as she followed him, fueled by the thought of caffeine and a small desire to return the smack, though when she reached the kitchen she kept her hands to herself; she wasn't going to get in his way when he was making coffee.

He leaned back against the counter as the machine started to drip, turning to look at her. "I could ask him to reconsider assigning you," he offered after a minute. "It's a stupid play and it's my fault he's doing it."

She sighed and shrugged. "What does it matter, really? If I don't go then I'll spend the whole time worrying about you. At least if I go with you I can keep an eye on you, right?"

"I don't need to be babysat," he muttered, but nodded just a little. "And if I do work for Mycroft? What then?"

She rubbed her eyes, letting out a long breath. "Then... I don't know."

He nodded just a little, reaching out to take the coffee as it brewed, pouring her a mug and passing it over wordlessly. It was a few minutes before he said, "I could fake my death. Go into the wind for a while."

"What would you do after? Settle down? You wouldn't be able to go back into crime, not while Jim was still alive," she murmured, taking a sip of the coffee and grimacing just a little as she burned her tongue.

"If I was really working for Mycroft, seems I wasn't too interested in staying in crime," he pointed out, pouring himself a mug and staring at it.

She snorted. "You fucking love killing people. Nobody can fake what you did to my father on the floor in the living room. Nobody can fabricate that look in your eyes. I don't know what you'd do with yourself if you couldn't have that anymore."

"I know," he said blankly, still considering the dark liquid. "But it's either that or he had my balls in a vice, and if that were the case he would have reminded me of his original bargain rather than going to Jim."

"He's just trying to fuck your life up. That's all this is. And I'll kill the son of a bitch that's been sharing secrets with him," she muttered, drinking from her coffee with a mild frown on her face. "I wonder how much he knows about your sister Sara. I know Jim left her alive. If it comes to it we might be able to maneuver her closer to Mycroft. I'd like _us_ to have the mole, for once."

He hummed in agreement, finally taking a sip of coffee. "Not a terrible idea. I'll run it by Jim before we leave, let him start mulling the idea over."

She nodded, falling silent. The fact he could be a spy scared her; she knew she'd switch sides if it meant she didn't have to lose him. Christ, was she a sap.

He finished his coffee a little more slowly than usual, trying to delay the inevitable, but eventually there was nothing for it. He set his empty mug in the sink and headed back to the bedroom to grab his gun and jacket.

She didn't bother to follow him, only going to the living room and to the front door to grab a pair of sensible-but-cute boots and pull them on, then grabbed a knife from a shelf near her head (all his shelves were unbelievably high up for her) and gingerly slid it into the space between her calf and the boot. If she went completely unarmed it would seem out of character, after all. And whoever frisked her, as she had no doubts that they would be frisked, would get a nice eyeful on the way down. Scars or not, she still had curves in all the right places. However... "Fuck," she muttered, pulling the boots off and heading for the bedroom again, going to the dresser and digging around for tights. "Decided that it's a little nippy out for this much bare leg. I hate being cold."

He nodded just a little, checking himself in the mirror for a moment. Then, without warning, he pulled out his gun and fired three rounds into a stack of pillows and blankets on the bed.

" _Christ!"_ She jumped, hard enough to rip a hole in the tights she was pulling up, then let out an exasperated breath and stood up straight, running a hand through her hair. "Little warning might have been nice."

"Sorry," he said, tucking the warm gun away. "Would you mind punching me in the face? Or should I go ask a goon to do it?"

"We're going to go see Holmes. I'd do it, but I don't doubt that he'd notice," she sighed, shrugging a little and turning for the door. She was going to miss this place. She had no idea how long they'd be gone but it had become a sort of home for her. "I think I might be good without any punches. Maybe I should get some bruising on my arms or something."

"Up to you," he said, heading out the door in search of one of his sparring partners. "Just don't oversell."

"I'm the fucking queen of subtlety!" she yelled after him, then shook her head and tugged her boots back on, biting down a swell of apprehension in her throat.

* * *

An hour later they met in the garage. He had a partially blackened eye and bruised cheek, along with some reddened knuckles. He nodded a bit at the grip and block marks on her arm, and pulled the door to the Mercedes. Fast but subtle. "Let's go, then."

She nodded, climbing into the passenger side, trying to slow her heart rate down to an acceptable level. This was not going to be a safe job.

He started the car, glancing over at her. "Strap in. I will not be driving slowly."

She did as she was told, buckling up with a satisfying click before she gave a short, tense nod, and grabbed the safety handle on the ceiling. "Drive."

She barely finished saying the word when he depressed the gas pedal, burning rubber for a moment before easing off just enough to gain traction and fly out of the garage like a bullet.

"We better hope your luck with avoiding police cars holds," she grunted, breathing through clenched teeth, jaw tight. She'd never liked roller coasters.

"Better hope," he grunted absently, attention on the road as he drifted around a corner and wove through traffic, heading for where Holmes had kept them locked up last time.

She only grew tenser as they neared their destination; he hadn't told her exactly where they were going, but once she started to recognize landmarks, she knew. "Why are we going _there?"_

"Where the fuck else are we supposed to go? I sent Holmes a text. He'll send someone to meet us." He blew through a yellow light and then slowed abruptly, merging into traffic as a police car turned onto the street up ahead.

"Christ, you're like superhuman..." she muttered, then sighed, leaning back in her seat a little. "Yeah, alright, you're right. I just fucking hate the place, is all."

"I couldn't agree more," he sighed, merging into a faster-moving lane and revving the engine impatiently. "In fact, I fucking hate everything about this mission. But here we are."

"Yeah," she muttered, swallowing as they turned onto the road that that _place_ was on, trying to stop her stomach from turning. "God, I hope we make it out of this one."

"We'll be fine," he said, far more firmly than he felt as he pulled into the warehouse lot.

"I sure hope you're right," she murmured, eyes on the black, luxurious car that was already in the parking lot, idling. "Alright. Here goes."

He nodded, turning the car off and taking a breath before opening the door and standing slowly, completely alert in case this went south.

She got out just behind him, keeping the car door in front of her, one hand on the roof of the vehicle. Her gaze was fixed to the black car. "Did he say whether or not we were supposed to approach? I'd hate to get shot."

"We're to get in the car, according to his orders," Moran said, starting to walk forward slowly. "Stay in my shadow, please."

"Alright," she murmured, shutting the car door and slipping around to fall into step behind him, hands clenched into nervous fists at her side. She was scared. Genuinely, honestly scared. That didn't happen too often.

He could hear the tension in her stride, and was tempted to tell her to relax, but decided it made their story stronger if she was nervous. The door opened as they approached, and he nodded to the drivers as he climbed in. "Gentlemen."

Lorna didn't say anything as she slid in after him, purposely sticking obviously close to him. She wasn't acting - she was desperate for some shred of familiarity, but they needed to believe that she was here because she was too emotionally involved to stay behind. That she'd made an enemy of Jim, too. The man in the driver's seat only gave her a cursory glance before turning to the front again; the man in the passenger seat gave her a bit of a longer look, though she couldn't tell what was in his eyes. They'd been trained well. Better than some of the other goons they'd been treated with before; though she supposed that those were for the shadier deals, the more illegal happenings. The men in this car were likely highly paid for their manners and their overall invisibility. That was how she would run things, anyway.

Moran shifted a protective arm around her shoulders, tucking her close and saying nothing as the car pulled onto the street. The windows of the car were government-issue bulletproof glass, and he could see CCTV cameras turning to follow them as they drove. Definitely Mycroft, then.

She kept an eye out the window as the ride wore on, keeping note of turning points and street names. Not that it would really do all that much good, but it made her feel better, more in control. Where was he sending them? A safehouse, or a prison?

He also kept cursory track of where they were going, but his mind was more focused on other issues, such as what was going to happen when they got there. Grifting had never been his department. That was Lorna's. He was the man in the shadows with solid fists. But more and more often he'd been pushed into the light, and he was seriously beginning to dislike the change.

She was surprised to say the least when they rolled to a gentle stop in front of an old but well taken care of brick townhouse which looked so utterly ordinary she wasn't sure whether or not it was their destination until the man in the passenger seat turned around to look at them. "Go right in. Don't bother knocking. He knows you're here."

He nodded a little, and opened the door, stepping out and waiting for Lorna before shutting the door. "Ready for this?" he asked as they approached.

"No, not really," she murmured, eyeing the door apprehensively. She took a deep breath as they reached the stoop, then knocked anyway.

He rolled his eyes, not waiting for a response as he opened the door and entered, forcing himself to calm. He was supposed to believe that this house meant safety.

She entered timidly, like a cat slinking into an unfamiliar room, and it was a second before she could bring herself to follow him down the tastefully decorated corridor, boots clicking on the hardwood floor. The house was silent except for the sound of a tv playing down the hall - the news, she thought.

He headed for the television, and found their host standing near the window overlooking the street. He turned to look at them as they walked in, and smiled. "Good to see you again, Moran. And Ms. Harrison! What a pleasant bonus."

She gave a small, careful nod, keeping her eyes on Holmes' face so she didn't glance towards his hand. The one she'd stabbed. "I'm glad someone's pleased to see us," she muttered, worrying the hem of her dress. She let her gaze start wandering the room.

"Please, have a seat. You look like you've had a rough morning. Can I get either of you an ice pack?" he purred, motioning to the couch.

"We're fine, thank you," Moran said quietly. "There's been a few... complications."

"You could say that again," she muttered, running a hand through her hair, eyes starting to wander around the room. She was nervous as all hell, and there was no reason to bother hiding it. Mycroft's eyebrows raised ever so slightly.

"What sort of complications?"

"As I'm sure you know, I don't fully remember my service to you. I was still trying to sort out the details when Moriarty got tipped off as to my loyalties. Next thing I know, I'm top of his hit list." He shrugged. "We got out, but it was a mess. I'm compromised there."

"Yeah, and I'm sure I'm not exactly welcome to go back," she added under her breath, and Mycroft gave a slow sort of nod, eyes flicking over the two of them in an appraising manner.

"No, it's unlikely you are," he agreed, leaning his ever-present umbrella against the wall to slide his hands into his trouser pockets. "Which is why I'm willing to put our... _past differences_ behind us."

Moran nodded. "Excellent. The perhaps you could explain to me what sort of arrangement we had, precisely?"

The corner of Holmes' mouth quirked up a fraction. "You've been giving me information on operations. Usually lower level things; information that could have been leaked by a person below you. I'm not sure how you were compromised. I'll have to comb through my own ranks."

Lorna took a long breath and moved to sink down into one of the chairs at the table, radiating exhaustion. "How long?"

"We were approaching two years of cooperation when you lost your memory," Mycroft said, a touch smugly. "We staged your kidnapping and torture to assuage any suspicion. It had worked perfectly."

The anger that appeared on Lorna's face was not entirely faked. "So help me _god,_ Moran, if you fake broke out of HQ, went on a three-day heroin binge, and crawled pathetically back to my door after nearly killing me I'm going to burst a gasket."

Moran took a slow breath, trying to read Holmes for signs of deception. "I don't know," he sighed. "Everything is so confused... I don't know where I stand anymore."

Holmes gave them both a smirk this time. Lorna sagged in her seat. "I guess I don't want to know the details, do I?" she said quietly, biting her cheek, eyes on the table. Her stomach rolled at the idea that he could have been a traitor the pretty much entire time they'd really known each other. His smirk grew a little.

"No, I don't think you do."

Sebastian took a breath. "Is there somewhere that we can get some rest before you and I get down to the details about all this?" he asked Holmes.

"Here. We own most of the street - we'll spot anybody suspicious headed for you. Think of the place as yours until we can find some better arrangements," he said smoothly. Lorna took a deep breath.

"This is not the time off I was proposing."

"No, but here we are," Sebastian said, standing and offering her a hand up, looking over at Holmes. "Thank you for giving us protection. If you have any documentation of my work I'd like to see it... this is a big suggestion to swallow, especially when my memory is uncertain..." The politeness felt wrong, but for all he knew it was deserved.

"Of course," Mycroft agreed, with a gracious nod. "I'll have somebody bring the file to you. And I'll have one drawn up for Ms. Harrison." He retrieved his umbrella where it leaned against the wall, giving the two of them a rather bland smile. "Now I have a meeting to catch. I'll have a couple of mobiles brought with the file; call me when you're feeling up for a chat."

Moran nodded, not sure how to respond to that. It resembled an order, but he wouldn't take it as one, not yet. He helped Harrison up and watched as Mycroft left, before turning to look at the rest of the room, starting to hunt for the cameras that he was sure were there.

Lorna stayed by the table, half leaning back on it, trying to keep herself from just melting down onto the floor in shock, which just now seemed to be catching up to her. "I can't believe we're here. Why am I not in prison? I've done _so_ much illegal shit. I've gotta be facing, what, like three lifetimes by now? _Christ."_

"He needs us," he said calmly, tracing his eyes over the room and beginning to check lamps and trinkets. "He doesn't care about justice, he cares about power. We're power. He respects that."

"I suppose that's where he differs from Sherlock. I wonder what he'd think of this," she murmured, turning around and walking into the open-layout kitchen, beginning to shuffle through the cabinets a little absently, in an effort to help him. "I wonder how this place's water pressure is..."

"Probably pretty good. I have little doubt that most things in this place are pretty good, if not better," he sighed, finding a bug under a lampshade. "No matter who I work for, I don't appreciate being spied on, Mycroft," he said dryly. "And tell your techs to get some creativity." He snapped the wire.

"Another under the sink. Naughty, naughty," she snorted, ripping it out and dropping it down the drain. "Not that I'm not used to being watched in some way or another, but I do value my privacy. Ugh, god. It just hit me that I might not see your other flat again. That's heartbreaking."

He sighed and nodded. "If it turns out we can't go back there, I'll start over somewhere else. You can give input. It'll be fun."

"Oh, I don't know if that's such a good idea," she chuckled, brushing her hand through her hair. "My taste in clothing is cultured. I'm pretty good at wine and food. But I don't know the first thing about interior design. I might ask for a sex swing or something. And that conflicts with a new good-girl image, doesn't it."

"There was a new good-girl image? When the hell did that happen?" he snorted, looking over the bookshelf carefully.

"Now, I suppose," she snorted, finishing her kitchen search and straightening up, her hands going to her hips as she appraised the room. "I don't know. This is all new to me."

"I am sure that Mycroft's people still have sex. Mycroft himself is not something I want to think about. If we turn out to be Mycroft's people, I am almost positive a vow of chastity will not be in the contract."

"God, I hope not. I might cry," she shook her head, walking over to flop down on the couch. She would help search upstairs when he started heading for the stairs. "I'll start drinking _way_ too much to overcompensate."

He sighed, opening one of the books and crushing a small camera before walking over to sit next to her. "Everything's going to be fine, alright? We'll be okay."

"A couple of years ago you would have told me to stop whining or you'd kill me. I guess we can adjust to just about anything," she snorted, shaking her head. She smirked. "I know we'll be alright. At least, the reasonable part of me does. Thanks, though."

He shrugged. He'd been different, he knew, since he'd lost his memory. Not with everyone else, but with her. She'd been too instrumental to his sanity. Being cold to her felt unnatural. "Do you think I was a traitor? How does Holmes read?"

"I don't know," she sighed, shrugging just a little. It was difficult for her to read people like that. She wasn't a gifted reader, like Sherlock Holmes or Jim Moriarty, but she had a good intuition, and a strong, motivating sense of survival. But that kind of reading worked best on your normal, run-of-the-mill person. "He's the kind of person who could put down three layers of bluff, but even if you get through those you don't know if it's the truth or not. My gut says that you're not a traitor, that the file he'll bring us is days or even hours old. But there's no way for me to prove it. We're going to have to do some more digging. I'm going to need to talk to some more of his employees, and see if any of them are lying about knowing you. But I just don't know."

He sighed through his nose, leaning back against the couch, and nodded just a little. He reached out, shifting an arm around her shoulders. "Fuck it. Nothing we can do about it now."

"Yeah," she sighed, leaning against him. "We'll be alright. I wonder if they stocked this place up with liquor..."

"Let's find out," he said, standing and starting to look around.

"Yes, please," she sighed, getting up and following him with a long sigh.


	68. Sex On The Radio

It took him all of two minutes to find a well-stocked liquor cabinet, and he pulled out a bottle of scotch and left her to make her choice, heading off to the kitchen to find glasses.

She was happy with his selection, so she just followed him, right on his heels. "If he's listening to us, he's going to be bored as fuck. Our conversational skills when drunk become nonexistent."

"Listening value might pick up once we start fucking," he pointed out, pouring a large glass. "Which I do intend to do."

"Breaking in the new place? I can get behind that," she smirked, sliding the other glass towards him in an invitation to pour her one too.

He poured her an equal amount, and raised his glass to her in a toast. "Cheers. May we both not die."

"Amen," she snorted, clicking her glass with his and taking a good swig. "Not bad. I can probably make some terrible decisions on this stuff."

"I might need a few glasses, we'll have to see. Wonder if he has absinthe. Everyone can make terrible decisions on absinthe. Though tequila also works in a pinch..." He took a long sip.

"It really doesn't matter to me. Once you get me a certain amount of turned on there's probably nothing I won't do."

His eyes lightened in amusement at that, and he smirked at her over his glass as he took another sip. "I'll have to start working on that, then."

"Oh, you got time," she assured him, leaning back, finger tapping silently against the glass. "You're good at it. But I'll not argue if you start now."

He grinned, taking a large sip of scotch and setting his glass down to refill it. "It is always a fun game, though, seeing how riled up I can get you."

"It's amazing, too. I can't believe how wound up you can get me," she snorted, muttering into her drink.

"That so?" he asks, eyes bright. "Well, maybe it's because I know your quirks," he said, lifting a hand to trail fingers over her throat as if to grab it, before dropping his hand and heading for the living room.

She bit back a shiver and followed him, taking another swig of scotch. "It's unfair that I can't do the same thing to you, Christ."

"Have you tried?" he asked with a grin, setting his glass on the end table. "You have done it a few times. One involved murder and I think we have to steer clear of that right now."

She smirked, following his lead and setting her own drink down, walking forward to adjust his collar, a bit unnecessarily. "Good point. I'm not even really sure what would get you going like you get me going. I can't always drive you crazy with jealousy."

"That is true," he conceded, smiling a bit and reaching up to slide a hand over her hip, squeezing slightly. "What I'm not sure you know, however, is that making you go crazy is a turn on for me like little else."

"God bless the feedback loop," she murmured, stepping in closer to him, pressing up against him, a grin spreading across her face. She unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt. "You can rip these tights, by the way."

"You know, it's really quite a bit less fun if you give me permission," he grumbled, smirking and pulling her into his lap.

She straddled him, still grinning. "Oh, I'm sorry. Do tell me what I can do to make this more fun for you, _sir."_

He raised an eyebrow, reaching up to just barely brush fingers over her ear and down her neck on the pretense of pushing her hair back. "Are you mocking me, Harrison?" he asked, voice neutral, inquisitive.

"Not at all," she purred, tugging his shirt out from his waist. "You _are_ higher-ranking than me."

"Not anymore," he pointed out, sliding a hand up under her ridiculously short dress. "Neither of us have any rank at the moment."

She let out an exasperated breath, rolling her eyes a little. "Alright, fine, Mr. Difficult, I was mocking you," she snorted, determined to wind him up somehow.

He grinned, eyes glinting. "You give up so easily," he chuckled, shaking his head and leaning up to bite her neck gently. "That's why I'm always in charge."

"It's only because I know how stubborn you are," she breathed, rolling her hips down onto his just a little. She wasn't nearly as good at manipulating him as she was at manipulating nearly anyone else.

"I think you just aren't persistent," he said, humming a little and shifting his hand to grip her arse beneath the dress. "Some grifter you are."

"I didn't think I had to convince you," she muttered, unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way and running her nails down his chest. "And you have a distinct advantage; you know that when you take charge you can melt me down into a puddle. But I don't know what I can do making the first move that will wind you up like a toy."

"Again, experimentation often leads to success," he said with a bit of a smirk. "But if that's what you want..." He arched a bit under her nails with a smirk, retorting by brushing a finger teasingly between her buttocks.

"I'll experiment next time," she agreed, then leaned down to kiss him, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and sliding a hand into his hair, nails scraping over his scalp. He was so hot. She'd find a way to really drive him crazy.

"Deal," he muttered, ripping the tights down the seam easily and pushing them off.

She ground down on him again, hands between them to fight with his belt, heart hammering in her chest. She bit down on his lip, tugging. "Just so you know, I want to hear you."'

He hissed slightly as she bit him, hardening beneath her in response to her grinding. He slid both of his hands along her thighs. "What's this now?"

"Talk to me, moan, I don't care. We have to put on a show for the radio, don't we?" she hummed, pulling his belt free of the loops and chucking it to the corner of the room.

He grins broadly at that. "That we do," he murmured against her lips, one hand shifting upwards so that he could slide a finger into her. "Can't have them bored."

She let out a quiet sound of something like relief, rolling her hips down onto him insistently, her hands finally getting around to unzipping his trousers, her lips trailing across his cheek and down to his jaw, where she left a tiny imprint with her teeth. "I wonder if this place is soundproofed."

He moaned softly, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath as her teeth teased his skin, finger curling slightly just inside her entrance. "I guess we'll find out," he murmured, turning his head to return the favor, nipping her neck as his other hand teased her arsehole gently.

She noticeably shivered, yanking his trousers down a little impatiently, eager to stop this ache in her core. "We just ran from fucking Moriarty. We probably have the least-interrupted sex life of anyone I've ever met," she chuckled, brushing a thumb ever-so-slightly over the bruising on his cheek before it trailed back to slide into his hair and get a firm grip.

"If you're not dead or busy, might as well fuck," he said breathlessly, pulling at her grip in his hair and shifting his hands free, lifting her up enough to shuck his pants.

She settled back down on him as soon as he was finished, leaning back just enough to peel off the ridiculous dress and send it flying across the room to land on the television. Then she was back on him, leaving a red mark on his neck, one hand going down to stroke him while the other left red marks down his side.

He groaned as she grabbed him, one hand returning to teasing her ass and entrance, the other grabbing the back of her neck firmly, pulling her back to bite her clavicle.

She gasped, her freer hand going to his frankly powerful shoulder to keep herself from falling backwards, thighs tightening on his hips. "Are we going to soil this sofa, or what?" she muttered, shifting, trying to get enough leverage to grind on him again.

"I don't know, are you riled up enough yet?" he asks, breath painting her neck with goosebumps.

"I'm not to the point of begging, if that's what you're asking. You're going to have to get rougher for that," she laughed breathlessly, only barely managing to keep herself from shuddering again.

"If you insist," he grinned, both hands moving to grip hers and push them behind her back tightly, forcing her to arch her back and push her chest forward. He scraped his teeth over her taut skin, leaving red lines, nostrils flared as he nipped at the fullness of her breast.

She groaned, swearing as he moved her until her center of gravity was hanging in the balance. How long ago had he done this exact same thing - back when he'd exerted his power because he had to remind her that this wasn't anything, that it would never _be_ anything.

He shifted until he could both of her hands with one of his, the other coming forward to tease her nipple gently as his teeth found and dug into her throat. "What do you want me to do?" he asked softly as he released just before he broke skin, knowing she would have been expecting blood, knowing it would drive her crazy.

"Fuck me, hurt me, I don't care, just make me feel good," she groaned, writhing a little in his lap, desperate for a little more stimulation.

He smiled, shoving her backwards and finally overbalancing her, but changing the direction of her slow fall until she landed on the ottoman, her hands pinned beneath her. He was already dropping to his knees between her splayed legs, lips brushing the inside of her thigh as he leaned forward, one hand on her knee, the other shifting to her abdomen.

"Christ," she gasped, fighting to get her hands free for a moment before realizing that it was a lost cause (and an unworthy one) and giving up entirely, head falling back onto the leather of the ottoman, "You're going to kill me. Not complaining."

"Tried that once, decided I didn't like it," he quipped, pressing his mouth against her, his tongue running through her folds languidly.

She lost a witty comeback in a gasp, arching up a little, curling her hands into fists beneath her, now holding them there more in fear that he would stop than anything else; he was way too good with his tongue to interrupt.

He circled the tip of his tongue around her clit, before closing his lips around it and sucking gently, his fingers slipping up to play around her entrance, intent on making her lose control.

" _Seb-"_ she whined, digging her heel into his back unintentionally, her breathing breaking down into high-pitched moans and gasps for breath. "Seb, _Seb, fuck."_

He continued without mercy, leaving her clit for the time being just as she was starting to lose her grip, plunging his tongue into her beside his fingers instead, stretching her and growling in happily as she clenched around him in response.

Even if there were only bugs upstairs, she was fairly certain that they were picking up her swears and cries. She was getting so close there were white spots in her vision, finally yanking out one of the hands that were trapped beneath her to grip onto the edge of the ottoman, to keep herself from arching so far up that she'd roll off. "Seb, Seb, _please."_

He finally relented, removing his tongue to return to her clit, his fingers curling to brush against her walls gently as he increased their speed, gunning to make her come spectacularly.

She was well on her way there, heat smoothing up her spine, curling in her stomach, a slight trembling in her hands where they both now held on to the small piece of furniture she was on. She didn't even try to quiet herself when she finally vaulted over the peak, crying out his name to the sound of leather scraping under her nails. And then she thought maybe she blacked out a little, because the next thing she knew she was sprawled flat against the ottoman, feeling more blissed out than she had in months, her thighs shaking just a little with the aftershocks. "Good god, I love you," she let out in a huff of breath, raising an unsteady hand to brush sweaty hair out of her face.

He moaned against as she came, his senses overwhelmed with _her_ , her taste and voice and scent, and the way her thighs clamped around his head, her hips rolling and twisting under his free hand. He pulled back slowly when she relaxed, sliding his fingers out of her gently and licking them clean, watching her with a lopsided, toothy smile as she melted into a puddle on the ottoman.

Her shaky words when she finally spoke made him laugh, and he slid a gentle hand over her thigh, his wordless response. He might say it now, every once in awhile, but never in the house of his enemy.

He knelt up, then, leaning over, lips finding her breasts and teasing them gently as he waited for her to recover.

It wasn't long before she slid a hand into his mussed hair and got enough of a lazy grip to tug him up to her lips so she could kiss him, still slow and a little sloppy. She smirked against his lips. "What piece of furniture do you want to ruin for everyone else next?"

"Your turn to choose," he retorted with a small laugh, nipping her lip gently. "But choose quickly, because I am unbelievably turned on right now and patience is not something I have just lying around."

"Okay," she chuckled, brushing her fingers through his hair absently, humming as she thought. "Hm..." she considered the room, "How about the kitchen counter? Haven't been fucked on one of those for a while."

He didn't comment, just wrapped his arms around her and stood with a grunt, holding her close as he headed for the kitchen.

She didn't wait for her ass to hit the counter before she started trying to drive him even crazier, dragging her teeth down his throat, grinding against him with a provocative moan.

"Fuck, Lorna," he grit out, settling her on the counter a bit roughly and sweeping things out of his way with no consideration as to what it was. At least one thing made a hideous clang as it hit the ground, but he was already shoving her backwards on the marble.

"That's right, fuck me," she laughed breathlessly, completely disregarding the rather cool temperature of the stone beneath her. It would warm up. She didn't give him a chance to say anything in return, pulling him closer so she could kiss him with all she had, dragging her nails down his chest.

He snarled slightly as her nails drew blood, reaching down between them to guide his cock to her entrance, pushing into her with as near a whimper as he had ever made, body curling forward in relief as he started to thrust into her solidly.

She threw a hand behind her to catch the wall, letting out a positively filthy moan, still sensitive from coming not five minutes ago. Her free arm wrapped around his neck, keeping herself from sliding back on the counter, keeping herself as close to him as she possibly could, his labored breathing loud in her ear, the scent of sweat and gunpowder rolling off him. She curled her nails into his shoulder, leaving red marks on his clavicle between pants. She didn't need to tell him not to hold back.

Her every action sent heat and tension down his spine, his ass and thighs tightening in response, ramming his hips forward with unbridled power. His mouth found the shell of her ear, the slope of her shoulder, anything he cared to dig his teeth into, tasting flesh and blood and sweat, ravenous. One of his hands slapped flat onto the marble, steadying them both. His other arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her to him possessively, insistently. _Mine._

"I'm- _nnmf, fuck-_ I'm n-not gonna last much longer," she gasped, lips brushing his jaw before she found his lips and kissed him hard, possessively, not even sure whose blood she was tasting anymore, too heated to care. It was becoming harder to hold herself there, a jittery shaking in her arms, so she hitched a leg around his waist and used her newly free hand to scrape down his back and get a firm handful of his ass.

" _Christ_ ," he growled into her mouth, shoulders rolling back as she grabbed his ass. He lost his rhythm for a moment, almost coming on the spot. He managed to pull himself together shakily, his body pressing up against hers, panting slightly against her lips, spine a column of fire as he started to move again, so close to slipping off the edge. "Me e-either..."

She came hard then, without any real catalyst beside the fact that he felt so fucking good it felt like she was going to burn up from the inside out, that even if he was a traitor not everything they went through together could be fake, that there was something real here and in her world that was all that really mattered in the end.

He came with her, wrapping her tightly in his arms as he did so, his face buried in her shoulder as he shuddered with the force of his orgasm.

He relaxed slowly, laying her back gently against the marble counter, and shifted out from between her legs as they relaxed around him before leaning against the counter with a huff of exertion, skin shining with sweat, knees a bit wobbly.

"Wow," she breathed, the cold marble almost a relief on her overheated skin. "I'm... not sure I can move."

"Yeah, gimme a few," he grunted in agreement, head tilted back, weight on his elbows on the counter. "Fuck..."

"Take your time, it's not like I have plans," she chuckled, still breathless. "Fuck, it's still morning, too. I bet we really threw off the day of the people listening in. So many hard-ons, so little they can do about it."

"I very much hope it's the beginning of their shift and they have to suffer along," he sighed cheerfully.

"Serves them right, bugging a house that contains the two of us. They should know better, shouldn't they?" she snorted, then moaned as she shifted to roll off the counter onto her feet, a little bit gingerly. "I'm gon' go find a shower to clean up in. I might pass out in there, though."

"Mm..." he nodded, standing slowly. "I'll join you. Shower sounds good." He reached up to rub at his bruised eye a bit.

"Yeah," she nodded, thinking about taking his hand, then considering that there might be hidden cameras as well, and he might not want to appear that close to her. "There's probably one upstairs. Let's go."

He nodded in agreement, following a few steps behind her, turning over the day so far. He wished he knew what Mycroft was thinking.

She led the way up the hardwood stairs, eyes roving the woodwork on the wall for bugs, but they reached the bathroom upstairs without anything coming to her attention. She turned on the shower before she spoke. "Boy, would I like some solid answers."

"You aren't the only one," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I don't like to think that I betrayed Jim... I must have had damn good reasons if I did. I don't need money..."

"I don't know what it could have been," she sighed, stepping into the still-lukewarm shower. "I don't think you're spiteful enough to do it on any of the transgressions Jim's done to you. I highly doubt it was personal."

He sighed, too, closing his eyes. He could think of a few very specific reasons he might betray Jim, but if anyone thought he would be speaking that aloud they were very mistaken, no matter how loud the shower.

She wasn't surprised he hadn't answered; she hadn't really expected him to. It would have been out of character of him, and it would have been a bad idea. But it was her habit to wonder aloud in his company. Who else could she do it with? She let the silence be and reached for the generic shampoo in the shower rack, deciding to let him think in peace.

* * *

The information from Mycroft came later that day, a thick manila envelope hand-delivered by one of his assistants. Moran took it and headed for the sitting room where Harrison was napping on the couch, ripping it open neatly.

She shifted awake as the sound reached her ears, her grey eyes cracking open tiredly to focus blearily on the file in his hand. "That it, then?"

He nodded just a little, glancing over the file slowly before closing it and tucking it away. "Nothing useful," he said with a small shrug. A lot useful. But the papers confirmed his suspicions and he had no interest in spreading knowledge of his weaknesses any further, even to her, even if he suspected she already might know.

She nodded just a little, sitting up a bit and watching him. She wasn't going to ask to see the file herself. It wouldn't help anything. Even if she thought the file was real it wouldn't do any good to try and get a look at it for reporting back to Jim, not if she wanted to keep their cover. If this was even really a cover anymore. Was she willing to risk running Jim Moriarty for him?

 _Don't be stupid, you know the answer to that. Stop agonizing over it. This is no different than when he completely lost his memories. You've been on his side for years, now._

"I didn't really expect it to be," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It doesn't matter, either way, does it." It wasn't really a question. She turned her gaze to the windows. It was late afternoon now, and the front windows caught the descending sun better than her flat did. His caught the sunrise, though. "I guess we have to talk with him again, don't we?"

"Yes," he said with a quiet nod, taking a breath. "I don't think we have a choice. Whether I worked for him or not, with Moriarty out for our skins we don't have many options."

"Yeah," she murmured, then leaned her head back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. "Talk about trapped between a rock and a hard place, right?"

He sighed, nodded. "Agreed. But Mycroft... at least he doesn't currently seem to be trying to kill us."

"Yeah," she snorted. "If we'd had such loud sex to spite bugs Jim put on us he'd have us whipped. I mean, not that I'm putting it past Mycroft, but I'm at least seeing a delay. I don't know if he's ever forgiven me for spraying him in the eyes with a can of Lysol. Let alone what I did to his hand."

He nodded a little, and grinned just slightly. "You notice he never took his gloves off? I was trying to get a peek." Then he sighed. "Suppose we should stop enjoying that so much... apparently he's saving our skin."

"I'll still hold on to a little of that enjoyment. He's done or had done some spectacularly shitty things to me," she grumbled, tracing over one of the silvery, barely visible scars that wiggled it's way up her arm. "I mean, I don't want to bring up DeWitt if he gets pissy with me... but I'm gonna bring up DeWitt if he gets pissy with me."

His nostrils flared just a little at the name, and he nodded just slightly. "Please do. We might be making peace with him, but we don't have to like him."

"Yeah, I'm keenly aware of that," she shook her head, sighing. She glanced towards the windows again. "What do you think we have to do to get some food sent here? Loudly wish for it?"

"Or check to see if the kitchen's stocked," he said, standing and heading off to hunt.

"I mean, I was hoping for freshly prepared and hot off the stove kind of food, but whatever," she shrugged, rolling off the couch and heading to follow him, sparing a glance at the file he'd left on the bookshelf. Tempting. But she wasn't going to look. She _wasn't._

"I can make that happen. Just relax a little, Harrison. Everything's got to be so immediate with you," he snickered, starting to look through what turned out to be a well-stocked fridge.

She followed him into the kitchen with a chuckle, boosting herself up onto the counter, a few feet away from where he'd nailed her. "Alright, alright, fine. Your cooking has always been startlingly good. I don't know where the hell you learned it, though."

"Cooked a lot for myself growing up," he said with a shrug, moving steadily past the subject. "Decided I might as well make it taste decent. Chicken parmesan sound okay?"

"I'm up for anything you make. You could probably make sawdust taste okay. I mean, this isn't a challenge or anything - I _don't_ want you to make me sawdust - but the fate of my food rests in your hands."

"I very much doubt I could make sawdust taste remotely unshitty, but thanks for the compliment," he chuckled, pulling out what he needed and starting to hunt around for a baking pan.

"You're welcome. Really, after this morning's performance on the ottoman, it's the least I can do," she smirked. She wanted to ask him what he would do if Mycroft really was lying, but she couldn't, not in this place. Would he go back to Jim? Or would he take the opportunity for an out that she had passed up so many months ago? She suspected, of course, that he would go back to the network. But with Moran, anything was possible. He was more unpredictable than a tornado.

He could see the questions rolling around her lips, but he was grateful that she didn't ask them. He could guess what they were about and he had no answers for her. Nothing was certain.

"I saw Sara on the news the other day. She won her election," she said after a period of silence interrupted only by the sounds of him cooking. "I don't know what that will mean for us in the future. But I thought I'd let you know."

He sighed, but nodded. "Thanks for telling me..." He poured spaghetti sauce over the chicken. "Christ, I hate her."

"Yeah, me too," she sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I don't ever want to see her again. But I know we're going to have to. I just try not to think about it."

He nodded a little, turning to the oven to get it preheating and putting cheese over the chicken before going to the refrigerator to hunt down the makings of a salad.

"You know, if your sister had been connected to Mycroft... I don't know if I could have made myself come here," she said quietly, looking a little grim. "And if she were any less connected..."

"That's beside the point. We're here now and we have to live with that. And Jim wants her alive for some reason. What she did to me, and to you, through my father... It's part of the game. We're just sacrificial plays for a longer goal."

"Yeah, funny how sick I'm getting of being one of those," she muttered. She'd been a sacrificial play since the day she was born. Being born into crime did that to a person.

"Yeah, well, it's in the job description," he pointed out softly, starting to cut up vegetables. "We just need to work around it."

Sometimes, she was still stunned by how far they'd come. Even now she was surprised that his response hadn't been inflammatory, harsh. She let out a quiet laugh. "I know, you're right. I just like to pretend I'm too important to risk like that."

"So do I," he returned with a small smirk, his meaning ambiguous. He put the chicken in the oven and started tossing the salad together.

"Are you referring to me or to you?" she raised her eyebrows slightly, with genuine curiosity. "I mean, I'm going to assume you meant yourself, but I'm open to the idea of being flattered."

"Like you need a bigger head," he muttered, the smirk widening just slightly. He had meant her. He would like to think they both were a lot of things, but recently those hopes had been dragged through the muck.

"Excuse me, my head is _perfectly_ sized," she retorted, grinning. Maybe if they hadn't been in unfamiliar territory she would have tried to wriggle a real answer out of him, but here... _Well, there's no way they could have any doubts about my reasons for coming with him here, not after the way we've been acting. Except acting insinuates artifice. We've really become this comfortable with each other._

He smirked a little. "Whatever you say, Harrison," he snorted, tossing the salad a few times before setting it aside and leaning back against the counter.

"Damn right, whatever I say," she muttered with a smirk, sliding off the counter to open the fridge, looking through it for some beverage that wasn't alcoholic. She came up a moment later with a bottle of orange juice. "Want some?"

He glanced over to see what she was holding, and nodded a little. He turned to peer into the oven to check on the chicken.

"This is weird," she sighed, grabbing a couple of glasses from the cabinets and then pouring them both a thing of orange juice. "It's weird having Mycroft know where we are and not feeling like I'm in imminent danger."

He nodded in agreement. "We're the good guys, now, I suppose," he said quietly. He was still turning the file over and over in his mind. He would need to give it a more careful read through later.

"My parents would be so disappointed in me. Step-father included," she snorted, running a hand through her hair.

"My family would be thrilled. But there you are," he sighed, leaning down to pull the chicken out and set it out to cool.

She chuckled wearily, rubbing her eyes. "Should send your sister a spiteful postcard. Maybe dipped in something unpleasant."

He shook his head, eyes going dark as he picked up the sauce jar. "I don't want to be involved with her. At all. Murder or not. Not yet. Not until I can completely fucking... _ruin_ her..." The jar cracked slightly under his grip and he swore quietly, pouring the rest of the contents onto the chicken before it leaked everywhere.

She fell silent, regretting bringing it up. Some things just couldn't be joked about. And the things that Sara Moran had done and had done through proxy to them... those were scars she could never be sure would heal. Even now there were times when she caught the wrong angle of him when she was tired, or drunk, and for a split second she was terrified again, back in that basement again. And him... she had no idea what things were still missing from his memory.

That brought up the issues with his possible traitor-hood. On the one hand, if he didn't remember whether or not he'd been a spy, there was a frightening possibility that he really had been. And that raised up the questions of how _long_ he'd been a spy. How many times had he possibly betrayed her? On the other hand... if he remembered being a spy and was lying about it...

She sighed, and took a sip from her orange juice. "Do you want me to go with you when you go to talk to Holmes, or should I just occupy myself with something a 50's housewife would likely do while you're gone?"

He smirked just a little, plating the chicken. "I wonder which option you prefer? You can be so subtle, it's hard to read you." He sighed a moment later, doling out salad as he thought it over. "I want you to stay here. I want to stay here, to be honest. But we should both go."

She nodded, leaning against the counter. "Honestly, I'm not looking forward to it. But sitting around here doesn't sound much better," she sighed, shaking her head a little. "I think I've worked with enough geniuses for a lifetime, you know?"

"I know," he sighed, passing her a plate and heading for the fridge to find salad dressing. "Though honestly I enjoyed working for the last one. Or I thought I did at least. Maybe not."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I enjoy the _work,_ it's just the constant tiptoeing and fear of a looming presence that I don't like," she quipped, rolling her eyes. "Ugh. I don't know what kind of work I'm going to get _here."_

"Likewise," he sighed, walking over to sit at the table. "I'm a trained assassin and find myself working for the government. I'm not sure if my job security just went up or down."

She ran a hand through her hair, sinking down across from him. "I suppose they'll find somewhere to put us. Either way, it's not like we're lacking money."

"No. Hell, we're on Jim's hit list anyway, we could just fucking retire." He shrugged, cutting into his chicken and taking a large bite, hungry.

She smirked, following suit and wolfing down a good forkful of chicken. "I hear Mexico is nice this time of year. I speak good Spanish."

"China's also lovely. I speak Mandarin. And Irish. If I recall you speak Italian. Seems we have our pick of countries." He took another bite.

She fell silent for a moment, just eating. Then she cleared her throat. "Too bad we're such adrenaline junkies, isn't it."

"Yeah," he sighed, sitting back. "I'd go crazy in a week. Well... maybe two, depending on how often we fucked."

She nearly snorted her orange juice, breaking down into laughter. "God, we could be _pornstars,"_ she snickered, leaning back in the wooden chair with a grin across her face. "Think of the _potential,_ Moran. That's our true calling."

"I'd probably get fired for trying to murder people whilst fucking them," he deadpanned, taking a bite of salad.

"I'm sure that's _somebody's_ fetish," she shrugged, smirking into her glass. "But I suppose I see your point. We'll just have to become serial killers."

"I was well on my way, but Jim got annoyed and told me to stop," he said with a small smirk around his fork.

She pulled over her salad dish, chuckling. "That's what retirement's all about, isn't it? Doing all the things you wanted to do while you had a boss to order you around?"

"Would it bother you, if I were a serial killer?" he asked with a grin, well aware of the answer.

"Hmm... let's see... I'm gonna need a second to really consider my answer," she said mock-seriously, tapping a piece of lettuce on her fork against her lips thoughtfully. "I _think.._ I'm not positive, mind you - but I _think..._ no."

"You should be sure," he smirked softly, voice deep. "It could mean me coming home covered in some poor sod's blood, or bringing home a victim to disassemble slowly, to taste, to feel them as they died slow... It could be intense."

"Christ, Sebastian, you ought to be careful how you speak. Dinner or not, I won't be able to help myself from you," she shook her head, eyes dark on him. It taken just about everything in her power not to shiver just then.

"I know exactly how I was speaking," he said calmly, amused by the abject desire in her expression, reaching out a foot to run softly up the inside of her leg as he returned to his chicken.

"You're going to be the death of me, I swear," she muttered into her salad, doing her best to ignore him, though now her skin was breaking out in goosebumps. Christ, he did it so _easily._

"No idea what you're talking about," he smirked, returning to his food, content to let her squirm.

"You don't? Do you need help freshening up your memory?" she raised her eyebrows, the corner of her mouth quirking up. "I do need to figure out what makes you tick. Besides blood, I mean." She'd had so many men eating out of her hand before, and he would be one of them, if she had her way.

"You do indeed," he chuckles, a smirk tilting the corner of his mouth as he finished his chicken.

"I'll have to give some thought to it. I have a feeling I'm going to have to surprise you with it," she hummed, finishing up her salad.

He grinned a little wider, challenge in his eyes. "I look forward to seeing what you come up with."

"Me too," she smirked, leaning back in her chair, appraising him. As usual, he was difficult as hell to read. But damn if she wasn't going to try and wind him up.

He glanced at the clock, then stood, clearing his plate to the sink. "I suppose we should text Holmes about a meeting."

She sighed, giving the clock a disappointed look. "Yeah, I suppose so," she sighed, heaving herself up to follow him. "I assume you're going to want to do most of the talking?"

"That's up to you," he said, looking back at her. "I do want to talk to him, but if you feel like you'll be better off being conversational, then go ahead."

"It's probably just better to play it by ear," she sighed, slipping her plates past him into the sink.

He picked them up to wash them, working his way through the cooking dishes as well. "Jesus... a lot has changed in the past few years."

"Believe me, I know," she snorted, running a hand through her hair. "I mean, this... I never expected this to get... easier."

He raised an eyebrow, glancing her direction as he dried the baking pan. "What do you mean?"

She let out a kind of incredulous chuckle. "Just think about the kind of fights we used to have. I mean, it wasn't exactly a cakewalk, was it? More like a minefield."

He nodded a little, setting the dry pan aside. "Has it gotten better? I suppose a bit. We've had some blowups fairly recently to my memory."

"Have we? Hm. I guess they just don't seem as bad as they used to," she shrugged, rubbing her eyes. "I can't even remember what we argued about. Used to be I'd avoid you for days afterward, wonder what the hell I'd been doing sleeping with you in the first place. Now... I don't know. Maybe it's just after everything that's happened it's not such a big deal anymore."

He nodded in agreement. "Hell tends to make other things seem less significant." He turned from the sink and headed for the living room. "We need to discuss the acquisition of necessities and some sort of wardrobe with Holmes, as well."

She followed him out of the kitchen to lean against the living room wall, which was painted a tasteful, if slightly boring, light cream. "A wardrobe _is_ a necessity as far as I'm concerned. Although... It's not as if we're going to be able to go on missions around here, much. Have you texted him yet, anyway?"

"No," he sighed, pulling out his phone and shooting off the message. "And mission or not, I don't have so much as a change of pants."

She snorted, tugging on the hem of her impossibly short sweater dress. "I know how you feel, believe me. Not that I haven't done a walk of shame in worse, but, you know."

He laughed a little, looking down at his phone. "He has a car waiting already. Charming. Shall we?"

"Yeah, alright," she shook her head, with an air of something like exasperation, and pushed off the wall. "Feel sorry for the poor bastard who's been waiting for us. Hope he had good music to listen to."

"I don't. We've had far worse stakeouts than sitting around for an hour in an air-conditioned limo," he muttered dryly, heading out the door.

"Touche," she shrugged, trotting down the steps of the townhouse to quickly open the door and slip inside, leaving it open for Moran, looking for all the world like there really was a price on their heads. There wasn't, of course, and wouldn't be, until Moran either remembered or made a decision. The man in the front seat didn't exactly look bored. Blank, more like. Like most of Holmes' goons.

He slid in next to her and closed the door quickly. He didn't say anything, and evidently didn't need to. The man took off down the road almost as soon as the door was shut.


	69. Bureaucracy Has Its Flaws

She didn't know how long exactly the ride took, but they ended up outside of a completely nondescript little cafe that looked like it had seen better times. Nowhere anyone would expect a Holmes to end up. Alright, there was a time where she could have seen Sherrinford in a place like this, but he was dead and gone, and she was wary about even thinking about their involvement in Mycroft's presence. She sighed, looking out the window at the dreary, flickering _OPEN_ sign. "Let's go, I guess."

He nodded, piling out first and taking a look around before moving just enough to let her out, as well, keeping her shielded for the most part with his body and closing the door behind them. Then he headed towards the cafe, eyes and ears wide open.

She didn't miss him slipping into bodyguard mode, but considering the situation, she managed to quell even the urge to mentally roll her eyes. They reached the door without incident, and made it inside to a low ding from the door. Besides the ugly 90s decor, the first thing she noticed was that it was completely empty, save Mycroft, sitting alone at one of the tables, and a bored-looking employee with a dirty apron on. She gave Lorna a disinterested look and lifted a hand to look at her nails.

Moran walked over to stand across from Mycroft, pulling out a chair for Lorna before sitting himself, eyes shifting around the interior. "Do you always entertain with such extravagance, or are you buttering us up?"

"I thought it was best, considering the circumstances, to meet with you somewhere unlikely to be watched," Mycroft replied evenly, leant back in his chair, umbrella across his lap. "I thought that taking you to the Old Bailey for lunch only for you to be shot and killed would be rather redundant. But that's besides the point. Has your file satisfied your curiosity, or do you still have questions for me?"

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Mycroft's preening, but nodded a little at his question. "A few. My compensation outlined in the file... Was there any monetary or physical compensation, or was it solely what was outlined there?" He had no interest in getting into a discussion about the specifics of what was outlined in the file with Harrison there, and hoped Mycroft took the hint and didn't bring specifics up either.

His eyes moved to rest on Lorna briefly before returning to him, and he gave a slight nod. "Monetary. There's a fund for you in a bank account that you can draw from upon request. We thought it too big a risk to wire you any amount of money, through any amount of accounts. He is the most successful crime boss in the world, after all, if not the biggest. Best to play it _safe."_

"Excellent. I want the information about the account. As for my work, exactly how much information had I provided during my service to you?" he pressed. He was grateful for the other man's discretion. _Grateful_ to Mycroft. Nauseating.

"It's hard to quantify data like that, Mr. Moran," he sighed, giving just the smallest shrug of his shoulders. "We added suitable amounts of money to the account when information was given. The specific account details I will have forwarded to you."

Lorna frowned, raising her eyebrows. "Why didn't you mark down specific dates, times, and services? You're the government, aren't you supposed to have bureaucracy shooting out of your asses?"

He gave her a mildly condescending smile. "No organization is completely infallible. What if we had a leak? It was best that incoming knowledge was scattered and compartmentalized."

He nodded. "I want a list of your best guess of the information I provided- one copy only, written on a typewriter- given to me within the next few days. I'll burn it afterwards, but I want to know what I provided. It could help me remember my service with you more. "

"That's reasonable," Mycroft agreed easily. "The sooner you can remember more of our work together the sooner we can put you to good use again. Any other requests?"

"One more," he said with a nod. "What exactly will that 'good use' be? It's not like I can go back to Moriarty. Even if I could convince him I wasn't working for you, he'd never trust me again. Not really."

"There are plenty of other fish in the sea, Mr. Moran. Plenty more mafias, plenty more terror organizations, plenty more targets for you to put out of commission. Your skills will not be put to waste. And when you want to retire, you'll be put into a Witness Protection Program. When I say good use I mean _good_ use. You would be saving lives. Even though I know that doesn't particularly matter much to you," he chuckled, giving another small shrug. His attention shifted to Lorna. "The same goes for you, Ms. Harrison, by the way."

She gave a slight nod, biting the inside of her cheek.

"You know I hate the mushy stuff, Holmes," he said calmly. "You know exactly what my skillset and interests are. You can't tell me that the English government doesn't have a darker side. I'm staring at him. Keep that in mind when considering assignments, if you don't mind. If I have to get too many kittens out of trees I might get bored." He held Holmes' gaze for another moment, before nodding slightly. "Now, on a different note. We left in a bit of a hurry. We don't have any clothes or necessities."

He gave a short nod. "I know. I'm already addressing that. I only had to pass along your measurements and such to the right people." He flicked back his sleeve to check his watch. "Your care package should arrive within the next two hours, at the latest. And if anything is not to your liking, I've set aside a small stipend to be used on ordering whatever you need. _Do_ try to limit it to needs. I think the national treasury is fragile enough without large quantities of money being spent on video game consoles and trampolines."

"Once you give me access to that account, I don't believe there will be too much of a problem, if I was working at anywhere near my usual contracting rates." He stood. "Besides, given the money that this country spends on funding Parliament's bureaucratic prattle, I think they could stand to buy a few trampolines for a change, don't you?"

He smirked. "Perhaps so, Mr. Moran, perhaps so. Now, unless you want to discuss the conditions of your payment as described in the file I gave you more thoroughly, or you have a question that simply cannot wait, I have one of those prattling, bureaucratic Parliament things to get to."

The threat was obvious, but he was used to threats and was unruffled. He gave his toothy grin, and stood. "I think that will be all. Enjoy your prattle."

"Thank you, I'm sure I will." He remained seated as Lorna got up next to Moran. "Behave yourselves."

"I'll try not to," Moran retorted with a smirk, heading for the door, Harrison close on his heels.

She let the door swing shut behind her, following him on autopilot, deep in thought. What had been promised to him as a reward for information? Or, if he was innocent (relatively) what had been put down in the file? Why wasn't he _telling_ her?

He got her quickly into the car and sat next to her, leaning back in the seat with a sigh, though he wasn't relaxed. Wouldn't be anywhere close until they got back to the house, and even then...

She didn't say anything yet, didn't want to bring it up where the driver could hear them. Wasn't even sure if she wanted to risk it in the house. But it was going to kill her not to know.

The drive back was silent, and he had his eyes on the road, watching for any unusual turns, any tails. But they returned to the flat without incident. He got out of the car just as carefully as he had at the cafe, and got them both inside quickly, shutting the door behind them and locking it.

"So..." she started, once she'd toed off her shoes by the door. "Am I going to hear about what the two of you were dancing around in the cafe?"

"If you think for a moment I would ever dance with Mycroft Holmes, you don't know a thing about me," he snorted, smirking a little and kicking off his own shoes. "God, can you imagine that prat dancing? He probably discos or some shit."

She rolled her eyes, but she smiled a bit anyways. "Haha, very funny. But seriously, Sebastian. What are you not telling me, here?"

"Nothing," he said calmly, stretching out, his fingers almost brushing against the ceiling. "You know what I do."

"Yeah, I know what you do. But I don't know why you do it. I never have. Your motives have literally always been a mystery to me," she sighed, giving him a skeptical look. "But Christ, god knows if I try to push you into telling me it'll just end in tears, so.." she waved a hand in a vague motion and turned to walk into the other room, headed for the sofa. She'd find out some other way.

He watched her storm away, and sighed through his nose. He didn't feel like arguing, so he headed off to see if there were any decent books.

* * *

It was partway into thinking about ways to get a look at the folder that she had to stop herself for a moment; she'd just been thinking of him like a mark. Wearing him out and then sneaking away to gather information. What was wrong with her? Did she care that much? If she was going to be completely honest with herself - did she actually want to know what he had possibly betrayed her for? She sighed and got up off the couch to walk over to the liquor cabinet, pulling out the bottle of scotch they'd opened earlier. Absently, she thought that if she didn't get a change of clothes soon she was just going to walk around naked.

It was a half an hour later that he received a text from Holmes informing him that their 'care packages' were arriving, and five seconds later there was a knock on the door. He stood, checked the peephole, and let the two goons in. They were each carrying a large box, which they set in the hallway before turning to leave without a word.

She moseyed in from the living room, a glass of scotch in hand. "Oh, good. I was starting to get a little cold. I don't suppose they've marked whose is whose?"

"It will probably become obvious once we open the boxes. For instance-" He pulled off the lid of one box and dug around, before holding up a lacey bra. "Clearly mine," he deadpanned.

"I don't know, I think you need a smaller cup size," she smirked, stepping forward to pluck the bra from his grasp and drop it back into the box, then threw back the last bit of her scotch so she could set the glass on the floor and pick up the box. "I'm going to go pack this away. Who knows how long we'll be here."

"True," he sighed, picking up his own box and heading upstairs. "Could be a while."

She managed to get up the stairs without tripping or dropping the box despite her tipsiness, and following him into the bedroom, chuckling. "You know, I feel like we're at summer camp. A really _strange_ summer camp. I mean, I assume, I've never been to one."

"I have. It was miserable until I realized the potential of being stuck in a room of boys looking for a leader," he chuckled, setting his box down and starting to pull out an array of suit shirts and a few jackets and trousers, along with some more casual wear.

She smirked, following his lead, though the clothes she pulled out were all distinctly different; whoever had been assigned to her had apparently decided that her taste in fashion was too wide to nail down, and had covered all angles of approach. "I can see you doing that almost effortlessly. Did you get the counselors under your thumb, too, or were they too wily?"

"Didn't have to," he said with a grin. "Saw the director watching some of the boys swim and took a wild guess, and got him to mess around with me my second week there. After that, I had the run of the camp. He kept the counselors in check because he was worried I'd tell someone he was into little boys."

"Are you _sure_ you weren't meant to have my job?" she snorted, raising her eyebrows at him as she pulled out a slinky evening dress in one hand a flannel button-down shirt in the other.

"He was an incredibly easy mark, and I was exactly what he was looking for," he retorted with a smirk. "I later discovered I much preferred shooting people in the head."

"Everyone has their preference, I suppose," she shook her head, beginning to organize the odd arrangement of clothes so she'd be able to find what she was looking for later. "Though I always thought male grifters who swung both ways and all of 'em in between had it the best out of everybody. _Way_ less likely to have disappointing sex."

"How's that? A mark's a mark, it's not like they get to choose, either," he pointed out, starting to hang shirts in the closet.

"I meant along the terms of getting to finish," she snorted, making an appreciate noise as she neared the bottom and came across a few pairs of shoes. "Hard to fake it, as I understand it."

"That's fair," he said with a nod, laughing a bit as he pulled out some clip-on ties. "I hope the idiots realize that these are almost as bad as real ones. Sure they come off, but then you've given your enemy something to choke you with."

"Oh, I like real ties. They're like handy little silk leashes," she hummed, starting to transfer the different sections of clothes into the dresser or closet, which fit best. "I mean, generally not my sort of thing, but everyone's got an exception."

"Being 'handy little silk leashes' is precisely why I hate them, but then, you and I have very different professions," he smirked.

"Oh, I wasn't thinking professionally," she laughed, tossing the empty box off into the corner to deal with later. "I don't need a leash in my profession. I have _me."_

"So is that a hint to start wearing ties in bed, then?" he asked with a smirk, pulling out a few sets of shoes and a stocked toiletry kit, along with a bottle of shampoo.

"Maybe for my birthday," she chuckled, "Otherwise, I'm good. My main mission is trying to find a way to make you putty in my hands."

"We'll see," he said with a small laugh.

* * *

The next week or so was incredibly dull. Mycroft said that he was working on a list of the information Moran had provided, but for the most part there was radio silence, and they spent their time watching telly, playing cards, and fucking. The last at least was entertaining.

The orders came as a bit of a surprise. There was no lead-up, just a text from Mycroft with the details. He read it over quietly, and swore under his breath.

 _You do realize I'm hiding from Moriarty, correct? Get someone else to spy on the bloody deal. SM_

 _Of course I realize. But that has nothing to do with this. The fact is that I need this done and there's simply no one else to do it at the time required. Either way, I'm outside your door to discuss it. MH_

"What the fuck-" he muttered, rubbing at his eyes for a moment with a sigh before glancing at the sleeping Lorna and rolling out of bed, getting dressed quietly and heading downstairs, checking the peephole before opening the door to let Holmes in. "Why the hell are you here?" he asked quietly. "It's almost 2 a.m."

"You answered the text, you were awake," he said in an unconcerned manner, stepping inside. "And besides, I was already down the street, working. I don't particularly _like_ texting. Always prefer to speak face to face, or call, if that can't be achieved."

"Really gives your death sentences that personal touch," he shot back dryly. "Are you insane? If Moriarty's people catch wind of me, I'll be dead."

"The risk of being caught out is low. 23.5%, to be exact. And if that's not motivation enough, perhaps you'll find it upstairs," he said coldly, eyes moving to look at the stairs appraisingly. "Nothing you wouldn't do for her, is there? You betrayed _Moriarty_ for her, after all."

Lorna didn't move from her spot just below the second-floor landing, hidden in the dark, listening to their conversation. In fact, she rather froze up.


	70. Sex Is A Social Lubricant

Sebastian went cold, teeth grit, and took a slow breath. "Those were different times. And you promised to protect her. Not threaten her further. Those were our terms." At least, if Mycroft wasn't lying, which who the hell knew at this point.

Lorna wasn't sure how she thawed herself out, but before Mycroft had formulated a good response she'd walked down the creaking stairs to stand at the bottom in an oversized t-shirt and her pants, eyes hard on the two of them. "You two _really_ don't know how to use your inside voices, do you?"

He glanced over at her, standing quickly, as did Mycroft. "Sorry, Harrison. Did we wake you up? Holmes was just leaving."

"Yes, he was," she stated, gaze boring into Mycroft, who looked as cowed as he really ever could, which was not a lot.

"We'll continue this discussion later, Moran," he replied evenly, giving a small nod before he turned for the door and slipped out, leaving the two of them alone.

Moran walked over to shut the front door. "Right. Sorry about that. Back to bed then."

"Nice try," she huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. "You know I heard what he said. _That_ was what was in the file? Why didn't you tell me?"

He gave an exasperated sigh. "It didn't seem pertinant." He tried to head for the stairs, but she was in his way. He frowned, tempted to just pick her up and move her, but backed off a pace.

"I'd have to say you were wrong, on that one," she squared her jaw, torn between anger and something else she couldn't identify. If this was real, if he really had started selling secrets, it meant he'd betrayed her to protect her. And if he hadn't, it still meant he thought it plausible enough to believe. Her hands dropped to her sides, and she sighed. "Look, Sebastian... It matters to me why you'd turn on us. Whether we're speaking in general terms like the network, or more personal, like me and Jim. I don't know. Just... don't leave out information like that. 'Cause then I feel like you're hiding shit all the time."

He sighed through his nose as she deflated, and reached up to rub a hand over his close-cropped hair.

"I've turned it over and over, this whole thing, and I couldn't think of a reason that I would betray Jim like that. According to the file, Holmes contacted me when Jim had it out for you, was sending you on worse and worse missions. He offered you protection. And that... that's the one thing I think I might actually have done it for. It makes this whole mess plausible for the first time."

"Christ, and what a mess it is," she sighed, rubbing her eyes. Then she held out a hand to him, cocking her head back to the stairs. "C'mon, lover, let's go back to bed. I'm too tired to deal with this right now."

He stared at her hand for just a moment.

 _Lover._

Was that who he was now? Not entirely, certainly. But for so long he'd been a soldier, a killer... Now he'd gone against that for the woman standing in front of him, offering her hand.

He took it and headed for the stairs, deciding he was too tired to deal with it, too.

She kept mulling over the situation in her head as they crawled back into bed, examining how this would impact them. Could they even return to Jim, at this point? Christ, she didn't know. She shoved the thoughts from her head and burrowed into his chest, sighing. "Sorry for royally fucking up your life."

"Apology accepted," he said with a small smirk, wrapping his arms around her tightly. He was quiet for a few moments, before he added "I don't regret it, if that's what I did."

"I would have done it for you, it had been the other way around," she murmured, giving a tiny shrug. "God knows I was in over my head by that point, anyway."

He sighed, but nodded just a little. After another few moments he asked quietly, "Do you think I've gone soft?"

"What? Jesus Christ, no," she snorted, drawing back a little so she could look at him in the dark. "This... this thing we have going here, it doesn't make the things you can do to people any less threatening. Hell, when I was little I saw my step-dad put down three people for fucking up a delivery, and in the next three minutes was talking to my mom like nothing ever happened. Just because he cared about her doesn't mean that he didn't just end the lives of three people. You're not one-dimensional, Sebastian. You have room for other things than death."

"Yeah," he sighed, nodding a little and pulling her close again. "I'm just not used to feeling so out of control."

"Yeah, I know," she murmured, letting out a long breath into his shoulder. "I think you'll get it back, though, that feeling of control."

"We'll see," he said quietly, a touch of bitterness entering his tone. "My mind isn't my own anymore. Anyone can come along and insert their own version of things in to bridge the gaps, make connections I never would have wanted made, not before. I'm just taking it in the ass from whoever decides I'm the most useful."

She sighed, considering wrapping an arm around him before going the less-obviously-comforting route and nuzzling into him a little more. "We'll figure this Mycroft shit out, don't worry. How hard can it be to find the truth? Holmes is smart, but he's not infallible. He'll slip up."

He sighed, but nodded just a bit. "We'll see. Infallible, no. But his flaws may be more minute than we can pick up on." He shifted a little, fingers brushing her hair back a bit. "Get some sleep, Harrison."

"Alright," she mumbled, relaxing a little more, eyes falling shut and her mind drifting off. Within ten minutes she was dead to the world.

He was awake for a little longer, but eventually sleep claimed him and he drifted off.

* * *

He woke the next morning feeling shitty. For a few moments he didn't remember why, until his conversation with Mycroft returned to him. He sighed softly, holding Harrison a bit closer. Tonight was going to be interesting.

She woke up slowly, slowly returning to consciousness (it was a feat in and of itself to wake up at all when sleeping with somebody who was a furnace), and eventually let out a quiet yawn into the space between them. "I had a dream you got a tattoo of Mycroft and Jim fighting," she mumbled, stretching out with a quiet rustle of sheets. "I dunno if that was even the weirdest part."

"If I were to get a tattoo, I somehow doubt it would be that," he said dryly. "More likely to be a fifties pinup starring my best gal." His face was deadpan, but he tickled her side as he said it.

She laughed, scootching out of his reach so it was harder for him to tickle her. "Call me doll and I'll even pose for the artist," she chuckled, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

"Mmm... don't count on it. Though I'd probably look damn good in a fifties suit," he sighed, stretching out slowly.

"I think it's more definite than 'probably,'" she snorted, groaning and sliding out of bed. "Okay, I'm going to make breakfast. Any requests?"

"Go big on portions," he sighed, sitting up. "I'm starving."

"You got it," she yawned, shuffling out the door, and mentally preparing for the task of cooking up an entire carton of eggs. When he was starving, England's food stores suffered a little.

He debated showering, but decided to wait until she could join him. He brushed his teeth, and headed after her down to the kitchen, walking up behind her and putting his chin on her head. "Hello."

"Hi," she chuckled, in the middle of frying up a pan of scrambled eggs. This was unusually affectionate for him. She knew better than to comment on it. "I hope the people stocking this place know how much food you can put away, or we're going to have to have pizza or something for breakfast."

"I imagine that Mycroft is well aware of our respective dietary habits, frightening as that is," he snorted.

"Good, cause we're out of eggs," she smirked, turning off the stove and ducking out from under him to open the fridge and pull out a carton of strawberries. "Want some fruit?"

"Sure," he said, taking the carton and walking over to rinse it in the sink.

"One good thing about Mycroft is he doesn't make snide quips about us living together," she commented, shoveling them both a plate of scrambled eggs.

"That is a very tiny upside, yes," he agreed with a sigh.

"Got to find them where you can, right?" she shook her head, setting down the plates on the table.

"Yeah," he said, heading over with the strawberries, grabbing a few forks on the way. He sat down, starting to dig into the eggs, and it was a few mouthfuls before he said, "I'm going to go tonight."

She finished a strawberry before she answered, eyebrows coming together just a little. Other than that her face remained the same. "I'm going with you, right?"

He looked up, expression calm. "I don't see any reason you would, so no."

She tapped the pad of her finger silently against the edge of her plate, the only sign of her beginning agitation. "What are you doing, spying? Sniping? Whatever it is, I'm sure Holmes is going to assign you a partner anyway. Might as well be me."

"I'll be observing a meetup that Moriarty's scheduled with an associate. Mycroft's intel suggests he'll be there personally." His intel suggested it, too. He'd scheduled the meetup personally, but he had no intention of informing Holmes of that fact.

She ate in silence for a moment. This would be a good chance to touch base with Jim. This was why she'd been sent along, after all. To report on Moran. Not that she would say anything that would harm him, but still. "Alright. Then you'll have me around to watch your back while you peer through binoculars."

He considered that for a few moments. "I suppose I'd rather it was you than one of Mycroft's goons."

"I know," she said, taking a slow bite into a strawberry. "A pat on the arse from me would be _much_ more welcome."

"Who knows, one or two of them are rather fetching," he smirked, finishing his eggs.

"Yeah, but let's face it, it's not all that likely that they're going to like all the bruising that comes with fucking you," she snickered, popping the last strawberry in her mouth and returning her attention to the eggs. "If it's one of them, you're probably going to have to go longer without getting off. But I don't know, I suppose I don't know the blokes. I guess it's not fair to underestimate them."

"Are you suggesting that we fuck while Moriarty is a few hundred yards away negotiating some deal or another, or that if I don't take you you're going to withhold sex?" he asked, reaching for his own strawberry.

"The first one," she hummed nonchalantly, taking a sip of water from the glass she poured herself earlier. "I don't know if I'm physically capable of withholding sex from you. That'd never work as a threat."

He shrugged. "It's not like I'd force you," he retorted. "But sex on the roof sounds the better of the two options, personally."

"Oh, no, _that's_ not what I meant," she snorted, shaking her head. "I meant more along the lines of my willpower suddenly evaporating the second you get that _look_ in your eye; don't play dumb, you know what look I'm talking about. But yes, I agree on which option is better."

He smirked into his strawberry. "Not the foggiest about what you're referring to," he muttered, tossing the last of his strawberry greens aside and standing to rinse his plate.

"Mmmhm, sure you don't," she rolled her eyes and stood, gathering up her plates and moving around the table to wait her turn by the sink. " _God,_ I just can't think of what will really drive you crazy, either. It's like trying to figure out the secrets of the universe, I swear. Do _you_ even know?"

"I have a few ideas," he said with a smirk. "But I'll let you stumble along. I promise that they're nothing too obscure." He leaned over to nip at the back of her neck as he passed on his way to the stairs. "I'll be showering if you're interested."

"Christ, when am I _not_ interested," she muttered, leaving her plates in the sink and following him. What could those things _be?_ Not lingerie, surely, with his penchant for ripping things apart? Or was that part of it? He _said_ nothing too obscure, but with him, it was like sifting through a bag full of rice looking for a few independently-moving nanobots. He was unpredictable as hell, and hard to pin down.

He headed for the shower, turning it on and reaching out to feel the heat of the water. "You've even seen it in action, I believe, though you were a bit distracted at the time," he smirked.

"What? Oh, c'mon, that could be any number of times," she huffed, stepping out of her pajama bottoms and tossing them at his head lightly.

"Alright, well, if you want to surrender for another hint, I've got one ready," he smirked, catching the trousers and tossing them into the hamper.

She sighed, leaning against the counter in her nightshirt and pants. "Yeah, alright. Never going to get anywhere by myself."

"The legendary grifter admits defeat?" he asked, eyes widening with play shock.

She almost rolled her eyes right out of her head, it was such an exasperated movement. "With _you?_ Christ, of course. I'm too busy being attracted to you to try and root around in your head."

He laughed. "I'm your kryptonite," he smirked, starting to strip. His scars stood out pale against his skin now. Most had over-scarred because of how often he'd torn them back open, and they stood like thin ridges, a labyrinth across his skin. Jim's initials had been circumvented neatly on his chest, given a few inches of space so as not to contaminate the rest of the words.

The scars had stopped bothering her, by this point. It was rare that he ever opened them back up, so once the bad thing about them had been removed, she stopped caring one way or another about them. "Yeah, you are," she shook her head, following his lead and getting rid of her remaining clothes. "Though I think I remember you saying you were going to give me a hint. Are you just going to let me dangle here for a while?"

"Fine, fine," he smirked. "You were not the one enacting what I am referring to, unfortunately," he smirked, flicking her nose gently and getting into the water with a sigh.

"Jesus, that's not a hint," she scoffed, stepping in after him. "So, what, was it Jim? Give me something I can _use,_ Seb."

He laughed. "You said you wanted to figure it out, didn't you?" He reached out to slide a hand around her waist. "Though you're getting warmer I suppose."

She smirked, leaning against him. "Yeah, I do, but there are certain limits that we're both just going to have to accept. My powers of observation weren't _really_ at their highest fucking the two of you, I'm not ashamed to admit it. I surrender on this one."

"You give up so easily," he sighed, leaning down to bite the top of her ear. "Come on, think a bit. What's Jim do that you don't. Other than have a cock. That is not the issue here."

"What, is it the taking charge that you like so much? I figured that you weren't big on the losing control," she hummed, scratching her nails lightly down his chest. "Other than that, I mean, I could _probably_ put on an Irish accent..."

"That took you a while," he smirked, tongue tracing her ear. "Not the accent. And there's a big difference between having absolutely no control and having someone you trust take charge." He nipped again, then stood. "Seeing as there's an incredibly short list of people I trust, this isn't something I frequently indulge."

She chuckled. "And I don't normally take charge, either, because I like feeling just a little bit possessed, but I'll make an exception for you," she grinned, leaning up to nip the corner of his jaw. "Any other big ones I should know about? Or rather, get hints on?"

He grins. "Oh, I think that one may lead you into an avenue of sorts, we'll see." He wrapped his other arm around her waist.

"So willing to leave it up to chance, are you?" she smirked, raising her eyebrows at him a little, fingers tracing down over his hip, tracing a scar there.

"I can't tell you _everything_ ," he grinned, reaching up to push her streaming hair out of her face. "What fun would that be?"

"Not very fun at all, I suppose," she rolled her eyes, smiling still, then flattened a hand on his chest and gave him a firm push back up against the shower wall, and winked at him. "But I know what will be more fun."

"Oh, do you?" he asked, his back hitting the wall. He gave her a cocky smile, but there wasn't much hiding the slight increase of his pulse under her palm.

"What, like you even have to ask?" she asked softly, a knowing smirk on her face, and she leaned up, lips ghosting over his, mischievous eyes on him. "I don't think insolence is really advisable right now, do you?" she raised her eyebrows, voice still quiet, a hand raising to slide her fingers through his dripping hair, coming to rest at the base of his skull, where she got a firm grip. She tugged just enough to let him know that she had a hold on him, and then pulled him down to kiss him, deceptively softly, like she wasn't controlling the situation at all.

He kissed her back, in no mood to just lie down and take it, his tongue pushing forward past her lips eagerly, tugging against her grip in his hair just a little.

 _You want it? Come and get it._

She bit him as he pulled against her grip, pushing him harder into the wall for a second before letting go entirely and breaking away to turn off the shower. "Alright, I'm too short. Get that ass of yours into bed, huh?" she smirked, wriggling her eyebrows as she stepped out, reaching for a towel.

He grinned, following after her and pinching her rear as he grabbed his own towel. "If you say so."

"Damn right, I say so," she laughed, swatting him with her towel and then making a token attempt to dry her hair off as she headed into the bedroom. Yes, horizontal would be _much_ easier for what she wanted to do to him.

He grinned, toweling off as he followed her before tossing the towel and flopping back on the bed then. "Well, then, what's your pleasure?"

"I mean, the obvious answer is you," she pointed out, crawling onto the bed and straddling his waist, looking thoughtfully down at him, giving the J.M. initials on his torso a sort of absent-minded scrutiny. "You know, normally I try not to let this bother me, but I think I'm allowed to get jealous every now and then. I think I'm allowed to say you're _mine,"_ she purred, securing a hand in his damp hair again without preamble and pulling his head back enough to expose his throat, and slowly, deliberately, bit into his pulse point, her free hand sliding down his abdomen in between them to skim teasingly over his length to land on his thigh, her nails biting in there to leave a mark.

He took in a sharp breath as her teeth clamped down on his throat, making his windpipe ache slightly. His back arched a little under her, and he bit into his tongue to hold back a moan. "And you can prove that, can you?" he said, his voice just a hair short of steady, his hands gripped in the sheets to remind himself not to fight back. His body was warming quickly, skin hot under her touch.

"You ask a lot of questions. I guess we're both mouthy, aren't we?" she murmured against the skin of his neck, then shifting to start kissing a line down his chest, her hands moving to grab hold of his wrists and pin them down palm up before she interlocked her fingers with his. When she reached about his mid-abdomen she nipped him once again and then slid back up his body to kiss him hard, tongue pushing past his lips, hips rolling down on his.

He shifted and arched under her lips, scarred skin more sensitive than it had once been, taking short, heaving breaths through his nose, trying to keep them even. She pinned his hands and he gave token resistance, though there was little hiding how much he was enjoying himself, the proof was nudging her in the arse. He opened his mouth for her when she returned, sucking and biting at her tongue, a small groan sneaking past as she ground against him.

She ground down on him again as he made that noise, encouraging more, her own breath coming heavier. "Do you know how satisfying it is to see other people look at you and know that you're all mine?" she murmured, kissing him one last time before letting go of his hands to brace them on his chest so she could sit up straight and get a decent rhythm going, teasing the both of them now. " _I'm_ the one who gets to fuck you until we're both sore, _I'm_ the one who gets to sink my teeth into you, _I'm_ the one who gets to ride that cock. I almost wish they could see us now," she grinned, a thumb flicking across his nipple. "They should _be_ so lucky."

He reached up a hand to grip hers, curling her fingers against his skin until her nails bit into him. He opened his eyes to find hers, his own black with desire, but they were also studying her, analyzing, waiting for her next move. His hips bucked up against hers a bit rebelliously and he gave her a cheeky grin. "And when I look at them?" he asked, breaths a bit quick. "What then?"

"Then," she replied, stilling on him, a dangerous look entering her eyes as she looked down at him, gripping his hand harder, on the edge of breaking the skin. "I fuck you covered in their blood, and carve my initials in next to dear old Jim's, so you know who you _really_ belong to."

He groaned as she stopped moving, rutting his hips upwards a few times in an attempt to get some friction, before giving that up as a lost cause. He closed his eyes, chest heaving slightly at her words, and the wonderful pain in his hand. "Fuck..."

The look of him spread out beneath her - scarred skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat, every moment of his chest accentuating the taut muscle that seemed to be on every inch of him, just the smallest flush on his cheeks - was enough to leave her breathless for a second, captivated at the sight of him, and then she was shaking free of it, lifting herself off him for a quick moment to reach down, position herself over him, and then slide down onto him all at once, a low groan escaping her throat. "Fuck?" she murmured, breath lost, "That's the idea, yeah."

He let out a shaky breath as she grabbed his cock, eyes flashing open to find her face, lips parted slightly. She sank onto him slowly and he moaned, his free hand moving to find her hip, shoulders pressing back into the mattress, eyes filling out black. "Lorna... fuck, please..."

"You're going to have to elaborate a little more on that, Seb, darling," she purred, rolling her hips once, slowly, biting her lower lip as she fought to restrain herself. _Christ_ did she want him. But he needed to work for it.

He grit his teeth with a growl of frustration, his trapped hand shifting under hers a little, tugging, making a bid to shift himself into a position of control. Not that he couldn't if he'd really wanted to, but that would spoil the game and he kept himself in check for the time being. She was practically throbbing around him, hot and wet, muscles shifting and clenching around him as she moved, and _fuck_ did he want her to fuck him until he couldn't see straight.

"Fuck me," he managed to grit out, voice wavering slightly as he ground up against her.

That was enough for her. She braced her free hand on his chest and then she was moving, tossing her damp hair back out of her face with a flick of her head, pulling up nearly off him and then rolling back down onto him again, setting up a smooth rhythm, her own breath coming harder, her eyes slipping shut.

He cried out slightly, trying to sit up off of the bed, but her hand kept him down, which sent an unexpected wave of heat rolling down his spine, cock throbbing in response as he rolled his hips with her rhythm. "Fuck... you feel so good," he muttered, his hand on her hip pulling her tighter against him as she moved down.

"You, too," she panted, too wound up and too into it to bother coming up with anything witty to say, completely focused on just keeping the heavenly friction going, on feeling his heat sear her skin and burn her up from the inside out.

He didn't care either, his focus on the exact same thing. He shifted the hand on her hip slightly inward, thumb extending to find her clit, pressing and rubbing gently as she moved, eyes on her face, hips rolling to meet her every movement.

"Fuck," she gasped, her rhythm stuttering, clenching around him as a shiver went through her. She was close enough that she was starting to see stars.

"I- mmh..- I want to feel you come," he growled, his trapped fingers gripping hers. "N-need you to..."

She was too far gone to play her role, falling over the edge at his words and arching on top of him, nails finally breaking the skin on his hand, feeling a bit as if her world was shattering before her very eyes, and it was an amazingly riveting view.

He watched her fall apart, the burst of pain in his hand pushing him to the brink as she arched over him, breasts jutting out beautifully, lips parting around a silent cry of pleasure. She rippled and pulsed around him and he lasted only a few seconds longer, his whole body tensing for just a second before he released, hips pushing up against hers, a swear on his lips.

She wasn't sure how long it took her to recover enough that she could carefully get off him and collapse by his side, curling into him with exhaustion, heaviness in her limbs. "I'd say that was a success," she murmured.

"Yeah, I think so," he agreed blearily, rubbing his eyes a little. " _Jesus..._ " He stretched slowly, then wrapped his arm around her.

"I mean, that's not my name, but you're entitled to say whatever you want to," she mumbled, stretching out herself with a satisfied little noise.

"Oh shut up," he muttered, smirking and pinching her arse a bit.

She made an indignant sound, but didn't bother to roll away. "Make me," she retorted instead, without any bite. "Maybe after a nap, though. Christ, we've barely been awake two hours."

"You nap if you like," he said, sitting up and slipping his arm out from under her, stretching again. "I want to go over the details for tonight again."

She let out a tired sigh, and sat up. "Alright, I guess I'm not napping then." She ran a hand through her hair, then slid out of bed. "Just let me do clean up a little."

"I said you could nap," he retorted, already heading for the shower. "You don't need to go over it, I can brief you later."

"Alright, fine, you win. Okay, I guess _I_ kinda win, but whatever. Just gonna rinse off, then nap," she sighed, following him into the bathroom. Luckily for her, they'd included birth control in her care package. Practical of them.

He turned the shower on, rolling his eyes a little as she grumbled and grinning once she realized she had nothing to complain about it. "Never happy, Harrison. Honestly."

"Oh, no, I'm happy, I just like to complain and irritate you," she smirked, stepping into the shower, squinting at the spray. Good water pressure here, at least.

He rolled his eyes, stepping in behind her and resting his rough-shaved chin on her head. "Time was I would have threatened to stab you for that."

"Honestly, I'm a little surprised I'm not still getting that threat anyway," she chuckled, closing her eyes. Time was that he never would have even thought of the chance that what had just happened in there could be possible. It was almost strange, hearing it from him directly that he trusted her. And, almost as surprisingly, she trusted him. She hadn't, not for a long time. Even after she'd started loving him, she could never really relax around him. Things were so different now.

"I could start threatening again if you miss it," he said, rinsing off and stepping out to dry off. "Sometimes I do. But I think it's more because I haven't had the chance to intimidate anyone properly lately. It's annoying."

She smiled, getting out after him and grabbing the towel she'd left on the counter earlier. "You can threaten me sometimes if you really want. I mean I'm usually fairly certain that you aren't actually going to do anything truly unpleasant, so I don't know if it will feel the same for you, but you're welcome to try. So long as you make me food afterwards, I'm alright."

He smirked, heading out into the bedroom to get dressed. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks ever so much for your permission," he said dryly.

She chuckled, trailing out after him to collapse back into bed still nude, and crawled under the covers. "You're ever so welcome. Do let me know if you need me to sign a waiver or something."

"Oh, Christ, there's probably all sorts of legalese to wade through so that the government can cover its ass," he groaned. "Maybe I'll change my mind about you napping," he teased, walking over to grab the foot of the blanket and tug.

"Noooo, I meant for you _threatening_ me," she moaned, grabbing onto the blanket and rolling herself further into it so he couldn't pull any of it off her. "I'm not signing shit for the government. Who's gonna sue them, my dead family? They'll be fine."

"I certainly won't. I'd just murder them all," he snorted, leaving her be and heading for the door.

"Comforting," she mumbled into a pillow, already half unconscious. He wouldn't even make it back into the living room before she was asleep.


	71. Proving A Negative

He spent most of the afternoon going over the details of the mission, and going over them again, and again, looking over and over for mistakes or traps.

She wandered out into the living room about two hours later, dressed, but still looking just a tad bit bedraggled. "Hi," she yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "How's the mission looking?"

"About as irritating as I expected it to. Survivable, but not pretty." He shrugged.

"A good portion of our trips are," she sighed, sitting down next to him.

"True, but most of those I volunteer for the risks," he sighed.

"Yeah, we're not normally coerced, I suppose," she shook her head, sighing. "Although, maybe the 'threat of death upon dismissal' counts."

He shrugged. "That was never really a threat, not to me. I would have done anything for him or told him he was being a moron, one of the two. Or so I thought. But here we are, so evidently I was mistaken."

She didn't say anything in return for a long moment, just raised a hand to squeeze his shoulder. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. She didn't know yet. And she wasn't sure how long it would take her to find out. "Either way, is there anything I can do to help with the mission?"

"You could stay here so we aren't both killed by Moriarty in a single evening," he suggested dryly.

"What, like I want to be alone with Mycroft? Sebastian, please," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "Not that I don't appreciate the effort you're trying to go to to keep me alive, but relax a little."

He leveled a glare in her direction, then returned his gaze to the plans. "You'll be my lookout, then, as discussed."

"Alright," she agreed, cracking her fingers. "Let me know if Mycroft changes any of the plans or anything. God, you don't think he'll send us with a chaperone, do you?"

"It wouldn't surprise me," he sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"Eugh, gross," she muttered, leaning back into the sofa. "He's probably going to string us out all day, too, the bastard."

"Almost makes you miss Moriarty," he snickered, tossing the file aside and stretching with a groan.

She smirked, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, at least with him we knew we were on our own. With Mycroft... Christ, I don't know a bloody thing about Mycroft."

"I suspect very few people know a bloody thing about Mycroft. I also suspect that that is precisely how he likes it."

"Oh, I'm sure," she sighed. "It's how the both of us would want it. It's how Jim wanted it."

"Oh well," he sighed, rubbing at his eyes a little. "They'd better arm us. If I have to go in there without a gun I will be unconcerned but _very_ annoyed."

"They know better than that, surely," she scoffed, less at him and more at the general idea of the thing. "Telling you to go unarmed is a stupid risk, especially since we're on the lam from the network. They shouldn't be risking a couple high-value assets."

"They shouldn't be sending us at all, but that's a different story altogether," he snorted. "But I agree."

She sighed, running her fingers over the smooth leather arm of the sofa. "Well, at least it's only a one-night thing. I wouldn't want to do a long game here."

"No?" he asked, looking over at her. "I'm surprised. Why not?"

"I don't trust the people here. I don't trust the people at the network, either, but it's a different sort of mistrust. I know that at the end of the day they want me to succeed because there will be a payoff that reaches them, too. Here, though..." she shook her head, "they won't really care about the money that comes in at the end of a job. They'll care about doing _right._ And if the right thing ends up being to let me get killed... I trust money more than I trust morals, is all."

He nodded. "I agree to an extent. But morals can be manipulated much more easily than money can. They have their uses. Not that I trust anyone here either."

Lorna nodded, trying not to think too hard about how much she could logically trust Moran. Emotionally, she trusted him. She couldn't help it. She'd been through a lot with him. After all the things, _people,_ they'd overcome, it was hard not to. She was quiet for a moment. "This is going to be a hard adjustment. Our coworkers better not send any dirty looks our way."

"Just ignore them," he said, shrugging. "Who cares? Fuck them, anyway."

"I'm a vain, vain woman. I hate it when people give me negative looks," she snorted, standing and moving over to the narrow window that looked over a tiny courtyard at the back of the house. It was the most unkempt-looking area on the whole block, from what she could tell. Too many spiders, maybe? "I think we can probably count pride as one of my sins. I like to at _least_ be feared, if not desired."

He stood, too, walking over to wrap arms around her waist, smirking a little. "I think we both can count pride among our sins, though perhaps for different reasons." He bent to kiss her ear, but whispered instead, "Tonight, be watching his people. See if they know me."

She gave the tiniest nod, then disguised it by leaning her head back against his shoulder, just in case there were cameras that had yet to be found. It would be a challenge, keeping an eye on both Sebastian and Mycroft's men, but the fact was that it had to be done, so she would do it.

He kissed his way down the side of her neck gently, then straightened. "Alright. Let's get dinner together. The file says someone will pick us up at 2100, and I'd like a chance to relax a bit before then."

"You want a last meal, is what I'm hearing," she joked, smirking and turning to face him. "You want to do casual or do you want to make our hosts shell out a little cash from the national treasury?"

"As much as I prefer the latter... Let's go for something that's going to be simple and stick around. Nothing like feeling hungry in the middle of a mission or getting caught because your stomach growls," he smirked.

She laughed. "You're right, that'd be embarrassing. Not how I want to die." She slipped past him and headed for the door, glancing at him over her shoulder. "How's fish and chips sound?"

He walked over to grab a jacket, before hesitating and glancing at the door. "This is stupid," he snorted, hanging it back up. "And we both know it. Come on, I'll make something."

"Sounds good to me," she hummed, pushing off the door and following him back towards the kitchen. "Have you gotten any more details about the mission besides when they're going to pick us up?"

"Just what you saw. Moriarty is meeting in person with a contact. The contact is unknown, but given that Moriarty is meeting them himself they expect it to be someone of some importance. We're to observe only."

"What, they couldn't spare one pair of discreet eyes tonight?" she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. "Could they make this test any more _obvious?_ I'm not feeling talked down to enough."

"I know," he snorted, pulling out frozen hamburger meat. "But as you unfortunately heard, objection didn't go over well."

"No, I remember. Not a conversation that's extremely fun to wake up to, believe me," she muttered. Was she surprised? Not really. But that didn't make it enjoyable.

He nodded just a little, setting out the meat to thaw and starting to sort through the fridge. "Hamburgers okay?"

"I'm fine with whatever you make. You're a good cook," she shrugged, leaning against the counter nearby. She wanted to talk to him about what they were going to do if she was sure that none of Mycroft's people recognized him. Damn bugs. "And I'm _reasonably_ certain you wouldn't poison me before a job."

He smirked just a little. "Well I won't now that you've discovered my plot," he shot back, tossing a tomato her way. "Slice that."

She caught it with a small chuckle, turning to go grab a cutting board and then fishing around for the knife drawer. "I don't know, that could be a ruse. Shit, I don't know if I'm fast enough to switch hamburgers on you."

"Tell you what, I'll take a bite of yours first. How's that?" he smirked, pulling off a few leaves of lettuce.

"Alright, I can live with that," she relented, sliding the cutting board over to him with a smile, the chopped up tomato on top. "Not a bad last meal, really. I wonder if we have any wine lying around. Or beer. Not feeling the hard liquor."

"Beer would be good.. Take a look around while I get the burgers cooked, alright?" he asked, pulling out some grated cheese and bacon to stuff the burgers with.

She nodded and headed over to the enormous fridge to start digging around, trying not to think too much about the food he was cooking behind her. God, did it smell good.

Fifteen minutes later he slid the burgers onto buns and slid one in her direction to fix up however she liked. "Let me know when you want me to take that bite," he teased.

"I will, thanks," she chuckled, throwing a few slices of tomato and some lettuce onto his masterpiece. She felt a little bit like Garfunkel. "Here's to not getting killed tonight, huh?"

He added mayonnaise and tomato to his, and some extra cheese, nodding and reaching to pick up the beer Lorna'd found and holding it out in her direction. "I'll drink to that."

She tapped her bottle with his and then dug in, figuring that if Mycroft's driver showed up early they wouldn't appreciate waiting for her to finish up her food. He ate at a measured pace, not caring particularly whether or not anyone was waiting.

She finished a few minutes later, then sat back with a huff, sipping at her beer. She gave his plate an amused look. "I see you've not been affected at all by our timetable."

"If Holmes thinks I'm going to jump when he says like some bloody lap dog, he has a surprise in store," he said calmly, taking another bite of his burger.

She smirked and finished off her beer. "That he does. I don't know if I've ever successfully rushed you; he's got no chance."

He nodded in agreement. It took him a few more minutes to finish his burger, and then he stood. "I going to go change into blackouts. You should probably do the same."

She nodded, pushing out from the table and standing to follow him to the bedroom. It was times like these she was grateful she wasn't a blonde - she'd seen more than one agent with shining golden locks be caught because they'd forgotten to hide their hair. It was nice to be the one with a natural camouflage for once.

He changed into his blacks, rubbing blacking grease into his hair to cut the shine and then pulling on a hat and his shoulder holster. "Ready?"

She nodded, decked out in a nearly-matching pair of blacks approximately seven sizes smaller, dark hair loose around her face; she'd discovered a long time ago it made good impromptu camouflage for her pale Londoner face. "Let's go."

He nodded, slipping his pistol into its holster and heading downstairs and out the front door. A black car was waiting in the shadows between streetlights, and he headed for it cautiously.

She followed him after sliding a bowie knife into the sheath strapped to her leg, her hand twitching towards it as she followed him to the car. A quick glance was all it took to tell her that the rest of the street was all but deserted, a single light on in a house four doors down. When they finally took the final steps to the door, she opened it and slid in, her eyes glued to the man in the driver's seat. He gave her a bored look in the mirror.

He slid in right behind her. "Let's go, shall we?" he said as he shut the door. The man didn't comment, just started the car and headed off.

She wanted to ask for more details on the mission, but gathering from their driver's stony expression, he wasn't going to be offering any up. Fine. They'd find someone who'd talk to them. Find out what this shit was really about. And then she had to get to Jim, with or without Sebastian's help. Jim was not known for his patience. She was worried that if he didn't get something concerning Moran soon he'd do something drastic.

The driver pulled to a stop a few minutes later, in the middle of a dark alley, cutting the engine and getting out. "We'll access the roof via that fire escape."

"We? Oh, great, we get the Great Stone Face on assignment with us," she snorted, getting out of the car and pulling out a pair of black gloves from her back pocket, slipping them on. "You wanna give us any other details or is it going to be a need-to-know basis kind of deal?"

"Need to know," he responded calmly, locking the car and motioning for them to take the lead. Moran snorted but walked over to haul down the escape ladder.

"Alright, Big Brother, whatever," she rolled her eyes, following Sebastian, and letting him get a few rungs up on the ladder before she started up after him, wondering if these trousers made her butt look good. She'd be able to kill the man easier later if he got a little distracted now.

They reached the top of the building and Moran turned to haul Lorna up the last few feet, leaving Mycroft's man to fend for himself. He did, scrambling up with less than his usual grace onto the roof. He slung a bag off of his shoulder and pulled out binoculars and a long-distance-listening gun. "Here," he said calmly, handing them to Sebastian.

Lorna crouched on the roof behind them, wishing vaguely for a cigarette. She didn't expect one to appear, but it didn't hurt to try. "What, you didn't bring enough for the class? For shame," she muttered, tsking quietly behind them. The man shot her a mildly annoyed look.

"I wasn't informed you'd be _tagging along._ Will you be quiet, now?"

"Watch it, Corpse," Moran said coolly. "We weren't informed that _you_ would be _tagging along_ , and I much prefer her quips to yours. Clear?"

He squared his jaw, giving them both a dirty look, but he fell silent, returned his gaze to the mostly-dark buildings ahead of them. She smirked.

"The stone cracks," Moran muttered to Lorna, not particularly caring if the other man heard them. He wondered if the man had shown any signs of recognition. He hoped not. He shifted down to a crouch and started scanning the building across the street for activity.

Lorna kept her eyes on the stranger more than she did on Moran, watching for any sign of familiarity in the way he sat, in the way he shifted. She could find no sign of any. Quite the opposite, in fact. Once she could see past the mask, he moved like a tourist caught in a tiger cage. Sure, he'd heard what the beast could do to him, knew logically that it could kill him, but he wasn't the keeper, wasn't anybody who knew anything more than the pure basics. He didn't know Moran. He would have been more afraid.

Moran kept his eyes on the building, then motioned for attention. "Moriarty just entered a room on the second floor," he said quietly.

"He with anybody you recognize?" their nameless companion asked quietly, voice expressionless. "Pass the binoculars to her if not." Some of the bitterness about her involvement returned, but it stayed mostly unnoticeable. Wise of him.

He shook his head a little, though he did know the men. They were representatives of Armetti, there to discuss American business. And the security of the place was appalling, though judging by the slight bulk of kevlar under Jim's suit, he knew it. "No idea." He handed the binoculars to Lorna.

She looked through the binoculars, and after putting the room in her sights, stayed still for a moment, debating about whether or not to say she recognized the men. Surely Mycroft knew enough about the deal to know who was on the other side? If she stayed silent, she risked exposing them. If she spoke up, she risked exposing _Jim._ She knew which one was more dangerous. "I've slept with half that room. Not that that's saying much," she shrugged, handing the binoculars back to Sebastian, deciding to play it relatively safe.

"Just half?" Moran chuckled, taking them back and returning his attention to the room. "Harrison, can you set up that listening device?" he asked, keeping his attention on the room

"Yeah," she murmured, scooting forward in between them and starting to set it up with practiced movements. She didn't do a lot of roof stakeouts, but she did enough. Either way... she wasn't sure how she was going to give their chaperone the slip.

He knew she needed to see Jim. She was his informant. Moran's only chance at a lifeline back to Moriarty's network. And this was going to be their best chance.

He glanced over at her perfect set-up and snorted in annoyance. "Really? You've set this thing up how many times and you still can't do it right."

"Oh, bite me," she rolled her eyes, ignoring the look their companion gave them. "I set it up fine. If it's not working, it's a faulty piece of equipment. One of us will just have to get close enough to hear."

"Out of the question," the other man shook his head, frowning at the two of them. Lorna let out an exasperated huff.

"Alright, so how are we going to hear them, wise guy?"

"Yes, completely out of the question," Moran agreed. "If you think for a second that I'm letting you go in there, you're sadly mistaken. I'll go."

"Mr. Moran, I'm afraid I most certainly cannot let you do that-"

"So, what, you'd rather go in and deal with Moriarty's goons?"

The man's gaze shifted quickly.

"I thought not."

"Moran, if you go, you'll get _shot._ I, on the other hand, still have the reasonable doubt on my side," she argued, willing him to let her go. She had to talk to Jim, had to keep this path open for them. "Not to mention all the people in there who've seen me naked. C'mon, they're not you. They're going to think twice before ruining _this."_ She waved a hand over herself in the dark, though with their blackouts on, it was hard to really make out a defined shape on anyone.

He hid a smirk. He couldn't let her convince him too easily or Stoney would get suspicious. "I still don't like it... but I'd rather you than him and I suppose you're right that I'm not an option..." He sighed.

"I'm glad you know a lost cause when you see one," she smirked, giving his shoulder a pat and then standing, peering around in the dark for another way down. "Try to shoot anyone who tries to shoot me, huh? Thanks."

"I will," he nodded, still watching carefully through the binoculars.

Stoney still looked an odd mix of concerned and annoyed under a failing mask of apathy. "Don't be too long," he muttered.

"Aww, is that concern I hear in your voice, Mr. Robot? Don't worry, you'll probably still get to see me seduce Moran on the rooftop. I won't be able to stay away from that possibility for too long," she laughed, then she was gone, climbing down a maintenance ladder she'd found near the corner of the building. Time to contact Jim.

* * *

"So what you're telling me, in short, is that Mr. Armetti is an incompetent idiot," Moriarty drawled, sounding bored. "That is hardly a shock, you know. Almost everyone is."

He tuned out the scrambling protests if Armetti's men as he heard the door to the street open and close. "I'll be back, gentlemen. In the meantime think of something more engaging to talk about or I'll be using your patellas to prop up lopsided tables. Perhaps run any conversation ideas past Gerard here."

He left Gerard to keep an eye on the situation, and walked out into the hallway. Harrison was at the end of it, escorted by one of his men. He dismissed them.

"You certainly took your time. I hate waiting."

"Sorry, Boss," she ducked her head a little, eyes running along the walls of the hall, making sure there were no clear vantages. It didn't really matter if Sebastian saw her, but it mattered if Mycroft's man saw her. "We have a chaperone. Had to give him the slip. He doesn't recognize Moran, though, so there's some good news."

"And everyone else?" he asked, studying her shrewdly. She was tense, though she probably didn't know it. It was underlying stress, not surface. "I want a _report_ , Harrison. If I was interested in the teaser I would have a bucket of popcorn."

"We've barely _seen_ anyone else, is the problem," she shook her head, running a gloved hand through her hair and then regretting it as static crackled through the strands. "We've seen maybe five other people so far, and all of them have been pretty blank. No signs of recognition. And Mycroft doesn't really seem prepared for this; it took time for him to produce a file, and there are things I don't think he really knows. I don't know. It's all just been really weird."

"And that's it?" he asked, eyes narrowing as he stepped forward. "I imagine it's difficult breaking up your little bonobo vacation, but I wanted _information_."

She managed to stop herself stepping back out of reflex, her eyes skittering from the wall to the floor and back to him before darting away again. "Boss, I know, I'm sorry, but my hands are kinda _tied_ here. I can't be too nosy about it without blowing my cover - Christ knows Mycroft is almost as good as you when it comes to reading people - and I have to pretend to be hiding from the network at the same time. I can't exactly leave and go Nancy Drew it all over town. I don't _know_ anything. They haven't given us _shit._ I don't know how to prove he's not a traitor."

There was a long moment when he considered drawing his pistol and just dealing the whole situation the easy way, but that had never been his style. He allowed his hand to stray in that direction just to see her jump, just to let her know how close he'd come before he'd decided to have mercy, but then he stepped back and relaxed, offering her a bright smile. "That does sound difficult. Let's make this easier, shall we? Get me Mycroft."

"Where do you want him?" she asked without hesitation, as if the blood hadn't completely drained from her face, the knowledge of just how close she'd come to just blinking out of existence hitting her a little harder than she'd expected. She thought part of that had to do with Sebastian. If Jim had killed her just then, had left her dead on the floor, never to return to that rooftop, what would happen to Moran? He wouldn't know what had happened, not really, not without a window to see. He would assume he was a traitor after all, that much she was almost certain of. And that, of course, would probably spell the end for him, too. Something she didn't want to be responsible for. "And how soon?"

"Tomorrow," he said easily. "Wherever he chooses. You'll wear this." He pulled a subtle silver bracelet off of his wrist and handed it to her. "It has a tracking device embedded. Just press this button rapidly three times, hold the last. That will activate it. We'll be there in five minutes."

She nodded, slipping it onto her wrist and tucking it under her sleeve. "Okay. What do you want me to do with Moran?"

"Bring him to the meeting. We'll extract you both," he said calmly. "Then I'll hold him until I have what I need out of Holmes."

"Okay," she said again, already making up scenarios in her head of how to get them both somewhere Mycroft would be vulnerable. Not to mention what she was going to tell them when she got back. "Sounds good, Boss."

"Good," he said, turning away and heading back to the room. "We're done. Oh, and Harrison, you'd better find a decent reason to tell them you couldn't listen in."

"Yes, sir," she nodded, waiting until he'd disappeared into the room to sidestep her guard and disappear back into the night.


	72. If I Run

Five minutes and a few darkness-born scrapes later she climbed back onto the roof, flopping down on her back at Moran's side, a huff of air escaping her. "I couldn't hear a bloody thing. You can't see them from here, but they've got fucking _dogs._ I'd guess it was the other party bringing them. No wonder security seems so light."

Moran swore under his breath and straightened up with a sigh. "This looks like it's wrapping up anyway. We aren't going to get much else."

The Corpse looked affronted. "There's considerable information that could still be gathered-"

"Like what? This is a shitty vantage point, with limited visibility and a dollar store pair of binoculars."

"Those are-"

"Government issue. Same thing. My point is, we have nothing."

"If Mycroft really wanted this information, he should have worked a little harder," she snorted, dragging the sound equipment to her and starting to disassemble it.

The man looked exasperated, but started to help pack up.

"Well, this was a waste of time. Tell me, Corpse, is it always like this in your department?"

"Things always go smoothly without a couple of criminals around," he replied acidly, a flash of belligerent eyes sent their way. Lorna paused, resting back on her haunches, eyes hard on him.

"Do you want to repeat that?"

Moran chuckled. "Down, Harrison. I'd much rather be a criminal than a dick-guzzling wannabe bureaucrat. Not that I'm calling you that, Corpse. I'm not sure you've graduated from licking assholes yet."

"Fuck you, Moran," he hissed, the stone facade crumbling even further, a hand hovering near the gun on his waist.

"That's _my_ job. And you're not nearly crazy enough to be interesting," Lorna snorted, finishing packing up the sound device and standing, the case in her hand.

"Corpse, if you make another move towards that gun your nickname is going to be a lot more fitting," Moran drawled calmly, grinning a bit in the man's direction. "And I don't know, Harrison. I'd like to see the robot break down a bit. Could be fun."

"Please. If you think I'm going to let him put his clammy hands all over you, you're mistaken," she chuckled, patting his shoulder and heading towards the fire escape, leaving the sullen man and Sebastian behind. "C'mon, we can see how uncomfortable we can make Corpse in the car!"

"In his mind or in his trousers?" he asked with a smirk, hopping up to follow, leaving the robot to sulk behind them.

"Why not both?" she laughed, trotting down the metal stairs. Finally, their companion appeared, following them down. "I'm kinda leaning for the second one, though. What's it been, a few hours? Unacceptable."

"Sounds like fun to me," he grinned, slipping an arm around her waist and pinching her arse lightly.

She jumped a little, but laughed, setting the case on the roof of the car as they reached it and waited for their irritated shadow to catch up. "Of course it does. I'm one of the most fun people you know," she grinned, tugging off her black gloves. Mycroft's man finally made it down the ladder, unlocking the door without looking at them and climbing inside, the engine turning over a few seconds later. "Let's make this poor bastard squirm, huh?"

"Oh, absolutely," he smirked, opening the door and motioning for her to enter.

She stuffed her gloves into her back pocket and then slid in without ado. Corpse was fiddling the radio, very deliberately her gaze in the rear-view mirror. She smirked.

He wrapped an arm around her as he slid in, kissing her ear slowly and reaching his free hand to start undoing her trousers.

The radio's volume went up almost instantly as the car reversed, Mycroft's man's eyes locking with hers for a split second before jerking back to the road, and then she couldn't bother to pay attention to him anymore, instead sliding a hand down Sebastian's thigh.

Moran laughed and pushed Lorna's trousers down, turning her head to kiss her solidly, teeth scraping her lips.

She kissed him back, a quiet moan filtering through her lips, half on purpose, to make their companion increasingly uncomfortable.

He chuckled against her lips, feeling her smile against his own as he pushed her knickers aside and slid his fingers over her heat slowly.

She groaned, fingers curling into his thigh. He never went this fast, with so little teasing. It was a bit of a rush.

"If the two of you could stop rutting like rabbits, that'd be great," Corpse snapped from the driver's seat, raising his voice to be heard over the music.

"Haven't even gotten started, mate," Sebastian laughed, meeting the driver's rear-shot gaze with a challenge and a smirk as he pressed two fingers into Lorna slowly but firmly.

The man's angry blush at her resulting gasp could be seen from the backseat, if she'd had the urge to see it, but she'd lost almost all interest in him, too busy catching the line of Seb's jaw with her lips. One-handedly she started to work on the button to his trousers, the other slipping into his greased hair.

He tilted her head to allow her lips more space, fingers starting to curl and shift slowly inside of her. He groaned as she went for his trousers, more vocal than usual for the benefit of their audience.

She smirked against his jaw, pressing a jokingly chaste kiss to the corner before scraping her teeth across his throat, managing to get his trousers open without too much struggling and then tugging down the waistband. _Arctic Monkeys_ was playing over the radio now, loud in her ears, but that just made this all the more fun. They had a bloody _soundtrack._

"We don't have a terrible lot of time, I don't expect," he commented, removing his fingers from her slowly in favor of pushing his trousers further off. "Our driver seems to be pushing the confines of the speed limit rather desperately."

"Mm, you're probably right," she hummed, nipping once at his ear and sliding a hand into his pants to pull out his hardening length without further ado. "Better make the most of the time we've got, I suppose," she grinned, shifting away from him a little and then bending, sealing her lips around him before he knew what hit him.

"Jesus _Christ_..." he groaned, his hands pawing at the leather seat for a moment before shifting up to bury in her hair, head flopping back against the seat. "Fuck, Lorna... little w-mmmh- warning..."

She didn't come up to laugh, just hummed in amusement, tongue swirling around him, nails biting into his thigh. She didn't do this often, but when she did, it was a complete effort to suck his brains out.

He arched away from the seat slightly as she hummed, swearing and gritting his teeth. "I'm n-not... not gonna last- _fuck_ -" he panted, losing concentration a second later as he rolled his hips upward slightly, groaning.

He _had_ said they were short on time. She took as much of him as she dared, her free hand wrapping around what remained, orchestrating the movements of her tongue and head and hand to set his nerve endings on fire.

The different sensations across his cock were completely engulfing. His fingers tightened in her hair, one hand sliding down the back of her neck to grip her shoulder. His toes were curling in his shoes and he'd completely forgotten about the man in the front seat, his entire focus on the tingling flames running up his back.

Even busy as she was, she could feel the car slowing down - they were reaching the home stretch, and he was going to be in a black mood if he was kicked out of the car still hard. So she slid a hand up underneath his shirt and scraped her nails down his abdomen, and then moaned around him, sucking him like a lollipop.

The command- though wordless- was very clear and he made no effort to fight it, crying out as he came, legs shaking slightly as he pressed his head back against the seat. His vision was spotted with bright colors, and he took slow breaths, pulling himself together quickly, suddenly aware that he hadn't been paying attention at all and for all he knew they could have been being driven right into a trap. He opened his eyes, relieved to see them on the familiar apartment street. He returned his attention to Lorna, smiling and loosening his grip from her hair. "Holy fuck, Lorna."

She took a second to get her breath back - swallowing was always a little challenging - and gave a breathless chuckle, brushing her hair back as she straightened up. "You're welcome," she grinned, leaning forward to kiss him briefly while she yanked back up her trousers.

 _"Out,"_ came a strained voice from the front seat.

"I suppose you're going to have to wait until we're inside," he said with an amused smirk, glancing the front seat. "Sorry, Corpse. Somewhere to be?" He adjusted his own trousers and opened the door, stepping out and offering Lorna a hand.

She took his hand, got out, and shut the door behind her, laughing. "I didn't get you on the roof, but I figure I get half credit for the ride back," she grinned.

"Oh, at least half credit," he smirked, shaking his head a little and laughing, heading for the door to the townhouse. "I don't think Monsieur Mort will ever be the same."

"Ten quid he pulls into a parking lot and gets himself off before he returns the car," she snorted, opening the door and heading inside in front of him.

"Agreed," he laughs, shutting the door behind him and reaching out to grab her arm before she got too far, pulling her back with very little effort and spinning to pin her solidly to the front door, free hand finding her throat to hold her there as he stood tall over her, a small grin still turning the corner of his mouth. "You were going somewhere?"

"Guess not," she gasped, pupils dilating visibly. She'd been prepared to just waive it altogether, but fuck if she was going to say no to _this._

"You know, I pride myself as being a fair man in bed," he smirked, the hand on her arm shifting to unzip her trousers again. "Or were you under the impression I was going to leave you hanging like your pathetic marks?"

"I think sometimes I do forget," she smirked, biting her lip. "It's just force of habit. And it lets me be pleasantly-surprised pretty often."

"Well, that's just downright insulting," he muttered, snorting derisively. He traced her jawline with his thumb, before slowly bending to bite the spot, his other hand slipping into her trousers and knickers and rubbing against her clit slowly.

"Shit, Seb," she groaned, pressing her head back against the door, eyes fluttering shut. "Okay, how about 'all the time', is that better?"

"The forgetting, or the pleasant surprise?" he growls leaving her throat and kneeling, upper hand sliding down to press against her chest and keep her in place as he pushed her trousers down and let her step out of them before tossing them aside.

"Pleasant surprise. Definitely the pleasant surprise. It's always something new with you, believe me," she shook her head, leaning into his hand a little, just so she didn't feel like a completely pliant puddle of a person.

He shoved her firmly back against the door as she tried to move, glaring up at her. "Did I say you could go anywhere?" he asked coldly, eyes locking on hers.

"No," she smirked, looking down at him, challenging. She felt in the mood to test his patience. "What's your point?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I see," he said, standing up again slowly, his hand spreading wide across her chest. Possessive. "It seems we need to discuss the rules."

The smirk didn't fade from her face, but she did look just a little bit more affected, eyes dark on his. "I won't argue with that, I suppose."

"I am in charge. You are not. Opposing me will not end well for you, cooperation will be rewarded. Are we clear?" he asked, free hand covering her breast slowly.

She shivered, and nodded, her expression a degree more aroused than joking. "Yes, _sir."_

He smiled, hand kneading her breast a little in response. "Good," he said quietly. "Now... _stay_ ," he said quietly, the hand at the center of her chest pressing down again to emphasize his point before he knelt again, reaching out to grip her left leg and shift it over his shoulder.

She did as told this time, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, looking down at him with dark eyes and the slightest bit of a tremor in her heartbeat. It occurred to her suddenly that if Jim got Mycroft to tell the truth tomorrow, this might be her last time with him. _Christ._

He didn't waste any time, just ran his tongue over her, one hand on her hip, holding her against him, the other cupping her arse.

She immediately gave up on looking down at him, at holding on to any thoughts; just slid a securing grip in his hair and melted into it, a small whimper escaping her.

He worked his tongue and fingers through her folds and into her with unusual gentleness. She hadn't had much chance to tell him what Jim had said, but he had little doubt that she'd gotten to him, and that meant he probably had one verdict or another on his head at the moment. He'd slipped earlier, let her get control of him, which in retrospect was far too lax. She could have killed him. She hadn't, which was probably a good sign. But that didn't mean he needed it to happen again. So he would string her out, wear her out, leave her tired and satisfied and ready to sleep. Then he could plan.

She relaxed into it, let him start to build her up as slow as he wanted, more than happy to keep away more important thoughts, to exist in this blissful state for as long as he deigned to keep her there. Sex was always where things had been their easiest with them, and it always would be.

He took his time, though finally he couldn't really hold her back any longer and started increasing the pace of his movements, sliding his fingers further into her and hooking them, wrapping his lips around her clit and tonguing it rhythmically.

"Fuck, _fuck,"_ she gasped, arching off of the door, fingers tightening in his hair. She more strolled over the edge than hurdled it, the fire burning through her with an unusual calmness. Still, when it was over, he was the only thing keeping her standing. "I'd- I'd say that's more than fair repayment."

He helped her to sit with a chuckle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tossing her her knickers and trousers. "Glad to help."

She pulled on her pants with a little wriggling and decided that wearing trousers was for squares, leaving them on the floor beside her. She leaned back against the door, eyes closed, cheeks pink. And debated about what to tell him about tomorrow. She sighed. "Jim's... Jim's got a plan to find out whether or not you've been spying for Mycroft. I can't tell you what it is right now. I'll risk it, tomorrow, but if he ever found out I gave you real warning.." she shook her head, eyes still shut. Then she laughed, without any real amusement. "He almost killed me, you know. Tonight. He made a real move for his gun because I didn't have any information for him. Even if I had, would I have told him? I don't know."

He squared his jaw slightly but took a slow breath through his nose. "Alright... well... Then I guess this will work out how it works out. It isn't like I can do anything to affect things anymore."

"You're mostly right on that," she agreed quietly, eyes opening finally to rest on his face. "Except that you need to decide if you want to make a break for it, tonight."

He considered that.

"Would you go with me?" he asked after a long silence.

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't willing," she replied, almost silently. Even suggesting this started an anxious welling in her chest, a fear of the unknown, of the dangers of being hunted. But if it meant that she wouldn't have to watch him die?

He was quiet for a long time, then, leaning against the door and staring at the room around him. The definite possibility of a stressed, likely short life on the run from Moriarty, or the chance of everything going back to normal, in safety. And even if he didn't run and he died, there was the chance that Jim would let Lorna live. Really, the choice was clear.

"No. I'll stay."

"Alright," she murmured, picking up her trousers and standing, hand reaching out to grasp his for a second before her hand fell back to her side again, careful not to push the unspoken boundaries. "I'm going to go to bed. Looking like a long day tomorrow."

He nodded a little. "Sleep well," he said quietly, heading for the kitchen. He needed a drink.

She turned away and slipped off into the bedroom, crawling into bed in silence and curling up under the biggest wad of blankets she could muster. She couldn't tell him how afraid she was of losing him. So she'd have to be strong enough to comfort herself.

He stayed up for a few more hours. He thought about getting completely blitzed, but knew that in the long run that wouldn't help him any and stopped himself after two glasses of scotch. He headed up the stairs, and leaned against the door. Lorna was huddled into a ball in the middle of the bed, covered by all of the blankets, and he sighed quietly through his nose.

 _Last night on earth._

He walked over and carefully dug her out, kicking his shoes off and laying down next to her, pulling her into his arms.

 _Not bad._

She didn't wake up, but she curled into him, a long, contented sigh leaving her as she settled again. She'd known him long enough now that even her unconscious self gravitated towards him. It was yet to be seen whether or not that'd be her downfall.

He lay there for a long time, just considering her and the stars out the window before he told himself to stop being an emotional moron, and fell asleep.

* * *

She woke up in the morning to the sun slanting in through the windows, directly into her eyes. She groaned and rolled over, burrowing into the pillows. She didn't want to face this day yet.

Her groan woke him up, and he squinted at the light. "Fucking sunshine," he muttered under his breath.

"Yeah," she mumbled, sighing. She had to lure Mycroft out today.

He sat up, walking over to close the curtains, but pausing to look out over the eerily quiet street. "So. What's the plan?"

"I have to lure Mycroft to a spot Jim can grab him," she sighed, sitting up and dragging a hand through her sleep-tousled hair. "You'll go with him. Boss wants to hold you while he questions Holmes."

He nodded a little at that, stretching out, still looking out over the street. "I suppose we'll have this all figured out soon, then," he said quietly. "How do we get Mycroft out?"

"I'll tell him that I know what happened to Ford. I'm sure that will catch his attention," she shrugged, resting her hands on her knees.

He glanced over at her, then nodded. "Yeah. That ought to." He took a slow breath. "I'm an idiot for not running last night. But I still wouldn't."

"Yeah, there are things I regret that I wouldn't change, either," she sighed, shaking her head.

"Yeah?" he asked, walking over to the closet to find a clean shirt.

"Yeah. Stupid mistakes I've made, you know. But I don't know how much things would have changed, had I made a different choice. I could be somewhere worse," she pointed out, sliding out of bed and heading for the dresser. She needed to find something durable, but something that didn't scream _I'm leading you into a trap._

He nodded, finding a shirt he liked and heading for the bathroom to shower and shave. "Yeah. No sense in think about it. Nothing we can change now."

She nodded, pawing through her own Mycroft-provided clothes and eventually producing a set she liked, her mind on locations. Where to bring him? He surely knew a good portion of the drop sites the network used, and bringing him to one of those would just make him suspicious. This depended on getting him with a limited guard, or, ideally, with no guard at all. The network wasn't an army; they couldn't take on the Secret Service in any number. So she had to be smart about this. Maybe she could give him an address of a warehouse by the river, pretend to have evidence there for him?

He showered quickly and shaved, staring at himself in the mirror for a few moments. He traced a finger over a line of his words as they ran across his shoulder, tilted it until his nail scratched skin. Pressed down, felt the slight bite of it...

He stopped quickly and shook himself a bit, stepping back and dropping his hand, turning to get dressed.

Once she was dressed and decided on what to do, she pulled out the cellphone she'd been given and sent two texts. One went to Jim, consisting of nothing but an address. The bracelet would be a nice touch if something went wrong, but she didn't need it. The other went to Mycroft, led by the same address, and following;

 _I have information on your brother. Sherrinford, not Sherlock. I won't tell you anywhere there are ears listening, just in case. I don't know which of your people could be moles. LH_

The response was almost immediate.

 _What time?_

Moran came out of the bathroom, doing up the last few buttons of his shirt.

 _30 Minutes. LH_

It was enough time to get there, but it wasn't enough for Mycroft to have the place scoped out, searched, the whole shebang. "Alright. It's in motion. I just hope he'll go without kicking a fit."

"You've dangled a piece of information in front of him that has probably been bothering him since Ford died. I have little doubt that he will be there," he snorted, tucking his shirt. "Let's get moving."

She nodded, slipping a knife and her phone into her pockets and then heading out, moving for the door. She was nervous. There were so many ways today could go wrong.

He followed her, letting her take point, eyes on their surroundings as they exited the apartment. "Taxi? Or is he sending a car?" he asked as he scanned the street.

"He didn't say," she sighed. "Better to take a taxi. Don't want to be in a car with one of his people," she shook her head, heading down the deserted sidewalk. What was keeping people off this street, a forcefield?

He walked close behind her, eyes on their surroundings, on alert for danger as they approached where the street intersected the next, and civilization.

She flagged down the nearest taxi, a cab idling by the curb, and got in, saying nothing except the address of the warehouse.

He sat beside her after he'd inspected the driver for a moment, and they took off. He recognized the address as being in the warehouse district but little more, and took a slow breath, realizing just how much trust he was putting in Harrison's word right now. For all he knew, he could be walking into a trap set by Jim, to have him put down.

"When our people come in they're probably going to treat you like a kidnap victim. Hood over the eyes type deal. Same with Mycroft. He's probably going to have a worse day, though," she said quietly, so the driver couldn't hear them. Just in case. It wasn't a very long drive, though, and they were close already.

"Brilliant," he said quietly, eyes on the road outside, though he kept her in the corner of his vision, tense, almost waiting for a betrayal.

She took a deep breath as they pulled to a stop outside the grey, dingy-looking warehouse, and after paying the cabbie, got out. "Let's do this, huh?"

He nodded, quiet as they walked before he finally asked, "What happens to you in all of this?"

"I follow you out, I suppose," she shrugged. "I don't know. I'll wing it. I'm in the least danger, here, anyways."

He glanced over at her and then nodded. "Don't get killed, yeah? That would be a pain in the arse."

She paused for a moment, the desire to try and express how much she didn't want him to be a traitor overwhelming. "Sebastian, I..." She trailed off for a moment, unsure how to continue. She rubbed her eyes, letting out a quiet breath. "If Mycroft's not lying about this, and Jim wants to kill you slow... If I can't get you out, I'll end it, if you ask. You don't remember it, if you did it. No reason for you to suffer."

He glanced over at her, and shook his head. "Thank you. But no. I won't take the easy out. It would give him too much satisfaction." Actually, in reality, he'd be furious. But that would almost certainly fall on Lorna's head, and hell if he was having that, dead or not.

That was a lie, and they both knew it. She'd offered because she knew Jim was ruthlessly cruel, that he'd drag out Sebastian's life until there was nothing left of him but a bag of quivering bones, and that he'd enjoy every single torturous second of it. But she said nothing, just nodded and turned to the door, opening it with a creak of rusty hinges and stepping inside.

He entered the warehouse quietly, looking around the dark, open space, pausing to let his eyes adjust. A man that after a second's scrutiny proved to be Mycroft was standing in the dim light towards the center of the room. Behind him were four men, all armed, though their weapons were lowered.

 _Four? That's a bit much, isn't it?_ She thought to herself as they walked across the concrete floor, still in silence. She could feel Mycroft's eyes boring into her as she got closer. She didn't blame him. He was right to be suspicious. "Sorry about the secrecy, Holmes. Telling you about Moriarty's business is still risky for me," she shrugged, slipping her hands into her pocket. The cavalry would arrive any moment - no doubt they'd been waiting for her and Moran to arrive. "But I thought you deserved to know."

"In future, I have several offices that I take pride in keeping bug-free," he said dryly. "Well, do get on with it."

Lorna sighed, glancing up at Sebastian briefly. "Fine. I had a job, that involved Ford. I used to know him, when we were younger. Moriarty wanted information, about you, about Sherlock, about Ford's job. So he had me take it."

"Define take-" Mycroft started out tersely, but then there was a rattle and then a blinding flash and a bang that left his ears ringing, and before he could regain his bearings there were arms dragging him back. He fought them off for a few moments until he smelled the distinctive cologne of one of his men. After that he put up only a superficial struggle as he was dragged out of the building.

Lorna stayed relatively still as the chaos broke out, afraid of getting in anyone's way. There was a few moments where everything was going fine, and then there was a splitting pain in her head, and everything went dark.

* * *

Playlist: Saint Motel - Cold Cold Man

Chaos Chaos - Do You Feel It?


	73. Solitary Nightmares

The bag was removed from Sebastian's head about an hour after it had been put on. In the meantime he'd been jammed into a van, then into a much smaller car that had been too confining for a man of his size. Now, it seemed, he was in one of the basement holding cells at HQ. Good to be home.

* * *

Lorna woke up an indeterminate amount of time later, her head throbbing. She was tied to a chair, in a room too thoroughly ordinary to be anything permanent. The one thing she knew was that this was not the network. This was _bad._

* * *

Jim entered the questioning room quietly, without any of his usual flair. This was serious. This was _deadly_ serious. He needed to know if his right-hand had been stabbing him in the back all along. This would be a battle of reading, and of pain, if he had anything to say about it. Which, of course he did. "Holmes," he drawled, taking a step into the harsh light, emitted by the fluorescent lights overhead. He needed Holmes well-lit. "I hope you know why you're here."

"Yes, I figured that thrilling puzzle out about half a second after I woke up. I'll admit, I was slow, but that's minor head trauma for you," Mycroft drawled, looking bored. The trick with the cologne had fooled him for a minute, but he wouldn't admit that. "How have you been, James dear?

"Let's skip the chitchat. You tell me the truth, and I'll let you go. Simple as that," Jim snapped, the impatience that had been growing in him the past few days showing through, dark eyes blazing with intensity. "Tell me the truth. We both are aware that I'll know if you're lying."

"Very well, the truth," Mycroft sighed. "You won't want to hear this, you know." He looked up at the ceiling, then back down. "That suit _really_ isn't at all your color. Navy just ill fits you."

His face didn't change expression, except for maybe a slight twitch of irritation. "Very well," he said shortly, turning on his heel and walking to the closet in the corner. A few seconds later, he wheeled out a terrarium, filled with squirming insects, and then rummaged around for a few moments more, coming up with a pair of tongs and some rather sturdy rubber gloves. "I'm told you'll recognize those."

Mycroft nodded, externally unaffected. "Impressive. Did you steal a sample, or have your lab boys been working up duplicates?" He watched the terrarium with hidden trepidation, estimating the number of insects inside. This could rapidly become unpleasant.

"Duplicates. Ever since I saw the effects of them, in fact. I suppose you'll see how far we've gotten in the meantime," he said, mockingly pleasant. He flashed him a toothy grin. "I don't suppose the mere _sight_ of them has inspired some chattiness?"

"No, you don't," Mycroft agreed pleasantly. "It is a tad unoriginal, wouldn't you say? I expected more flair from the supposed King of the underworld."

His grin grew into something that brought to mind sharks. "Oh, I'll work up to original. Don't you worry your little head."

* * *

59 hours later, Jim walked into Sebastian's holding cell, his posture tired, hands in his pockets. He was expressionless. "Welcome home, Moran," was all he said, pushing a hand through his unruly dark hair.

He looked up as Jim walked in. The boss was exhausted, that much was for sure, but the words were an utter relief. He stood slowly. "It's good to be back, sir," he returned quietly.

"I should hope so," he snorted, leaning back against the door frame with a huff, shutting his eyes. He'd gone almost a week without sleep now, and it was starting to wear on him. "You should know I have no idea where Harrison is. She disappeared in the commotion."

That settled like a stone in his gut, but for the moment he didn't let it bother him. There was no use becoming concerned until he investigated the situation further. "What, six, seven days since you last slept?" he guessed, reading familiar signs. "Tell me what needs doing and go get some sleep. We'll deal with Harrison later."

"It's all on my desk," he sighed, waving his hand vaguely in an upwards direction, pushing sluggishly off the doorframe and turning to grasp the handle, opening it. It looked like he was supporting his weight on the wall. "I'll alert you when I'm awake. Goodnight," he muttered, giving another wave of his hand and disappearing out the door.

Word had apparently been spread that he had been cleared. He was given no trouble in the halls, just a few approving glances and respectful nods as he made his way slowly from the basement of the building to the penthouse.

Had he been the sentimental type, it would have felt very poetic.

As it was, he was more concerned with catching up with all he'd missed, and on finding Harrison.

* * *

Those 59 hours had not been fun for Lorna. The first day, she'd remained alone and silent, in what she'd come to call the waiting room. It was on the second that she saw someone again. A woman came into the room and checked her bindings, then left. It took a few more hours for her to return, a tray of food in one hand and a pistol in the other. Lorna was untied long enough to eat, be taken to a restroom, and then it was back to being tied down again. She was grateful that she was being held in what was obviously a government facility not quite used to visitors, instead of a crime network. She'd already be in real pain if she'd been captured by a group like that. As it was, they just didn't seem to really know what to do with her. She got the sense they were waiting for something. She was pretty sure she knew what that was.

Sure enough, late into the third day, two men walked into the room, untied her, and promptly manhandled her out the door. They didn't bother to cover her eyes with anything. That made her just a little worried. When they walked her into a room containing nothing but an IV set and a hospital bed, she grew to be on just this side of panicked. She managed to jerk an arm free and elbow one of them in the nose before they overpowered her, picking her up and slamming her onto the bed. Before she knew it, she was strapped down, completely immobile. This did not bode well.

The men checked her restraints and left without another word.

* * *

Moran spent the next few days searching before he finally decided she was well and truly missing. There was no record of an arrest, no reports of any bodies matching her description, and no contacts had seen or heard from her. He put more feelers out, but other than that, there was little that he could do.

* * *

Those days had been excruciating. Someone had come in and plugged her into the IV, and then it had been hell on earth. She started to see things, hear things, _feel_ things, and it was so vivid she could no longer tell whether or not they were real. The only stimulation she was certain was based in real life was the infrequent cold that spread up her arm. Whatever drug they gave her, the hallucinations grew worse afterwards. Unpleasant. Terrifying.

"How's she doing?" the man asked, walking into the room and taking a look at the woman strapped to the bed through the two-way mirror.

"She's managed to fall asleep," his companion said, sipping at coffee. "But that never lasts for too long. Last time she was awake she was screaming about beetles."

"Weird."

* * *

Jim called Moran up to his office when he read the reports on Harrison. Or rather, the utter _lack_ of them.

Moran knocked and entered quietly, shutting the door behind him. "You called, sir?"

Jim nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Given the lack of information on Harrison's whereabouts, I think we can assume one of two things has happened. Either she took advantage of the commotion and ran, or one of Mycroft's people grabbed her. Where they might have _put_ her is another story. Being held by the same organization for the third time... They won't have any questions for her. If I were the one who'd grabbed her, I'd have killed her and cremated her corpse. You might want to start thinking about that."

"No offense, sir, but the last time you informed me that Harrison was dead, your information was a tad bit unreliable," he quipped, walking over to stand in front of Jim's desk. "They don't have a clue where we're holding Holmes, and she was part of his capture. They won't kill her until they're sure they don't need her."

"You're right," he shrugged. "Which is the only reason I've held Holmes for this long. He's useless to me, and a waste of resources." The unspoken _but I know how you'll react if she dies_ hung in the air. "In a few days I'll reach out to his people. Maybe they'll admit to something."

He was quiet for a moment, getting his thoughts in order. "I know you've come to consider Harrison as a valuable asset..." he began, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. "I don't suppose you'd consider brokering a trade...?"

He drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment. "I'm not sure I'm willing to risk throwing the cards on the table for everyone to see like that," he sighed, leaning back and bending a little to open a drawer in his desk. He pulled out a bottle of scotch and a couple glasses. "But if there is no other alternative, I might have to anyway."

Moran accepted a glass with mild surprise but a nod of thanks, taking a sip and sighing in appreciation. "If there's another way to go about it, I'm all ears. And if we need to just... forget about it..." He took another long sip of scotch. "Well, personally I'd object, but professionally I'd back you."

He nodded, swallowing a good portion of his own scotch. Normally, he would have been watching Moran like a hawk right now, looking for signs of weakness, but if he was being honest with himself, this whole ordeal had left him a little drained. It had been hard, wondering whether or not his right hand had been spying on him or not. He'd put a lot of trust in Moran this past decade, and fearing that it had been disastrously misplaced had been unpleasant. "We'll see how it turns out."

He nodded just a little, watching his boss quietly, evaluating his health out of habit. "Don't shoot me for asking this, but when was the last time you took a break?" he asked, taking another sip of scotch and rolling it around his tongue.

Jim glanced at the expensive watch on his wrist, which handily displayed the date. "Four months and two days. Too long. I try to get one in every three months, but," he shook his head, taking another sip. "People just keep fucking that up."

"Noted," he muttered with a smirk, raising his glass apologetically. "Next time I'm accused of being a traitor, I'll try to work it into that schedule." He sighed. "I'll deal with Harrison for the time being. Take some time off. Bodyguard's orders."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't look like he was going to argue. "Fine. I will. Try not to fuck up, if you wouldn't mind. I don't really feel like having my vacation interrupted."

"I'll endeavor to live up to your expectations," he sighed, nodding a little. "You going to go abroad or stay here?"

The boss shook his head. "I'll stay. Having you as a bodyguard in the Florida Keys while you were remotely searching for your live-in would hardly be my idea of a fun vacation," he rolled his eyes. "No, I'll find a way to amuse myself here for a few days."

He nodded a little, setting down his empty glass and sighing. "You know, it used to be that someone wasn't kidnapped every time I turned around. Now it is, and half the time it's me. We need to find that goddamned mole."

"I've narrowed it down to the team that retrieved you from Sara Moran's house, and the medical staff. They were the only ones who could have passed on knowledge of your amnesia," Jim sighed, running his finger along the edge of his glass. "I'd start your search there. For now, I'm going to go and catch up on a little sleep. Goodnight, Moran."

* * *

Lorna's sleep didn't last long enough. Every time she awoke, it was something new, something worse, something less abjectly horrifying than deeply personal. Her throat was hoarse from screaming.

* * *

He didn't get much rest himself. When he wasn't running the network, he was looking for Lorna. He knew by now she was either dead or somewhere deep in the government, but it seemed like every feeler he sent out led to a dead end. Finally he decided that he didn't have much choice (not that he really wanted one). He would need to get what he needed out of Holmes.

* * *

The hunt for Mycroft was equally fruitless, but that didn't mean they stopped the experiment. They were under strict orders to record and observe only. And so Lorna Harrison stayed uncontacted, in a white, featureless room.

* * *

Jim returned from his mini "vacation" a few days later, and the first thing he did was contact Moran.

 _What's the word?_ _J_

He got the text when he took a break, and returned quickly.

 _Elbow deep in Holmes' intestine regarding the subject and eager for some advice on his workings if you have it. S_

 _I found force-feeding him to be shockingly helpful. J_

 _I'll try that next. S_

Two hours later he decided that he wasn't going to make much more progress that day, and left Holmes unconscious on the table, heading for his apartment to scrub up, dejected and exhausted.

Left in front of the door to his apartment was a bottle of bourbon, sitting on top of a folded note, that simply read;

 _If you're not going to cheer up you may as well be smashed off your arse._

 _-Who the fuck do you think it is_

He considered the note for a long moment, before heading into his apartment. He showered and changed, before picking up the bottle and heading upstairs to Jim's office, knocking.

"Come in," Jim called, distractedly. He was flipping through the newspapers he had missed while shut away up in his penthouse.

He entered, shutting the door behind him. "Came to make sure you hadn't hit your head or something. Since when do you leave cryptic notes? Well... honestly if you were going to be leaving notes, they'd be cryptic, but it was more the note-leaving I was questioning. And the booze."

Jim gave him a dry look over the top of a day-old newspaper. "Are you registering a complaint?"

"No, more seeing if you wanted some. Along with the check for the concussion," he said, raising the bottle in his direction.

He set his newspaper down, leaning back in his chair. Then he shrugged. "Alright. I do not have a concussion, though."

"I knew that already," he said, walking over and setting down the bottle between them, unscrewing the cap and leaving it to Jim to produce glasses.

He did, pushing the two of them across the table to Moran. "Any clue as to how close you've gotten with Holmes?"

He poured out two generous servings and shoved a glass back towards Jim. "I'm breaking him. Working with you for so long gives me some insight. But he's angry about the fact that he talked about me, and he's firming himself up. It's going to take a while to get the psychological game right."

"Hm. I'll see about contacting his people in a few days. See if you can crack him before that," he sighed into his glass of bourbon. "Until then, you'll have to subsist on pickups from the local pub."

"Hilarious," he muttered downing half his glass in one go. "I'm quite capable of existing for a few days under my own power, thank you."

"Funny, I was under the impression that you were the one with the power in that relationship, anyways," he smirked, with genuine amusement. How long had it been since he'd been able to rib Moran a little?

"Oh, is it amateur comedy night? I must have missed the flyer," he shot back dryly, hiding a smirk of his own. It was nice to be able to forget the stress of the last few weeks for a moment.

He snorted, throwing back the rest of the drink and reaching to refill his glass. "Just because it's amusing doesn't mean it isn't true."

"What, that I'm in control in that relationship? That is absolutely true. Harrison's tried taking the reigns a few times but she hasn't gotten the handle of it yet. It's entertaining, but that's about it." He took the bottle once Jim was finished with it and filled his own glass.

"And my point was that you have ample time to see who's new on the block, if you catch my drift," he chuckled, interested eyes on his sniper. He was curious, whether or not Moran felt...committed. It was plenty obvious that she was smitten (or had been, if she was dead) with him, and that he had a strong emotional attachment, but strong emotional attachments weren't everything.

He shrugged. "Don't really see a need," he hedged. "Plenty to do here, and to be honest I'd rather work on figuring out where the hell she went than get a half-assed lay from a tired whore."

"That's why you pay for the expensive ones," he snorted, but decided to let it drop before the sniper got defensive. He took another long draught. "Here's to solving _that_ mystery," he muttered, and finished off his glass.

He picked up the bottle, filling both of their glasses once more and noting that the thing was almost half empty by this point. "Which one is that, exactly?"

He chuckled. "The one where you've settled for just fucking one person all the time. I'm going to ask you a question, and I don't want you to be offended, but, for Christ's sake, how do keep from being _bored?"_

Sebastian laughed. "I was in your court a few years ago. You know I was. But with Harrison... There's something about fucking someone who knows exactly how you like it. We change things up but there's always a constant sense of... Fuck if I know. It's just fantastic fucking sex."

He gave a bewildered laugh, leaning back in his seat. "Alright, I suppose I'll take your word for it. I have a relatively small sample size of your sex life thus far. And sex... you _really_ can't tell what it's like just by reading someone."

"Why is that, I wonder?" he asked, staring at the amber liquid in his glass.

"Who knows?" Jim shrugged. "Personally, I think it's the heat of it."

"No, not that," he said, waving him off and looking up. "Why have you had such a small part in my sex life, is more what I was asking."

"Limited opportunity," he replied, with a small lift of his shoulders. He smirked. "That can be amended, though."

He raised his eyebrows with a smirk, taking a sip of his drink. "Ball's in your court, sir."

He set down his drink and stood, turning for the lift to his penthouse, hands in his pockets, posture casual. "Are you coming, or what?"

Moran smiled- actually smiled- for the first time in a long while, and stood, bringing the bottle of bourbon with him and following the boss.

* * *

Lorna had lost track of time a long, long time ago, now. Sleep was hard to come by, and an unreliable indicator, since she was so often woken by nightmares. Even her memories, now, were blurred around the edges. Had that happened, or had she made it up? She didn't know anymore.

"I don't like this," the man said quietly as the woman in the room tried desperately to tear her way out of the restraints. "This is going well past the boundaries of ethics."

"Ethics aren't our job," his companion replied.

* * *

Playlist: Broods - Conscious


	74. Demons At The Foot Of The Bed

Time was meaningless to Lorna. Or rather, the passage of it was. The past meant nothing, and the future was something to be feared. What new hell would she see? And there were _so_ many she'd gotten a glimpse into. Her mother's death. DeWitt, covered in beetles. Sebastian, shot, stabbed, burned even, one time. Counting all the things she had seen would have taken days, months. Who knew anymore.

* * *

He and Jim spent far more time together during the next few weeks than he thought either of them would have anticipated. He still worked long hours trying to track down Lorna, but when he needed a break he frequently found himself in Jim's company. Sometimes in more than that.

It wasn't until two weeks later that he finally found it. One memo, among thousands sent that day. One little note that gave him everything.

One complaint about ethics.

If he'd been softer, the details would have turned his stomach. As it was, he was out the door with his team in less than ten minutes.

Lorna was in the midst of a nightmare, or a hallucination - fuck, she wasn't sure which anymore. All she knew was that the thing crouched on the end of her bed looked like it was going to kill her. She took shallow breaths, staring at it with wide, bloodshot eyes, fear thrumming through her every heartbeat. _Don't move, don't move, don't move..._

It wasn't a high security building. Its strength was its secrecy, not its impregnability. It took them all of twenty minutes to break into the facility, and another five minutes to figure out where Harrison was. When he opened the door, she was staring at the end of the bed like her life depended on it.

"Harrison..."

She flinched, but she didn't look away from the creature poised over her feet, staring with terror at its gray, clammy skin, peeling in some places. She avoided its eyes. She was too afraid to see them. She knew they would be looking straight back at her.

He walked forward slowly, keeping careful eyes on her as he approached and stepped into the space that she was staring at. "Lorna. Look at me."

He clipped into the creature like a bad video game, and then it flickered, once, twice, and was gone. Her eyes dragged up to his face. Some rusty gear in her head shuddered into movement. _He's... real. His hair is different._ The hallucinations had all been off a template, like a scene had been drawn over the cardboard figures before they'd been given life. Change... change meant that he was in front of her. He was _here._ She burst into tears.

"Okay, okay, hey," he said, kneeling down on the bed and scooping her into his arms quickly, tucking her into his chest. She was so damn small, and thin...

"Get a damned doctor in here, for christ's sake," he shouted at the door.

She covered her face as soon as he wrenched her free of the restraints, her arms creaking with the movement, sobs still wracking her frame. He was so _warm._ She'd forgotten what that felt like, to be warm.

The medic on the team trotted in a moment later, a kit tucked under his arm. "What do you know so far about what was done to her?" He asked, trying to get a good look at her. It was hard; she was a bit engulfed by Moran.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?" he snarled. "She doesn't have any marks, other than bedsores and marks from the restraints. There was an IV in her arm, no idea what the hell that was pumping into her." He relented his grip just a little to let the medic get a closer look, still keeping her close.

He gave her the best looking over he could under the circumstances, but after a minute he stepped back, shaking his head. "There's nothing I can treat here. Just have someone stay with her, watch her, make sure she's eating and all that. My guess is that they were putting her through extreme isolation and sensory deprivation. It drives people mad," he sighed, picking his kit back up.

She was slowly starting to quiet, mostly because it hurt to cry hard. She curled weak fingers into his shirt, pressed into his side. "Take me home," she requested, in a quiet, hoarse voice. "Please."

He didn't argue, just stood with her in his arms, heading out of the white, featureless room for the exit. There were sirens in the distance, but by the time they got here, he and his team would be long gone.

"I'm right here," he said quietly. "And I'm not going anywhere."

"I didn't think you were real. You came in and I didn't think you were real," she rasped, clutching onto him tighter, though that was startlingly difficult. She took a shuddering breath. "How long was I in there?"

"Just over three weeks," he said quietly as they loaded into the van, her still in his arms. "We just found you by chance... I was looking and looking..." He took a breath, shook his head and held her tighter.

The armed squad did their best not to stare, but it was difficult, so they ended up taking turns. They'd known Harrison and Moran were involved, but not _that_ involved.

Lorna was oblivious to their bewilderment, soaking in his warmth, trying not to cry again. It was over. He was alive, and he'd rescued her from that awful room, and she was so relieved she was shaking. Perhaps that was her body reminding her that without an IV she was about a centimeter away from starving to death. "I'm so relieved to see you. The real you," she whispered.

"Right back at you," he said quietly, ignoring the stares of his team. They would know enough not to mention it, and if they didn't, he would deal with it later. Violently.

He rubbed her back slowly over the course of the car ride. He could feel her vertebrae, every one of her ribs, and it was a twist of the knife that this wasn't the first time she'd been like this.

 _You need to get better at your job, Moran. You're a bodyguard for fuck's sake._

She fell asleep in his arms, a sense of safety that had eluded her for the past three weeks finally soothing her mind enough that she could drift off.

The first place he went was the medical center, but he had no interest in keeping her there. It was too white, too sterile, and she fucking hated it. He had them look her over and got a bag full of nutrition supplements to start working her back towards food, and then he carried her up to his apartment, settled her into his bed, and climbed in next to her.

* * *

She woke only maybe four hours later. Her sleep schedule had been thrown completely out of whack in that room - four hours felt like a luxury. When she drifted back into consciousness she was quietly pleased to discover she knew exactly where she was. It probably helped that she had never once felt warm, strapped to that table, and now she was curled up with the warmest person she knew. She let out a long breath into his chest. It felt so good to be out of there.

He felt her stir, and smiled just a little. "Hey there," he rumbled quietly as she burrowed closer. "How are you feeling?"

"Not great," she sighed, though just hearing him speak - the _real_ him - was more of a relief than she could have expected. "Christ, it feels good to be able to move..."

He nodded just a little, rubbing her back gently. "Your muscles are pretty atrophied... We'll work on that once we get you eating."

She nodded, a shuddering breath leaving her. Mentally, she was shaken. How many times had she seen him die, now? Die, or tortured, or having left her? "How did you find me?"

"Some idiot... some kind idiot I suppose... decided that what they were doing to you was unethical and reported it to another department. I intercepted the email and it gave us what we needed," he said quietly. He sat up. "I need to give you some nutrition supplements and some water, okay?"

She nodded, and swallowed, experimentally. She hadn't done much with her mouth besides scream for weeks. She didn't even attempt sitting up.

He sat up, and returned a moment later with a small glass of water, and some pills. "Here," he said gently, reaching out to help prop her up against his chest a little as he sat. "Take it really slowly, alright?"

"Okay," she agreed in a whisper, hating that it was necessary to treat her like a fragile piece of glass. She downed one with a tiny sip of water. It immediately soothed an ache she hadn't even noticed was there, though the feeling of the water hitting her empty stomach was uncomfortable. She took his words to heart and rested the glass against her leg. "At least no new scars, right?"

"Yeah, that's true," he said, handing her a pill. "I have some nutrition supplements. Take them one at a time with a little water. We'll get your stomach used to things again. Tomorrow we'll try oatmeal."

"Apple cinnamon, if you can manage it," she sighed, taking the next pill with a small grimace. She hated taking pills at the best of times. She was silent for a few minutes, just taking what he gave her. Then she cleared her throat a little. "I'm glad you're alive. I didn't know."

"Why don't we wait on the spices until we see how you do with it plain," he said calmly. He watched closely as she took the pills, in case she had trouble, but she seemed to handle it alright, and by the time she was done, about half the water was gone as well. He took the glass and set it aside. "Me, too... Things are fine here. Jim is..." he trailed off, suddenly unwilling to broach that topic. "...happy with this situation, I think. I'm glad you're alive, too."

She was too exhausted to notice his shift in that sentence, her eyes slowly wandering around the room, re-familiarizing herself with the place. It was mostly the same, except for an empty, expensive bottle of what used to be bourbon on the dresser. She didn't recognize it, even though she was usually the one who bought the liquor. "I don't even know what this situation is," she snorted softly, turning herself with a little effort so she was on her side, cheek pillowed on his chest. How sweet it was to relieve the pain in her back.

"Neither do I," he admitted quietly. "Eventually I'm going to have to go report to Jim, but I'll try to wait until you fall asleep again."

"You shouldn't have to wait too long. Now that there's nothing keeping me awake I expect I'll pass out in the next half hour," she murmured, listening to his heartbeat. It was a strange comfort to her. "I'll be okay by myself. I can move. That's enough."

He pushed a hand through her limp, greasy hair gently. "How's your brain?" he asked quietly.

"Weird, mostly..." she muttered, then sighed, eyes falling shut. "I'm not sure about some things, memory wise. Whether or not I made those up, in the delusions. But I don't know how much of the trauma is going to linger. Will I see something that will put me back in one of those nightmares? I don't know. As far as torture goes, I've had worse nightmare fuel."

He nodded a little. "Good, I'm glad," he mumbled. He was quiet for a while. "I'm sorry you were there for so long..."

"It's not your fault," she shook her head a little, sluggishly. She was tired as hell. "Nothing you could have done but wait for that memo."

He nodded a little. "I'm glad that you're back."

"I'm glad to _be_ back," she yawned, half into his shirt. She was slowly rotating onto her stomach through a slow period of fidgeting. "That bed fucking sucked. This one has you, and sheets, and lights that turn _off..."_

"Were you alone the whole time?" he asked quietly, brushing his hand through her hair again.

"They held me in a... kinda waiting room, for a few days. But after they strapped me down to that bed, yeah. I never saw anybody. Real."

He frowned. "There weren't any hallucinogens in your system..." he murmured. "The isolation?'

She gave a weak shrug. "I don't know. Maybe. That room... nothing in it ever changed. No noise, no movement. And I couldn't do anything. Couldn't even itch. I think it just got to me."

"Fuck knows that you handled it better than I would have," he said gently, smiling a little though the topic was dark.

"I don't know about that. It was different. I could see around me. And had I been able to move, I would have spent more time trying to break the two-way mirror than anchoring myself down by hurting myself," she sighed, wrapping an arm around him.

"Precisely," he said wryly. "You didn't go batshit insane."

"I suppose I won't argue that," she sighed, letting her eyes close.

He nodded just a little. He rubbed her back gently, careful to avoid places where he knew there were bedsores. "Tomorrow you're going to need to go to the infirmary for a real evaluation."

"Other than taking blood work, I don't know what you expect them to evaluate," she sighed. "Physically, I'm just malnourished and weak. And I'm _not_ doing a psych evaluation. Knowing Jim, they will ask way more questions than I want to answer, just so he knows what they were doing. I don't give a shit about that."

"Physically, you need to be evaluated for physical therapy. You also have bed sores that need to be treated. As far as a psych evaluation, I will be standing by to make sure they stick to the book, but you _will_ take one. This isn't negotiable," he said, voice even.

She let out an annoyed huff, but didn't bother to argue. Arguing with him was useless at the best of times. "Fine. But I reserve the right to silence, if I don't like the question."

"We'll see," he muttered. He sighed, then extracted himself. "Alright. Get some sleep. I'll be back later."

"Okay," she mumbled, resettling herself down. She was back asleep within seconds.

He headed for the door, and up to Jim's office, straightening his clothes before knocking twice.

"Come in," Jim called, looking over the report on his desk. He had mixed feelings about Harrison's retrieval. On the one hand, he was getting back a valuable resource. On the other, he was losing some of Sebastian's personal time. That irked him. But getting rid of her wasn't really an option.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him and walking over. "The retrieval went smoothly... there weren't any hangups."

"Good." He closed the folder, sitting back in his chair. "There isn't much about her condition in the report. What's her status?"

"Dangerously malnourished with serious muscle atrophy," he said, sitting down across from the desk. He'd grown to hate the chair less recently. "Mentally she seems... shaken but much better than I would be. It sounds like she spent her whole time there in isolation and moderate sensory deprivation."

He shrugged a little. "She used to be a heroin addict. I'm fairly certain it's not the first time she's been immobile in a quiet room for days on end. You had a traumatic childhood, as I understand it. You were predisposed to take isolation badly." He tapped the front of the folder a few times, looking thoughtfully down at it. What would she think of their arrangement? He was curious, but he didn't care enough to ask. That would imply he cared what she thought. The truth was far, far away from that.

He nodded just a little, ignoring the commentary about his childhood. "I expect to see a functional recovery within a few weeks, though total recovery will take longer."

"I won't need her for about a month, so that will be fine," Jim replied. "I assume you'll want to watch over her recovery yourself." It wasn't a question.

He nodded. "Yes. I'd like to take the next few days off, if that's possible. After that she'll be more self-sufficient." There was an elephant in the room, but neither of them seemed to care overmuch whether it was addressed or not.

"That will be fine," he agreed. Then he fell silent for a moment, just regarding Sebastian across the table. He looked like he was about to say something for a minute, then he gave a tiny shake of his head and waved his hand. "You're dismissed. I'll call if I truly need you."

He nodded and stood, giving a half-arsed salute and heading out the door and back towards the apartment.

* * *

Playlist: Squalloscope - Big Houses

IAMX - Insomnia


	75. Acid On Plastic

Two nights later, Lorna awoke in an empty bed. She wasn't surprised; it wasn't all that late, now that she saw the clock on the nightstand. Moran wasn't really the type to turn in at 8 in the evening. Her sleep schedule was just still off. Every time she woke up, she felt a little better, but perfection was still a ways off. The fact that she seemed to be the victim of sleep paralysis now was not a comfort. She'd already awoken once to find the corpse-like creature perched on her chest, pinning her down for an incalculable amount of time. This was something she desperately hoped didn't happen again. She had, of course, neglected to mention this fact to Sebastian, since he hadn't been present at the time. If it just went quietly away, that would be for the best.

Sebastian flipped through channels, bored. Lorna had been asleep for a few hours, but he had nothing to do. The network had been surprisingly taskless the past few weeks. There was a lot of busywork to be done, but busywork wasn't remotely his department.

Lorna walked gingerly out of the bedroom a few minutes later, her footsteps still relatively unsure, still fairly painful. She slowly lowered herself onto the sofa beside him with a grunt, then sighed, leaning against his shoulder. "Anything exciting happen while I was out?"

"Someone won jeopardy and some idiots got caught on a cop show. The mistakes those people make are abysmal," he muttered blankly. "How'd you sleep?"

"Alright," she sighed. And she had slept alright, this time. "Longer than the last time. That's good."

He nodded a little. "You're making progress," he agreed. He looked up at a knock at the door, and raised an eyebrow, shifting her gently off and standing, walking over to the door and opening it. He was surprised to see Jim standing there.

"Hey Boss... Everything alright?" he asked, looking over him quickly for injuries.

"I'm _bored._ We're fucking. I assume you don't want your belle to know, so my penthouse is open. Let's _go."_

Lorna's voice came from the couch then, loud and clear. "I think the two of you should come inside and _take a seat."_

It was one of the very rare occasions that he could justify giving Jim an exasperated look. A look that said _you absolute idiot._

He did not waste the opportunity.

He considered his options. They could leave, Lorna would be unable to follow, but that would only delay the inevitable and make said inevitable much, _much_ worse. He stepped back, making a broad sweep for Jim to enter.

Lorna's impatience grew as a pause indicated hesitation on Jim's part. Her gaze fixed on the doorway. "Jim, if you don't come in here this instant, I _will_ drag you in here _myself."_

He paid absolutely no attention to the threat, but he entered anyway. This could be an opportunity.

Moran sighed, and followed Jim inside, shutting the door and waiting for Lorna to start.

Lorna folded her hands together in her lap. She looked, in one word, _pissed._ "Let me preface this with 'what the _fuck?'"_ She snapped, eyes mostly on Sebastian, though she still wanted Jim to hear what she had to say. "Sebastian, you can fuck whoever you damn well please. Whatever. I don't care. But if it's a _regular thing -_ what, did you think that telling me was just too hard? And _you,"_ she snarled, rounding on Jim - which was very little movement, considering her condition - "While I was M.I.A? _Really?_ Did you even wait a _week, vulture? JESUS!"_ she spat, tossing one of the sofa cushions in their general direction. Then she got to her feet, a bit unsteadily, her face burning with fury, and made for the door. "Fuck this. _Fuck_ this."

Seb caught her as she teetered too far in one direction, and scooped her up into his arms despite her indignant protests. "First of all, the reason I didn't tell you was because it hadn't come up. We haven't fucked since you got back, and I had other priorities, namely keeping you from starving to death."

"What do you _mean_ it didn't _come up?"_ she screeched, looking up at him like a very angry cat on the verge of becoming a claw tornado. "How is that not at _least_ the third thing you say once we were back? Put me _down!"_

"No, you're going to fall over. Be as pissed as you like, but you're staying here," he said firmly. She looked about to attempt to claw her way out, but he didn't particularly care if he got a bit bloody. "And because that's not the best opener, is it? 'Welcome home, I'm glad you're alive, I've been fucking Jim.'"

"Bite me," she hissed, elbowing him, though it wasn't exactly with a lot of force. "You were _pissed_ when I fucked Armetti _._ At least I didn't do that while you were fucking _M.I.A.,_ you asshole! Christ! I've been home more than two days, Sebastian! You couldn't think of _one second_ in there that you might have clued me in? Just because it's hard to say doesn't mean you shouldn't say anything at all."

"What exactly are you pissed about, Lorna?" he sighed. "Two minutes ago you said it didn't bother you if I fucked people. Okay, yes. I should have told you. I'm sorry. I am."

"Don't you _sigh_ at _me,_ Sebastian. I'm pointing out your hypocrisy. It _bothers me_ that I had to find out from Jim propositioning you in our fucking _hallway. Are_ you sorry? Cause you don't fucking sound like it," she seethed, squirming in his grasp, getting angrier every second he held her against her will. _"Let. Me. GO."_

He finally put her down on the couch, but stood by to field her if she made another break for it. "If you want to be alone, we'll leave. Separately. You aren't in any condition to go storming off." He knew he needed to apologize, but he wasn't about to do it with Jim looking on.

Jim, who been standing by watching the altercation with as blank of a face as he possessed, rolled his eyes, turning for the door. "I can see I'll have to find entertainment elsewhere tonight," he snorted, half out the door. Before he closed it behind him, he leaned in again, and fixed Lorna with a hard stare. "If you ever deign to raise your voice against me again, I'll have you gutted alive. The only reason I won't tonight is because I found myself liking the vulture comparison. Don't push your luck." With that, he was gone. Lorna remained on the sofa behind, still in a bad mood, her jaw gritted.

Moran walked over to close the door, taking a slow breath before turning around. "I am sorry," he said, walking over to sit in the armchair. "I didn't know how you would react. It wasn't ever intended as a slight. I was looking for you every day. Jim was keeping me... relaxed. Sharp. I don't fucking know."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. She'd taken a (painful) shower the other day, so it was nice to feel clean again. She didn't know what to say for a few minutes. Then: "I probably overreacted a little. Sorry. I was... jealous, I guess. Not really in the best frame of mind," she murmured, giving a tiny shrug. She didn't look at him.

He nodded a little. "It... I was wrong. Not telling you. It was just an odd circumstance. We'd both discussed Jim joining in so often that it didn't seem like a violation."

A violation of _what_ was something they hadn't discussed, but maybe they needed to.

'Joining in' was the operative term, there, but she wasn't going to say it. She didn't want to add fuel to the fire. Not when it was starting to die down. "I could use a drink."

"No," he said calmly, quietly. "Sorry. But no." He leaned forward onto his elbows, his fingers interlaced, staring at his hands.

She sighed. "Yeah, didn't really expect that one to get through. Had to try, though," she snorted, leaning back against the sofa, closing her eyes. It felt weird, having this fight with him. They hadn't had any real (or _real,_ instead of hallucinatory) confrontations in a long time. And this one was.. shockingly civil, as their fights went. Maybe it was time they got around to defining this, whatever it was they had. But there was no way in hell she was going to bring it up to him.

He hated being in the doghouse. It was not a place of control, and there were very few people who could put him there. Two, to be exact. Jim he knew how to apologize to. Lorna was different. He'd never really had cause to before, and he needed to learn what worked. It would probably take experimenting.

She eventually grabbed the remote and turned the TV back on, flipping to some anthropology documentary that she found interesting enough to occupy her head a little, and divert it's attention away from him, where he was sitting in the peripheral of her vision. She wasn't furious with him, not now that he'd apologized, but it felt too awkward to act normally.

He stood up eventually, heading for the bedroom. He needed to think, and he guessed she probably did too.

She remained where she was, and, a few hours later, passed out in the dark room, the television still playing on in front of her.

He eventually wandered back out and found her asleep. He watched her for a few moments, before turning off the television and scooping her far-too-light frame up into his arms, heading for bed.

* * *

She woke up far too early the next morning, tangled up in the covers. Anxiously, before she opened her eyes, she checked whether or not she could move her arms. They moved. She let out a quiet breath and opened her eyes. The light in the bedroom was dim, but she could make out Sebastian's shape next to her in the dark. Normally, she wouldn't have bothered to check, but in a rare thing, they weren't touching.

He opened his eyes a few minutes later, her shifting waking him up. He took a moment to wake up more fully, then said quietly "You alright? You need something?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm ok. Just... wake up at odd times."

He nodded a little bit, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling, content to be awake for the time being. He wondered if she was still angry at him, but hell if he was going to ask.

She didn't speak for a long time, but eventually, the darkness and the silence were too much. "Sebastian... I think we should talk."

He took a breath, but nodded just a little. She had the right, especially now, to ask that. "Okay... what about?"

"I think we should... _define_ this. If not putting words to it, at least.. setting guidelines, or something. I don't know," she sighed, rubbing her eyes.

He nodded, though it was a few moments before he responded vocally. "Alright. What sort of guidelines do you have in mind?"

Now that she'd started down this road, it was a hell of a daunting task. She didn't know what to say for a moment. Then, it was just hard to say it. "...Communication, mostly. Just, fuck, we gotta say shit. I understand that there are some things, work things, that can't get passed around, but..." she let out a huff. "A lot of our issues are caused because one of us said too much or too little."

He nodded a little. "Yeah, I suppose that's fair," he agreed softly. A lot fairer than he'd been expecting

She nodded in the dark herself, relieved that he'd accepted it so easily. She was quiet for another minute. "If you want to add anything, go ahead. I shouldn't be the only one making the rules, you know?"

He shrugged a little, which was useless in the dark, and reached up to rub at his face. "I don't know. This isn't my area. Commitment. I'm honestly fucking terrible at it."

"Believe me, I can relate," she mumbled. Commitment with _him_ was even more terrifying than normal commitment. With him, she needed to play by the rules.

He was quiet for a while before he finally added, "It's worth it, though."

"Yeah," she agreed, voice soft. "It is." She swallowed. She'd never guessed about how possessive she'd be over him.

He was quiet for a bit before finally saying "We should probably discuss Jim..."

"Yeah, probably," she agreed, then fell silent. She would wait for him to tackle that one.

He was quiet for a bit until it became clear that this was going to be up to him, and shifted a bit. "First off, are you still angry?"

She let out a long breath. "No," she said eventually, "Not particularly. I'm... sore, on it. But not angry."

He nodded just a little. "Can you clarify exactly what it was that bothered you?" he asked finally. "You touched on a few points..."

"I... I don't know, exactly," she whispered, her face hot. It shouldn't have been that hard to determine, but she didn't.

"Okay," he said, nodding just a little and letting that sit for a few moments before taking a slow breath. "I don't... I knew... Fuck, I don't know, Lorna. I never meant to hurt you. At all. It didn't occur to me that it would bother you. It probably should have."

"I know," she murmured, curling up a little, drawing the covers up to her chin. "I know. The two of us just... aren't very good at this, are we?"

"Fuck no," he laughed, though it died quickly. He closed his eyes, then rolled over and reached out a hand for her shoulder, letting her decide if she wanted it there.

She didn't move for a moment, but then instinct intervened and she shifted closer to him, fighting back a ridiculous urge to cry.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, still letting her be further away if she wanted to be, though he wished he could pull her closer.

She curled the rest of the way into him, burying her face in his chest. "I love you," she whispered past the lump in her throat. She was so afraid of fucking this up. So afraid she'd have to do this without him.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, nodding just a little, eyes shut tight as he took in her familiar smell.

"I love you too," he whispered, barely a breath. "Just you."

She curled her fingers into his shirt, silent, heartfelt acknowledgment. She knew how hard it was for him to admit things like that. And she appreciated it each and every time he tried.

He held her close, rubbing her back just a little.

"I need to ask you something," he said quietly. "And I've never done this before, so bear with me."

Her heart started to beat a little faster from anxiety. "Alright," she agreed nervously, "Go for it."

He felt her heart rate pick up, and so worked to get the words out quick so as not to torment her overmuch. "I need...Can you say you forgive me. Please. Because I want you to."

"Christ," she huffed out a breath of air, "Had no idea where you were going with that." From anybody else, asking for forgiveness like that would have earned them a cold shoulder. From him, it was a hint that he truly was worrying over this. And he was the exception every rule she'd ever made for herself. "Alright. I forgive you, Seb. But only 'cause you asked so nicely."

He nodded just a little. He was well aware he'd done a ripping poor job of asking for forgiveness, but it was the best he was able to manage. It wasn't something he could remember doing, at least not since he was a child, and very rarely, if at all, then. He didn't ask people to forgive him. He didn't need them to. Most people.

It was strange, being able to feel this way about a person. They both let the other get away with so _much_ \- way more than they would ever let anybody else get away with. The fact that they'd both gotten to a point where killing the other wasn't _likely_ was astounding. And it was comforting, feeling secure in someone's arms. She wouldn't trade that for anything.

* * *

The next few weeks were slow and strained. Lorna recovered, but at a rate that was frustrating for all involved, and there was tension between Moran and Jim that had no clear resolution. She was mostly at a point where she could do most of what she had been able to before she'd been captured. She was still a little weaker than before, but at least she could walk on her own and pick up things as light as a bottle of orange juice. _That_ had been an incredibly frustrating time.

He had been working reconnaissance and hits the last few weeks, mostly solo. Occasionally he had a spotter, but he didn't need one for shorter shots, so he kept to himself. It was good to be back in his element, what he loved to do rather than the renaissance of other jobs that had been required of him over the past few years.

He was out on such a mission now, lining up a shot, when there was a stinging sensation in his shoulder.

His fingers had just enough time to brush the feathery end of a dart before he lost consciousness.

Sebastian never took this long on hits. At the most, he took seven hours; if he was going to take more than that, he sent her a message, warning her. It was less of a 'couple' thing as it was a 'just so you know I'm not in the hands of an enemy thing'. But this was ten hours now, without contact.

Until the picture came.

Sebastian, tied, unconscious, to a chair. An address was attached. She was out the door in two minutes.

* * *

Playlist: Panic! at the Disco - Turn Off The Lights


	76. You, Me, And Jim

Playlist: Spoon - Hot Thoughts

* * *

He struggled slowly into consciousness. It took him a few times to actually get his eyes open: the first few attempts he drifted back to sleep before he could manage it, like a device with critically low battery that kept dying halfway through the boot cycle.

Finally, however, he managed it. He was in a dimly lit room, shackled to a chair with what felt like thick iron cuffs. Not something he could break or slip out of. Great. The room itself was bereft of furnishings, and there was a solid door at the far side of the room, though at the moment it was open slightly.

She burst through the door no less than seven minutes later, gun out. She scanned the room for threats before she let her gaze drop onto him, then she was tucking the gun into the back of her jeans and trotting forward. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked, crouching in front of him, checking how he was held to the chair. "Shit. Shoulda brought my lockpicking kit."

"Fine. How did you find me?" he asked, looking around. "How long have I been out?" He tugged on the cuffs. "See if you can find a bolt cutter or a crowbar or something..."

"I don't know. I got a text message maybe half an hour ago, with a picture of you here, and the address," she shook her head, standing, and beginning to look around the room. It was mostly empty. "Worst comes to worse, I suppose I could try and shoot the the chain. Get you out of the cuffs back at home."

He shook his head a little. "Try to find a lever first. If that ricochets it could easily hit one of us. Especially me."

"Yeah, you're right," she agreed reluctantly, stepping back a little, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Or you could use the key," came a familiar Irish voice from the doorway. She turned, and scowled.

"Jim..." Moran said, almost sounding relieved for a moment before he thought to question why in hell the boss had the key.

"Or you could leave him there. I quite like seeing him all tied up," Jim drawled, walking forward, smirking.

"Jesus, Boss, did you do this? Scared the shit out of me," she sighed, dragging a hand through her hair. "Can I have the key, then?"

"I don't know, Harrison, _can_ you?" he challenged, raising his eyebrows at her. His smirk spread into a grin. "Sorry for the tranquilizer, Moran. I didn't know how else to bring us all _together."_

"Seeing as I can level most of our men, I suppose I can understand that, though I do also respond to text messages..." he grunted, tugging at his wrists.

"I figured you and I could have some fun, Harrison. You seemed to object to my not sharing, I thought I'd extend... an olive branch. For Moran's sake."

She hesitated for a minute, wondering what the hell to do. She looked down at Sebastian, eyebrows raising. What did he think of this?

Moran caught her gaze and shrugged just a little, though his ears were just slightly red, mostly due to below-the-waist reactions he had no hope of hiding at the moment.

She thought that was about as flustered as she'd seen him, ever. And, considering the slight flush beginning on his ears, it was probably a good thing. He wasn't protesting. "Good enough for me," she smirked, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair, nails dragging across his scalp.

"Good. I do love a good _game,"_ Jim grinned, licking his lips.

He closed his eyes when her hand when into his hair, swallowing hard and taking a quick breath.

Jim walked out of the room for a moment and returned carrying a box, which he set down. He pulled out a knife and walked over, starting to cut away Moran's clothes.

Seb's eyes flew open at the brush of a knife against his skin, but he saw the reason and relaxed just a hair, eyes flickering to Harrison to make sure she was really alright with this.

She could see the question in his eyes, and she gave him a reassuring smile, tugging at his hair just a little, playfully. As long as he was okay with it, she was alright. She'd done crazier things. As long as they _shared,_ that was okay. She could do that. "So what's the plan, boss?"

He grinned. "You're telling me you've never imagined having Sebastian Moran at your mercy, shackled to a chair? I'm interested to see what your mind can come up with." He tossed the remains of Moran's shirt aside and started on his trousers.

"I think everyone in this room knows I'm usually imagining _me_ shackled to a chair," she muttered, standing aside a little so Jim had room to work, instead leaning down by Sebastian's side to nip the shell of his ear ever so gently. "But god knows I'm not going to _argue."_

Jim laughed, balling up the remains of Moran's trousers and lobbing them over his shoulder. "I'll kidnap you the next time."

"That I could get behind," Moran leered cockily, apparently having regrouped.

"I imagine so, though it doesn't seem like you're having too much trouble getting behind this," Jim retorted, tapping the side of his knife on Moran's prominent erection. Seb stiffened, in more ways than one, and swallowed slightly, nodding.

"Fair point, boss..."

"Boss?"

"Sir."

There was something beautiful in watching him swallow, the lines of his throat standing out ever-so-more clearly, the implications of the thoughts going through his head - it was one of the many small idiosyncrasies that she assigned only to him. Watching him was like watching art in motion. She wondered how Jim felt when he looked at Sebastian.

Jim was busy taking off his tie to loosen his collar; he briefly thought about blindfolding the sniper, but then decided that vision was far too important to the man to be removed for this encounter. Watching the jealousy in his eyes when he got around to stripping Harrison, watching the arousal bloom there - those were both fun bonuses to let those clear blue eyes see anything they wanted to.

Moran shifted in the chair, tugging on his restraints slightly, though he knew it was useless. He bit into his bottom lip just a little as Jim removed his tie. He wanted to touch, to pin the other man to the wall, to rid Lorna of her far-too-many layers... But he was at their mercy, and there was something distractingly compelling about that.

"Bored," he taunted in a clear imitation of Jim's usual drawl. "Am I just going to sit here all night or are we getting somewh-"

He cut off as Jim flicked the knife across his cheekbone, and he could feel hot blood welling up and trickling down from the sting.

It was the first time he'd really bled since his Words, and the sudden rush was like a whiff of alcohol to a recovering addict. His pupils widened and he took a slow breath.

Concern and lust were the two immediate emotions she reacted with, concern for it being _his_ blood, lust for it being on _him._ She practically fell into his lap to kiss him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other grabbing his jaw, her thumb pressing into his cheek just below the gash. Jim laughed, again, and she felt him pull off her belt, reaching around her waist to work the buckle free, his knuckles brushing Sebastian's skin before he was gone again, dropping the leather at his feet. Maybe he'd want it later.

"I almost forgot how much the two of you adore seeing the other covered in blood," he smirked, starting to pull off Harrison's jacket, forcing her to bend her arms back for a second. "What an _advantage_ that gives me."

"Is this a competition?" Lorna chuckled, drawing away from Moran's lips for a moment.

"When is it not?"

Moran was incredibly grateful that she landed in his lap, because it gave him someone to grind up against. He groaned as he kissed her, trying to get his teeth into her lips, but she pulled away and he let out a huff of frustration.

She was being undressed, however, and he could appreciate that.

"Am I going to be the only one bleeding in this particular encounter?"

"No, I think not," Jim smirked. "Would you like to see her bleed?"

Suddenly he gripped Lorna's hair, pulling her head back and setting the knife against her upper arm. "Do you want to see her bleed, Sebastian?"

He took a slow breath, swallowing again and glancing Lorna.

"Beg me, Sebastian."

She was breathing a little bit harder from excitement, eyes wide and dark on his, her lips parted but silent. If she said anything, she got the feeling she wouldn't be playing by the rules. It was up to Sebastian whether or not she bled. She could, however, rock down on him a little, even with Jim's grip in her hair. That grip tightened as he saw her move.

"Did I say you could move, Harrison?"

She swallowed, giving an infinitesimal shake of her head. "No."

"I thought not. Sebastian; I believe you had something to tell me?"

He took a breath through his nose, but Lorna's movements clued him in and he managed "Yes, Sir..."

"What was that?" Jim asked, lowering the knife slightly.

He was quiet for a moment, stubborn, but Jim started to drop the knife and he rallied quickly.

 _"Please,_ Jim, I want to see her bleed..." he finally said, shifting his hips again.

Jim smiled and returned the knife to Lorna's arm, pressing it down slowly until blood welled up beneath the blade.

She hissed at the pain but was quickly distracted by Jim's hand in her hair shifting to the back of her neck, his thumb working into the base of her skull, convincing the tight muscle there to relax. She could feel his smug smirk as she melted into Sebastian's lap. Then his hand was gone and the knife slit up the side of her t-shirt, tearing it off.

If he leaned forward, he could press his lips to her skin, get a taste of the bitter blood rolling down her arm, stain his teeth with it. Her shirt fell away and he grinned up at Jim, a feral smile. "That's two of us down. Mostly, anyway," he grinned. "You still have far too many layers."

"Oh, are you in command now, Seb darling?" Jim smirked, walking around to grab Moran's hair and yank his head back, the knife coming to rest point down on the dip of his collarbone. He froze, breaths shallow so as not to disrupt the blade.

"No sir," he finally put out, voice a bit strained.

"I thought not," Jim drawled, removing the knife and his hand from Moran's hair to tuck the blade under his arm and start to unbutton his shirt. Lorna smirked, biting down on Sebastian's other collar bone, grinding down on him with the quietest of moans. Jim tsked, and a second later she was being hauled off Sebastian, pulled back against the criminal mastermind. "Now, now, we don't want to give him too much satisfaction yet, do we?"

Sebastian let out a groan of protest, his hips lifting to grind against air. His eyes scanned Jim's bared chest, and he couldn't help the flash of pride that his initials on Jim's chest- the scars healed now but still pale- brought.

"No, no, wouldn't want to do that. Got to string it out," he smirked, tilting his head back with a sigh.

Jim unclasped Harrison's bra and let it fall, his palm sliding over her breast as he leaned forward to bite the back of her ear gently. "Let's wipe that smirk off of his face, shall we?"

"Sounds like a plan," she hummed, arching back into him, rubbing back against his hard-on with a finesse that had taken her a long time to cultivate. He didn't make a sound, just grasped her hip to pull her back against him harder, head dropping to scrape his teeth across the bare skin of her shoulder. His eyes, however, were glued to Sebastian, a predatory glint to them.

He held Jim's gaze, eyes dark, nostrils flared slightly, possessiveness rising in his chest to choke him. Jim sank his teeth deeper and he took a slow breath, watching as Harrison ground back against him, his cock dying for the same attention. "Fuck... Jim..."

"You're going to have to tell us what you want, Sebastian," Jim grinned, hand sliding from Lorna's waist to slip his fingers under the waistband of her trousers to press against her heat, drawing a moan from her. "You have words. Use them."

"I want to fuck you," he dared, eyes fixed now on Jim's hand, his own fingers curling sympathetically. "Or if not that, you to fuck me. Or cut me. Hell, carve me up, I don't care, do _something..._ " he groaned, straining against his bonds again, the edge of the shackle cutting against his wrist.

"Did you hear that, Harrison?" he laughed, his free hand moving up to grip her throat. "He wants me to do _something._ Adorable. Well, do you think we should take pity on him?"

She tried to answer, but all that came out was a moan as he pressed two fingers slowly into her, driving all the thought from her brain. "Up- up to you, sir," she groaned.

His eyes flicked up to her face as she moaned, and he swallowed a whimper, grinding his hips forward, trying to get some friction- _any_ friction- against his pants. It did nothing.

"Harrison... I want to fuck you. Fuck you with my tongue, taste deep inside of you, bring you over... Just come on..." he murmured, changing tactics.

Jim withdrew his fingers from her as she leaned forward, though he tightened his grip on her throat for just a moment before he let her go. She took one step towards Sebastian, heart hammering in her chest, before he grabbed her again, spinning her around and pushing her down onto Moran's lap, and then he laughed, looking down at the two of them. "Look at the two of you. Polar opposites, almost. You _dwarf_ her, Sebastian," he laughed, shaking his head and falling to his knees in front of the two of them, in between their legs, he pulled Lorna down enough to kiss her with a lot of teeth, his other hand sliding up Sebastian's thigh.

Sebastian groaned in pain and relief as Lorna tumbled into his lap, grinding up against her. "She is a bit tiny, yeah," he agreed with a grin, leaning forward enough to bite into her neck as Jim kissed her, teeth breaking skin easily. He spread his legs further as Jim's hand slid up.

She gasped, a hand going back to curl into his hair, get a measure of some control over him, even though he was very literally shackled to the chair, and shifted back further on him so when he ground up she benefited too - and she _needed_ to benefit from it, somehow.

He grunted and pulled happily against her grip in his hair, his hip bucking up against hers as she shifted back. Jim's hand slid inside of his pants, fingers brushing along the bottom of his cock, and he bit down harder on Harrison's neck as he groaned. Jim smirked. "Get a little control, Moran," he tsked as he pulled away from Lorna for a breath.

"I don't know, I'm not complaining," she breathed. Hell, she was about ready to unlock those shackles of his. "I like him all wound up."

"Mmm... I've noticed," he smirked as Moran pulled away, leaving the clear line of his teeth in her neck, his lips stained red. "You look a bit... pent up, Harrison. Why don't you give him something to think about?"

"I'm too 'pent up' to get what you mean without clear direction," she chuckled breathlessly, near shaking from the effect of being caught between them.

"Fuck him, Harrison," he said, bending to run his tongue along the inside of her leg. "But first... let's make sure he doesn't lose interest too quickly, alright?" he grinned, opening his palm to show her, and only her, a silver ring about the size of a half dollar.

"Jesus _Christ_ ," she huffed, pupils darkening almost instantly, before her eyes flicked up to him again. "You really are an evil genius, I hope you know."

"Of course I know," he snorted, looping his fingers into her waistband and tugging off her shorts and pants in one go, the ring tucked back into his palm to hide it from Sebastian. It was only after he'd tossed her clothes towards a corner that he gave her a smirk and an imperceptible nod.

"What? What are you two talking about?" Sebastian asked, shifting slightly to try and see, a hint of nervous excitement appearing deep down. He smiled as the remainder of Harrison's clothing disappeared, rutting his hips upward again only to stop as Jim grabbed his balls and squeezed a warning. He stopped. "Take it I'm not supposed to do that?" he asked, voice a bit tense.

"Not yet," was all he said, passing the silver ring to Lorna, letting Sebastian get the barest glint before it disappeared again into her hand, and then he leaned up and around her to kiss the sniper hard, distraction his aim. Lorna twisted, grinning to herself, and slid the ring all the way down to the base of Sebastian's cock.

"Surprise."

He felt the thing slide into place and let out a half-betrayed, half-aroused groan against Jim's mouth, pulling away a moment later. "You motherfuckers," he breathed, letting out a huff of frustration and wiggling his hips just slightly. "God _fucking_ dammit..."

"You'll thank me later," Jim smirked, scraping blunt nails down his arm. "Harrison, if you would..."

"Way ahead of you, sir," she hummed, having gotten off him and back on in almost a second, straddling his waist and facing him this time, a hand helping to get the position right before she slowly sank onto him, a long, ragged groan falling from her lips.

"Will I now," he shot back, but his eyes were on Harrison as she turned around, and he gave a victorious grin as her breasts came in range, leaning forward and running his tongue over them, letting out a whimpering groan of relief as she finally slid onto him, rolling his hips up against hers, desperate for more.

She slid a hand into his hair, a harsh breath leaving her, relieved to finally be getting some friction, her other hand scraping nails down his chest. Her eyes slipped over to Jim, so dark they were nearly glazed. "You going to take off some of those layers, or do you just wanna watch?"

Jim's eyes were fixed on them, on the way Moran was greedily running teeth and tongue over Harrison's chest, arms twisted back behind the chair, red stains smeared across his skin. On the way Harrison looked at him, the way her hips swayed and rolled over Moran's, lips parted slightly.

He didn't answer, just began undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Moran groaned against Lorna's skin, starting to move his hips a little more needily, hands straining at the shackles. "Faster, Lorna," he groaned.

She kissed a line up his throat, yanking his head back as she tightened her grip on his hair. Her teeth tugged on his earlobe. "Make me," she whispered, with a smirk, her eyes on Jim from where he was standing a few feet away.

His breath was starting to come in shorter gasps, and he increased the pace of his own hips, struggling to find a way to lever her to move faster. "Lorna..."

Jim had removed his shirt fully and now removed his footwear before stepping out of his pants and trousers. As soon as he was free of them he walked forward, his own erection dark and prominent, and circled Sebastian and Lorna, before kneeling again and, after a moment's calculation, sliding a finger into Lorna alongside Seb's cock, pressing and curling.

"Fucking hell, Jim," she gasped, back arching, body struggling to get used to the strangely pleasurable sensation, her hips stuttering on Sebastian's. She had no idea what Jim's plan was, but she knew that asking would be pointless, so she dropped her forehead onto Sebastian's shoulder and decided to literally ride it out, and see where it went.

Sebastian let out a low string of curses at the added sensation against his cock, his hip movements falling out of rhythm for a moment before he managed to get it back.

Jim worked with that finger for a few moments, before moving onto the next, and the next, until the fingers of that hand were slicked with their fluids. Then, without further delay, he pressed his first finger into Sebastian's puckered hole.

Moran cried out, bucking upwards in the chair in surprise, his head tilting back, chest heaving.

Lorna cried out too as he suddenly bucked upwards, her breath coming in gasps on Sebastian's collarbone. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened. "Breathe, Moran," she reminded.

He nodded just a little, panting for breath. He was getting close to coming, or at least he normally would be, but though the burning heat was rolling up through his body with ever-increasing ferocity, there was no feeling of the edge approaching, and he knew there wouldn't be. He picked up a rhythm, driving up into Lorna and then down against Jim's increasing fingers, eyes wide open and black.

Jim curled and turned his fingers inside of Sebastian, his other hand wrapping around Lorna's waist and finding her clit, starting to rub gently but firmly.

That pushed her right over the edge, a broken swear leaving her mouth, fire roaring up her spine in a heady rush, and as she came down again it was all she could do to cling onto him, half-melted and sensitive as hell, her nails dragging furrows down his back. Jim _blessedly_ gave her a break, though judging by the sounds Sebastian was making, he was busy with other things.

She came and it was blinding, overwhelming sensation, his vision whiting out for a moment, and he cried out with her, but he _couldn't_ _come._ It was almost painful, though it faded back just a little when Lorna relaxed.

"Fuck, Jim... I n-need to come," he groaned, voice cracking slightly as Jim pushed another finger into him. Jim laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous, Tiger. We've barely started. Are you still with us, Harrison? Or have I vastly underestimated your endurance?"

 _Vastly_ was a little too needling to give up on. "I'm fine, just give me a second," she said just a little sharply, and rolled her hips down onto Sebastian once to prove it. She let out a ragged moan, just on the borderline of too-sensitive, too much.

"Watch your tone," Jim replied, intense eyes on her for a moment, before flashing back to Moran, watching the expressions fly by on his face.

"Jim... please," he panted, biting into his lip as Harrison ground down on him again. Jim stood, removing his fingers and wiping them off on Moran's discarded boxers, before reaching out to shift Harrison off of Moran's lap. He paused with her in his arms, holding her close for a moment, grinding his cock against her arse with a soft groan of pleasure, eyes fixed on Moran. Then he spoke.

"Should we uncuff him?"

" _Yes,"_ she said immediately, rubbing back against Jim, though her eyes were glued to Sebastian. As much fun as this was, she missed his hands on her, missed the way his grip tightened on her when he was close, missed the feeling of knowing there would be marks in the shapes of his fingers in the morning. "Yes, please," she amended all in one huff of a breath, fingers tight on the arm around her waist. His chuckle rumbled through her back.

"The key is taped under his chair. Have at it."

Sebastian let out a sigh of relief, broad shoulders rolling at the thought of freedom.

"Oh, and Sebastian... remove that cockring without my permission and I will be very displeased," Jim warned, eyes flashing slightly as he released Harrison.

"Yessir..."

She immediately stepped forward and knelt by the side of the chair, reaching underneath and ripping the key off from the underside. She took two more seconds unlocking both of his shackles, but then it was done. Thank god.

He shifted his stiff arms forward slowly, wincing as his shoulders and elbows protested the movement. His wrists and the insides of his arm were chafed and raw from rubbing against the shackles and the chair respectively, but the sting was hardly noticeable against the magma of arousal rolling through him. He stood, and immediately turned to pick Lorna up, backing her up against the wall to snog her solidly, wanting to regain a little control of the situation.

She barely noticed the huff of air that left her chest at the impact, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, kissing him back with just a hint of a challenge. Jim was there a moment later, pressing against Sebastian's back, leaving a bite mark on his shoulder.

He kissed her back solidly, tongue pressing into her mouth. Jim ground up against him, and he could feel the brush of Jim's length against his arse before the smaller man shoved a foot between his legs, spreading them side to side, and he complied. Jim's cock pressed against his entrance and he quickly withdrew his tongue lest he bite down on it.

Jim smirked, watching as the muscles in Sebastian's neck tensed as he pushed unceremoniously into him.

Sebastian grit his teeth, breathing sharply and pressing his face into Lorna's shoulder.

She thought for a second that he was going to drop her, but as he pressed further into her, pinning her harder against the wall, the concern left her mind, instead going to what she could do to make Jim's rather rough entrance into the party a little easier for him. She smoothed a hand over the back of his neck, her lips skimming over his uninjured cheek, one moment of tenderness in this crazy endeavor.

The touch was so disparagement from everything else that it stood out above all the more demanding sensations. She helped him focus and he took a slow breath, forcing himself to relax as Jim started to move. He groaned softly, so painfully hard now it was almost completely distracting. He reached down to shift Lorna's legs around his waist until his cock rubbed against her heat and let out a relieved, shaking groan.

Jim noticed what passed between them, but decided to ignore it, starting to pick up the pace a little, the groan traveling through Moran and into his cock in a way that made his grip on Moran's shoulder just a little tighter, a breath coming from between his teeth. Lorna made a quiet sound as he ground into her, the hand tightening in his hair again. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she demanded, rolling her hips into him. " _Fuck_ me."

He tried to respond, but all that came out was a moan and he gave up, shifting his hips as best he could without disrupting Jim's rhythm and pushing himself into her. He took a moment to work out how this was going to go, before he started moving, shoving his arse back into Jim as the man thrust, and pushing in turn into Lorna on the downswing.

He'd been right, all that time ago. Fucking Jim (or, in this case, _with_ Jim) was, in a word, _intense._ She no longer bothered with finesse, or movement, just clutched onto him and took what he gave her, her entire world centered around the burning pleasure surging through her.

He was quickly losing what small portion of control he still had, his body shaking as he got more and more wound up, the heat within him coiling and flaring, cock aching as he rutted into Lorna and back against Jim desperately. The sensations he was experiencing were beyond intense. In any other circumstance he would have come ages ago, and it was driving him spare, his body shaking with the built up energy and desire.

Jim was so close he was hanging by a thread, his breath coming harsher, his thrusts faltering in their rhythm, all his pent-up energy starting to catch up all at once. Lorna was nearly as close as Jim was, still over-sensitized, a high-pitched gasp leaving her every time Sebastian got just a little bit deeper than normal.

Jim suddenly altered the angle of his hips, and the head of his cock brushed against Moran's prostate. Seb let out a strangled sort of keen, his hips powering forward into Lorna's with sudden force, pelvis grinding against hers. His hands scrabbled at her shoulders, nails leaving red furrows in her skin, before one hand reached back to latch onto Jim's arse with a frantic sort of desperation. His whole focus was on one thing now- he needed to keep moving, keep feeling, needed to come or he was positive he was going to spontaneously combust.

Jim didn't last much longer past that, sparks bursting behind his eyes at Moran's visceral reaction, tightening around him until it was literally impossible to hold himself back anymore, and he came with a shout, ramming himself a final time as deep into the other man as he could go. "Make her come, and then you can take the ring off," Jim panted against his shoulder, voice still a little strained.

Lorna was fairly certain that wasn't going to take much at all - she was slowly tipping over the edge again herself.

It took him a moment to fully register Jim's voice, but when he did he began working against Harrison with renewed concentration, a hand slipping between them to rub against her clit. He was letting out continual moans and grunts, body covered in a light sheen of sweat that made his scars almost glow in the dim light.

She came with a gasp, arching off the wall, heat flooding her system, white-hot.

Jim smirked against Moran's shoulder, still a little breathless. "You're free, Tiger."

He cried out, too, as she came around him, and pulled out of her, lowering her to the ground as quickly as he could manage, hands scrambling to his cock to remove the ring. It wasn't even fully off before he was coming, his knees buckling with the strength of it as he cried out, a shaking hand finding the wall to keep himself from hitting the ground completely.

She kept herself up with the wall as he finally got his release, watching his face, watching him tremble, watching a drop of blood roll down his cheek and drip off his jaw and onto his chest, rolling over the _JM_ that stood out from the rest of the words.

Finally even the wall wasn't enough, and he sank to the ground, exhausted, covered in blood and sweat and cum. " _Jesus fucking Christ_..." he finally managed when he got his breath back, still dazed.

Jim smirked and crouched down in front of him, reaching out to swipe up the trickle of blood over his mark with a finger and suck on it gently. "Told you you'd thank me later," he sneered.

For the first time since this.. _encounter_ had begun, she felt a pang of jealousy. Sebastian's blood wasn't _his_ to take, and mopping it off his initials was just insulting. She stopped herself before she said anything - what we she thinking? _Of course it's his to take, you absolute moron! He owns him, just like he owns you. Stop this._ She sighed. "I don't suppose you packed another set of clothes for him? We're not exactly home."

"There's a room with a shower and changes of clothes for you both down the hall. I'll be showering first, however, so wait ten minutes. It will probably be that long before he's fully conscious, anyway," he said, standing. Sebastian just flipped him off casually. Jim smirked.

She chuckled blearily, stepping over Sebastian to go sit in his chair, deciding that she didn't know what else was on that floor, and she wasn't certain where her pants were. She had to hand it to Jim for at least being considerate enough to not just strand them out here. Before she could even think about thanking him he was gone, disappearing out the door. Her eyes wandered back to Moran. "You doin' okay, there?"

"Mmmmph..." he groaned, sliding a bit further down onto the floor. "M'fucking _exhausted..._ "

"I don't blame you," she snorted, leaning her head back with a huff. "Shit. I was worried you were being tortured or something."

"I wasn't?" he retorted with a snort, sitting up slowly with a slight groan as his muscles protested.

"You didn't look like you were complaining," she chuckled, rubbing her eyes. "Sorry, if it was too much, though."

"Far from it," he sighed, stretching for his toes with a wince, his arse a bit raw and sore. "Christ, I have never wanted to come so much in my fucking _life._ "

"I'm a little relieved I don't have a cock, to be honest. Nothing can keep me trapped on the edge like that," she shook her head, smirking. "Think you can walk down the hall?"

"Has it been ten minutes?" he grunted as he worked his way to his feet, mostly steady.

"Nearabouts. I figured it might take you a couple to get up properly, anyway," she smirked, getting out of the chair almost as slowly as him - she was still pretty sensitive.

"Hilarious," he muttered, wincing a bit as he finally straightened. Jim had been less than gentle.

"I'm the funniest person you know," she hummed, giving him a cheeky grin and holding the door open for him. "C'mon, when we get home I'll pamper you. Lots of drinking, maybe me in a pair of tight jeans, who knows."

"Sounds amazing," he groaned, limping slightly as he walked over to her. "Especially the jeans." He flashed her a grin.

"Well, I should hope so," she chuckled, letting the door fall shut behind them. "What else am I maintaining this ass for? Either way, consider me your servant or butler, personal assistant, what-have-you. To help make up for you limping around."

"I am _not_ limping" he muttered gruffly, though he smirked just a little. It shifted into a slight grimace as some of Jim's cum leaked down his leg.

She recognized the tiniest lift of the shoulders coupled with that expression. She patted his shoulder, leading the way down the hall. "Been there. _Many_ times."

"Yeah... fuck, not remotely pleasant," he grumbled, following after her. It was also an odd reminder that he'd been thoroughly dominated, which always sat strangely in his head. On the one hand, he enjoyed it. Liked the submission to someone he trusted. On the other hand it warred with his comfort zone and always left him feeling off for a while afterwards. Guarded.

She snorted, wondering how long this hallway was. Where the fuck was the door? "Believe me, I know. Christ, there it is - I was wondering if he'd had us sealed in after all," she muttered, knocking once on the metal door, and, not hearing a response or a shower running on the other side, opened it.

Beyond was a fair-sized clean bathroom, complete with towel racks and bath mat. It was oddly out of place in the honestly rather decrepit building. Moran had no doubt that Jim had had it built specifically for this evening's events. The shower was luxurious, and he reached out to turn on the water with a smile.

There was something about the expression on the face that twisted her all up inside again, jealousy gathering in her throat. There was no other word for it. She didn't want Sebastian to get that sort of look on his face for anybody but _her,_ and her alone. It had taken the two of them a long time to get to this point, and she felt threatened by Jim's steadily encroaching presence.

He stepped into the hot water with a sigh of content, glancing over at her. For a moment there was something odd in her eyes, but then it was gone and he brushed it off. "You just gonna stand there and watch like a creep?"

"No," she rolled her eyes, stepping under the wide spray after him, letting out a quiet sigh as she relaxed under the heat. She had to stop agonizing about this. What could she do? Nothing.

He started to wash himself off, the water staining just a touch red as it headed for the drain. "How's your arm? It was hard to see how deep he went."

She gave an experimental touch, and was pleased to find only a little bit of blood came away on her fingers before it was washed away with the water. "Not too bad. I don't think it will scar or anything. I got the feeling he didn't really want to have me throw a fit about it later."

"That sounds about right," he agreed, finishing rinsing his body and sticking his head under the water, rinsing the blood off of his face.

She stepped out, heading for the counter, where she saw a pile of clothes that looked promising - she could do a full shower tonight, when she was actually familiar with her surroundings. "Do you think our life expectancy has gone up or gone down?"

"Having fucked Jim, you mean? Or something else?" He stepped out, too, picking up a towel. There was a pretty comprehensive medical kit sitting in the corner. It appeared Jim hadn't been certain how much blood would be involved with this scenario. He dug into it for butterfly sutures.

"Having fucked Jim. Again. With him planning it ahead of time," she snorted, brushing the extra water from her skin and deciding to put on her clothes just a little bit damp. "Like... is this just a thing, now? Is this what we do?"

He sighed and shrugged a little, drying his face off and then going over to the mirror and opening the sutures, starting to stick them in place to pull the wound on his cheek shut. "Hell if I know. I don't have any more experience here than you."

"Yeah you do," she argued, pulling on a pair of pants that were exactly her size. She wasn't sure why she was surprised. "You've fucked him more than I have." Her voice was toneless.

"And I'm not dead. That's all I know." He glanced over at her as he finished bandaging his cheek and reached for the boxers on the sink. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she shrugged, pulling up a pair of work-appropriate slacks. _I'm feeling possessive of you even though I don't have a real claim to begin with._ "Why wouldn't I be?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. Never mind." He wasn't going to go digging around in her head if she didn't feel like divulging whatever put a bug up her ass.

She didn't bother talking again until she was dressed, leaning against the counter. "We got any big jobs coming up? I've been busy managing the grifting department from afar, haven't really looked ahead for a while."

He shrugged. "Jim's got something in mind but he's been disinclined to share. Says he doesn't have everything prepared yet. In my experience it's best to just let him simmer until he's ready, he's pretty good about providing ample lead time."

She nodded. "Alright. I'll be interested to see what it is. I haven't gotten anything directly from his desk in a while. Not as useful as I used to be."

"You're plenty useful. You're just in a transition phase. If you weren't useful, you'd be dead," he pointed out, pulling on the trousers and shirt he'd been left.

"I said not _as_ useful, but your point stands," she sighed, running a hand through her wet hair. By some standards, she was plenty useful, sure. But by _hers?_

He finished dressing. "Are you ready to go?" he asked, doing up his belt.

"Yup," she nodded, pushing off the counter. "Let's go get drunk, or something. Whatever you wanna do. I had no idea you could be such a good bottom," she deadpanned. Then the corner of her lips twitched up in a smirk.

"A little-known fact that you will, of course, take to the grave," he returned, expression deadly serious.

"If I don't, I'm fairly certain my grave will be meeting with me much sooner than planned," she snickered, leading the way out the exit, and squinting a little at the sudden dark. "Alright, now where did I park the car..."

"I believe it may be the one over there. The one which- by the looks of it- very narrowly avoided a tree, and now has a parking ticket on the windshield?" he suggested, a slight smirk in his voice.

"If it looks like it narrowly _avoided_ a tree, I'm not sure how you could tell," she rolled her eyes, heading for it anyways. "Does it look particularly frightened?"

"No, but the fact that the brake skids pass within about a foot of the tree by the road behind it suggest differently," he retorted, smirking properly now. "In a hurry, were we?"

"Shut up, I don't know what you're talking about," she snorted, flicking his shoulder before moving away to walk to the driver's side of the car. "It was a perfectly leisurely drive."

He grabbed the ticket before he got in, shaking his head a little. "Illegal parking, Harrison. That's a serious offense," he deadpanned.

"So is murder. Don't make me tack that on too," she warned, half-serious, turning the key in the ignition. "I'm a dangerous woman. Just look at me. I _scream_ danger."

"You scream _something_ ," he agreed, chuckling a bit. "Could be danger. But I like danger, so that isn't really an issue."

"Yeah, I know. Face it, I'm _basically_ perfect for you," she smirked, pulling out of the parking lot (okay, it wasn't really a parking lot, it was a gravel lot that had a few small bushes growing op out of it) a lot slower than she had pulled in.

"Oh, I don't know that I'd go _that_ far," he teased, smiling.

"Oi, you better watch it, I'll turn this car around - do you really want to limp home?" she laughed, rolling down the window and resting her arm on the car door, a thousand times more relaxed than she had been in the car without him.

"You drive like someone's grandmother. I could probably make it home faster walking," he said flatly, hiding a smirk.

"Just because you drive like an F1 driver doesn't mean I drive slow. Anyway, as far as I know, my grandmother drove the getaway car. Eat your words, Moran. Eat them."

"Not to my taste, I'm afraid," he shot back dryly, leaning back in the seat with a sigh as they slowed for a yellow light.

"Don't be so narrow-minded," she laughed, shaking her head. "Either way, I had my speed on the way here."

"Fair enough," he said, cracking a slight smile. His fingers tapped on the plastic of the door, and his thoughts wandered aimlessly until they ended up focused on the cut on his cheek. The familiar, raw sting had been both terrifying and intoxicating. He could remember when that pain had been everywhere, clarifying, anchoring him to reality... he wondered what would happen if he traced the old lines again...

He shook his head almost imperceptibly, ending that line of thought before he got too far, stilling the finger that itched to write his words out in blood again.

She sped up for the rest of the way home, zipping through traffic with the kind of driving that would have made her clutch her seat with worry. She pulled into the parking garage a few minutes later, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. "Better, grandpa?"

"Very much so, Shrimp," he retorted with a look that clearly read _let's not start the name-calling game, shall we?_

She didn't like that, not at all. Besides her taught hatred of nicknames, that one was a relic from a time that she'd been much more vulnerable to him, and he'd been a dangerous flame that she just couldn't help returning to, like a stupidly self-destructive moth. But she didn't let it show on her face, just getting out of the car and chucking the keys across another vehicle to smack on the glass of the chauffeur booth. The man jumped, but she was already heading for the lift. "What do you want for dinner, anyway?"

He smirked just a little at the victory, heading after her. "I've got a good steak if that sounds good. I'm fucking starving. That and some baked potatoes."

"Steak sounds fine," she hummed, pressing the elevator button and leaning against the wall to wait for it. "Potatoes, too. I can probably cook, if you want to uh, rest, or something. I don't know."

"I've had worse than a sore arse. I think I'll live," he smirked. "Besides. Don't you have some jeans to put on?"

"If _that's_ really what you latched onto, sure," she laughed, stepping into the elevator as it dinged open. "All the possibilities that are before you..."

"We're starting there, alright?" he muttered, following her. "Plus you can't cook steak."

She gave him a mockingly offended look. "I so _can_ cook steak. You just happen to have more cooking skills than me."

"Mhm," he hummed, smirking a little. "Whatever you say."

"Oh, I so am going to make you pay for that," she rolled her eyes, stepping out first as the doors opened again.

"I thought I was going to be pampered tonight? 'Whatever you like', weren't those your words?" he pointed out, laughing.

"Bite me," she retorted, though good-naturedly, "Open the door, would you? I don't have my physical keys and I think the scanner is pretending not to recognize me lately."

"So presumptuous," he sighed. "What if my alleged kidnappers had cut off my fingers? Where would we be then? You need to think ahead more, Harrison," he tutted, scanning his thumb and opening the door.

"I would have picked one up off the floor and brought it with us," she hummed, chuckling.

"Resourceful," he admitted, nodding and letting her in, closing the door behind her and heading for the kitchen. "You. Jeans. Now."

"Alright, alright, I'm going," she laughed with a shake of her head and a wave of her hand, heading for the bedroom. "I'm assuming maximum tightness, so I might need a minute to wriggle into them."

"Wriggle away, I'll put the steak on," he grinned, heading into the kitchen and starting to pull out what he needed. He'd had the steak marinating since he'd bought it earlier that week, and was looking forward to tasting the results.

Lorna ended up needing to lie down on the bed to squirm her way into her tightest pair, which she'd bought not too long after their captivity at the hands of Mycroft and DeWitt. She reappeared again a minute later, already sniffing. "Christ, do you have meat air freshener you just spray in the air when you cook?"

"Yup, right next to the cooking spray," he deadpanned, flipping the steak before turning around to look at her. His eyes darkened considerably as he let his gaze trail over her legs. "Damn... Remind me again why you don't wear those all the time?"

"Comfort, convenience, speed, and just to keep it a little bit special," she quipped, boosting herself up onto the counter. "It's like our lingerie, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is," he laughed. "Should I be wearing jeans, then? Or does it only work on your side?" He went back to mincing bacon for the potatoes.

She shrugged. "Mm, for you it's flannel shirts. Sleeves rolled up is the real killer. But hey, it's not my pamper night. Do whatever you want. I'll play along."

He laughed. "I think I have a clean one sitting around. Think you can babysit the steak for a minute without it catching fire?"

"Oh my god, you know the answer to that," she rolled her eyes, making a good show of being exasperated. "Gooo."

He gave her a smile and headed for their room, closing the door behind him.

He pulled off his shirt, and stared at himself in the mirror. The scars were faded just slightly, but still plenty clear, and he ran a finger over his words in silent reverence. It was without thought that his nail bit in a little, and he closed his eyes, scratching out two words, three...

He stopped quickly and dropped his hand, eyes finding the raw, blood-beaded skin for just a moment before he turned for the bathroom to clean it off.

 _Get a hold of yourself._

She babysat the steak just fine while he was away, though the smell of it was a little distracting - she wanted to just eat it right off the pan, not watch it slowly cook in front of her.

He pulled on a tee-shirt and the flannel, absently rolling up the sleeves as she'd mentioned. He shook off the strange emotion, and headed back into the kitchen. "Huh. No fire alarm, seems you've done well," he teased.

She tossed a hand-towel at him, rolling her eyes at him. "For Christ's sake, I cooked for myself for years before I met you. Have some _faith._ You look good, by the way. Very lumberjack."

"That's good?" he asked, smiling a little as he walked over to flip the steak and pulled the baked potatoes out of the oven, setting them on top of the stove to cool.

She smirked, shrugging a little. "I don't know, with the right look, it's okay. A lot of it depends on the hair."

"And army-buzzed is that hairstyle," he snickered, finally pulling the steak off the grill and cutting it in half.

"I'd suggest you grow it out a little bit, but I suppose that would be a little silly of me," she chuckled, sliding off the counter and turning to pull a few plates out of the cabinets. "I guess it might cut down on your scare factor."

"Just a little, yes," he agreed, plating the steak and potatoes, and grabbing the fixings, leaving her to grab the plates as he headed for the table.

She followed him, setting a plate down at his place before settling down with her's at her own. Christ - how long had they even been living together now? They'd certainly never really made it all that official, besides maybe one frank discussion where they admitted, for _once,_ what they wanted. They were not really known for doing that on a regular basis.

He set the sour cream and brown sauce down, and the bowls of cheese and bacon. He headed back to the fridge for butter and the beer. He was still turning the earlier events over in his head. "He fucking _kidnapped_ me," he muttered as he headed back over to the table.

"I, uh, I know," she shook her head, starting to adorn her steak with her favorite of the fixings - brown sauce and bacon. She took one of the beers from him as he sat back down. "God, I was worried. Jim's going to give me a damn heart attack."

"Yes... I'm debating whether or not to discuss his methods with him later," he sighed.

"If you think it'll _work,"_ she shook her head faintly, picking up her silverware and beginning to cut into her steak. "But you might be able to get away with it. God knows no one else could."

He nodded in agreement, cutting into his steak. He took a bite, and let out a quiet hum of content.

She let the conversation fade, following suit and concentrating on eating for a few minutes, letting her thoughts wander. In a direction she deemed safe, that is. She'd had enough second-guessing his every move for one night.

He was silent while they ate, content to be so. It had taken him a while after the Words, but he was gradually making his way back to his normal, silent self. It was reassuring. He could handle the silence.


	77. Keeping An Eye Towards The Vulture

When she was done she sipped at her beer, eyes on nothing. She was considering how much longer she'd be able to stay managing the grifter department, going over a small list of new recruits in her head that showed promise. If any of them made a move on her, she'd have to kill them to defend her spot on top of the hill. That would be fun to explain to Jim. Christ. She sighed.

He stood to clear their plates, though he left the dishes for later, grabbing a second beer. He offered one in her direction, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Please," she said, throwing back the rest of hers and thinking about moving directly on to vodka instead. But no, beer was a little more acceptable.

He walked over to hand it to her, then headed into the living room to flop down onto the couch. He picked up a knife from the end table, starting to flip it through his fingers lazily.

Lorna stayed where she was for a few minutes before walking out after him, leaning against the doorway to the living room, beer in hand. "D'you think that if I ever take that all-expenses-paid vacation Jim'd let you come with me?"

"If you take that all-expenses-paid vacation, I will take time off and _go_ with you. Jim will have nothing to say about it," he retorted.

She chuckled, sipping at her beer. That made her feel surprisingly smug. Really, _unnecessarily_ smug. _Lorna: 1, Jim: 0._ "Alright, good. I was putting off asking about it because I didn't really feel like going alone. Not as much fun."

He nodded. "Wait until he decides what this new plan of his is and if he needs us. If he doesn't, we'll go," he decided. He looked around the apartment, and then shook his head. "Fuck it. Let's go to my apartment for the night. I want to relax."

She grinned, taking a swig from her beer. "Sounds good to me. I could use a little extra jacuzzi in my life. Jeans optional."

"Very optional," he agreed, heading for his room to grab a bag. "And I am entertaining the idea of fucking you into something, so keep that in mind too."

"What, there are times you _aren't_ entertaining that idea? I'm shocked and appalled, Sebastian," she snickered, ditching her beer on the coffee table and following him into the bedroom to help pack a little.

"I am not _completely_ driven by sex, Lorna. Sometimes it's bloodlust," he retorted dryly, tossing a change of clothes and his toiletries into a duffle bag.

"What, it's not the same thing?" she asked innocently, flashing him a grin as she slipped by him into the bathroom to grab her own toiletries, her clothes already stuffed haphazardly into the bag.

"It's a Venn diagram with a large overlap," he snorted, packing a few weapons into the sides.

She snorted in return, flopping down on the bed as she waited for him to finish. "That's a cop-out. But I'll let you win, because really 'took' one for the team today."

He glanced over at her, walking over and sliding a hand up her torso and the around her throat. "That so?" he asked casually, fingers drumming.

She bit her lip, though still gave him a cheeky smile, just on the edge of defiant. "I'm not even _bending_ the truth. Am I?"

His grip tightened a little. "You seem to be under the impression that because I was submissive once, it's going to become a habit."

Her eyes darkened a little as his hand flexed. "On the contrary; I just _really_ enjoy riling you up."

"Is that so?" he asked, eyes narrowing just a little. Then he smiled, a dangerous glint in his eye. He slid his hand down under her beltline, fingers sliding across skin, his other hand still at her throat, thumb massaging the side of her windpipe just a little. "I could say the same."

She sucked in a bit of a shallow breath, a hand curling in the sheets below her. The things it did to her when he got that look. "Let me guess; you're going to wind me up and then decide we should go, right?"

"I'd hate to be predictable, but it's going to be so much fun to watch you squirm," he retorted, bending down to bite into the side of her neck slowly.

"Shit," she gasped, fingers grasping onto the front of his shirt. "Yeah, I'd say squirm is probably accurate."

He pushed his hand down a little further, fingers finding her clit through her knickers and rolling slowly against it, working his way up her neck with his teeth until he found her ear, biting slowly.

She arched, moaning, warmth flooding through her. " _Christ,_ Seb," she breathed, hard. " _Please."_

"Please what?" he whispered in her ear, the hand on her throat tightening just a little as if to remind her it was there, his fingers at her heat keeping up a purposefully slow rhythm.

She opened her mouth and nothing came out. She tried again. "Just- please. Please, Sebastian."

He circled fingers sped up for just a moment, as if to obey the request, but then he smirked against her ear.

" _No_..." he whispered, removing his hand and pulling away with a dark smile to look at her, flushed, eyes dark. "Maybe once we're at my place. And don't even think about getting yourself off."

She gave him a challenging look, which was hard to do, as aroused and flustered as she was. "What are you going to do to stop me? Out of pure curiosity."

"If you're really interested in finding out, feel free to try," he said calmly, turning to zip up their bag.

"That's not very ominous," she snorted, though she decided not to try her luck until they were in a more permanent position, and sat up. Though anybody they passed in the parking garage would have been able to tell what they'd been up to a few minutes prior.

He opened a drawer, grabbing a few things and tucking them into his pocket before slinging the bag over his shoulder. "On we go, then."

"Wonderful," she hummed, sliding off the bed and heading for the door. "God, it's been too long since we've been to yours."

"The place does seem to be a bad luck charm," he pointed out, his hand brushing against her thigh as he passed her.

"Nothing bad has ever happened to us while we were _there,_ though," she argued, studiously ignoring his touch. It wasn't easy. Ignoring him never was.

"No, just after we were there, or before we arrived. Still. The point stands." He headed out of the apartment door and waited for her to exit before shutting it, his hip bumping her arse lightly as he did, constantly and purposefully just a little too far into her space.

It wasn't exactly hard to notice, the way he seemed to be occupying the air around her, always close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him. As they got into the elevator, she had to keep herself from letting her mind tumble into the gutter. She couldn't help it. She supposed that was probably the point.

He slipped an arm around her in the elevator, drawing patterns across her hip, intent to keep what he was sure was an uncomfortable ache between her legs alive for the entirety of their trip.

"Two can play at that game, you know," she murmured as the doors closed, her eyes sliding up to him, still a little dark. "Watch your step."

"Is that a threat?" he rumbled, amused, his hand sliding under her shirt to brush against her lower stomach.

"Absolutely," she returned, leaning against him as the doors opened again, for the lobby. Two low-ranking peons got in, chattering amongst themselves. It was likely they hadn't even recognized the pair of them.

"Don't like the taste of your own medicine?" he murmured in her ear, tracing her beltline with soft fingers before pulling away as the elevator door opened on the parking garage. He stepped out.

She shouldered past the chatting morons standing in her way to catch up with him. "What medicine would that be, again?"

"I'll give you a hint. It's silver, circular, and fit on my cock," he shot dryly in her direction, first making sure that no one would hear him speak.

"Oh, you mean _Jim's_ medicine," she laughed, following him to his favorite Jag. "When do you think he measured you, by the way? Or do you think he was willing to risk getting one too small?"

"I think that he has an incredible eye for size," he retorted. "Look how well the clothes he got you fit. And I didn't hear you complaining about his medicine. You seemed quite pleased." He opened the rear door and tossed the bag in.

"I wasn't going to throw a fit if _you_ weren't," she shook her head, climbing into the passenger seat. She waited for him to get in to speak again. "And hey, anybody trussing you up like a Christmas present for me is bound to make me happy. I mean, sure, would I normally rather _be_ bound..."

"Then consider this your bondage," he smirked, climbing in and starting the car, heading for the exit with a squeal of tires. "Wound up like a spring with nowhere to go."

"I don't suppose you're the kind of man to crash the car just to spite me if I started to get myself off now?" she grinned, drumming her fingers on her knee. Then she laughed. "Christ, this is almost like Italy, isn't it?"

"No, I am not," he returned levelly, no indications of his intentions one way or the other in his voice. "And yes, it is." A slight smirk.

She chuckled, leaning back in her seat and trying not to rub her thighs together. "Do you ever wonder what that Don is up to now?"

"We should go find out some day. Pay him a visit. It'd be fun. You could lose at poker again," he smirked.

"We're trading in sexual favors this time. I'm not risking anything as broad as a _dare_ again, holy hell," she snorted, shaking her head.

"I still have one," he reminded her, a hint of smugness in his voice. He watched her shift her position for the sixth time that minute. "Tad fidgety, are we?"

"I don't know what you're referring to," she said blankly, shifting again to cross her legs.

"Of course you don't," he said with a grin, reaching out to put a broad hand on her shoulder. "See? You're all tense," he sighed, starting to massage it gently.

At first she tensed up even more just to spite him, but then she sighed and relaxed into it, beginning to wish very much that they were no longer in a car. "Yeah, okay, fine, I'm tense. It happens."

"Has to be uncomfortable," he returned as he slowed behind a line of cars at a stoplight, hand shifting down along her arm.

"Remember how I tore the stuffing out of your sofa that one time? And how I warned you that I would do that in a car?" she raised an eyebrow, though her fingers were twisted into the hem of her hoodie.

"Seats can be fixed," he said with a shrug, fingers trailing over from her arm to her knee, rubbing gently.

"Sebastian, I swear to god," she muttered, though there wasn't any bitterness to it - it was beginning to edge on needy. "You're a cruel, cruel man, you know that?"

"God isn't going to help you here," he retorted, fingers tracing the seam of her jeans up the inside of her thigh. "And I try."

She let out a quiet little sigh, shifting a little impatiently, before she looked over at him again. "How about you relent on trying to get me soaked before I even get into that jacuzzi, and my poor little heart won't give out in anticipation of a third orgasm today?"

He sighed. "It's so much _fun_ though," he grumbled, relenting and letting his hand drop, turning down the street for the apartment.

"I know, I know, believe me," she snorted, rolling her eyes.

He pulled into the parking garage and pulled into his spot, grabbing the bag from the back and waiting for Lorna to exit before locking up.

She had a distinct bounce in her step as they headed for the door. She loved living with Sebastian, but the fact was they both could never be completely relaxed in HQ, where any minute they might be called upon, or someone could, conceivably, pull a gun on them. And not everything had been perfect here, either, but there had been less fights here in comparison to pleasantness, and that was something she could get behind. "You know, I may actually be in a wine kind of mood. God, I'm aging. Help me," she shook her head, waiting for him to unlock the door.

"I don't think there's anything to be done," he sighed, keying into his flat. "You're old. It's all over. Nothing but wine and complaints about bad knees to look forward to now."

She groaned, stepping into the flat with sagging shoulders. "God, this is too soon. I'm like, twenty-six. Five? Seven? I don't know, I lost track after twenty-three," she shook her head, kicking off her shoes as she walked and leaving them strewn behind her.

"It only gets worse once you're thirty," he returned cheerfully, heading for the kitchen to find something decent on the wine rack.

"Christ, don't _tell_ me. At least let me be disappointed when the time comes instead of dreading it now," she huffed, trailing after him. "And get something expensive. I want to drink money."

He laughed, grabbing a bottle he'd been gifted by a grateful side-employer a few years back and reading the label before nodding and opening the drawer to find the corkscrew. "I forget how young you are sometimes. It's fucking hilarious."

"Oh, shut up, you're not that much older than me," she rolled her eyes, leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen. "How is it funny, anyways?"

"I have, by your estimation, seven to nine years on you. That's enough." He opened the bottle and set it down to breathe while he hunted down glasses. "I'm not sure why it's funny. It just is."

"Please, I've dated men twice my age. Men old enough to be my father," she scoffed, watching him lazily, with a sense of appreciation that this was the one she'd gotten caught up with.

He poured them both generous glasses. "I know that. I'm just saying that I find it entertaining how young and naive you are," he teased, handing her a glass and heading for the main room. "Jacuzzi?"

"When is the answer no?" she laughed, following him with her glass in hand. "And I'm going to have to say that I'm probably more jaded than you. You're the optimist in this relationship."

He headed for his bedroom, and through to the large bathroom, setting the bottle of wine and his glass on the sink and reaching over to turn on the tap in the jacuzzi. "Me, an optimist. That's a stretch."

She set her glass down by his and started to strip. "But me, a pessimist? Dead on," she pointed out, tossing her shirt out in the general direction of the bed in the bedroom.

"That is true," he conceded, undressing. He didn't remember the fact that he'd re-carved some of the words on his stomach until he took his shirt off, and decided his best play was to pretend like it wasn't there.

She noticed it immediately - how could she not, the way she looked at him? "What happened?" she frowned, stepping forward a tapping a finger to his abdomen, just below the new cuts.

"Hmm?" he asked, reaching over to test the water temperature, ignoring the pointed tap as he raised the heat of the incoming water a little and turned on the bubblers.

She settled her hands on his muscular hips, thumb stretching a little to brush ever so slightly on the broken skin. "This. What happened?" she asked again, kissing his shoulder once absently before resting her cheek there. "I'm not going to yell or anything."

He snorted air through his nose. "You aren't that intimidating when you do, anyway," he retorted, adjusting the jets a bit before pulling away just enough to step in and sink into the water with a sigh, reaching up to tug on her hand a bit and invite her in.

She let herself be gently tugged in, sinking down after him with a similar sigh before she twisted and leaned up to grab both of their glasses. She handed his to him and then settled back with hers. "You're still deflecting me."

"Noticed, did you?" He accepted his wine and considered leaving it at that, but sighed and shrugged. "Hadn't been cut into like that for a while," he muttered, tapping his cheek. "It felt good."

She let out a quiet sigh, settling down in the warm water and taking a sip from her glass. "I'm not thrilled, don't get me wrong, but I can understand," she said, shaking her head a little. "As long as you don't start relying on it again. I don't want either one of us to be forcibly stuffed back into the infirmary for observation."

"Noted," he said quietly, taking a sip of wine and shifting to center his back over a jet. He wasn't concerned. He'd stopped himself earlier. He could do it again.

She let herself relax with a soft sigh. "God, I missed this bathtub. What a marvel of modern technology."

He nodded. "It is nice. Relieves tension." He smirked into his wine glass.

"Oh my god," she rolled her eyes, flicking water at him. "Don't do this to me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he snorted imperiously.

"Liar," she smirked, elbowing him ever so slightly.

"You're one to talk," he smirked, not giving her the satisfaction of rubbing his ribs. He drained his wine glass and set it aside for the time being.

"Well, I lie for a living," she snorted, shrugging. She didn't hurry with her glass, and she knew exactly what she was doing. She smirked.

"I'm well aware," he retorted, studying her while she doddled. The scar across her face had silvered now, and was slowly fading, but it was still very visible, and he knew it would be for a while to come, if not forever. It didn't bother him, in fact he rather liked it, but he knew she disliked it.

She was not as comfortable being watched as she had used to be. Time was that she had been completely fine with it, even enjoyed it. She'd been confident then in her looks, that it didn't matter what the lighting was, that she'd always been prettier than the other women around her. Now, when she felt eyes on her, she felt the scars burned onto her face, on her shoulders and back and running down her body. All she could think that people were staring at them. She downed the rest of her wine.

He saw the hint of a flush in her cheeks, and frowned, watching as she downed the wine. "Alright?"

"Yeah," she cleared her throat, setting her glass aside. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit," he said, frowning and sitting up enough to catch her eye when she turned away.

She let out a quiet sigh, and leaned back again, running a hand over her face. Her fingers trailed over the scar that crossed nearly the entirety of her face, crossing her nose and ending just above her jawline. "I... I don't particularly enjoy being looked at anymore."

He considered that for a few moments. "I enjoy looking at you," he said quietly. "You're beautiful. Your scars add to it."

"I know they don't bother you," she murmured, shaking her head a little. She couldn't really look at him. "But they just.. I hate them."

"Why?" he asked bluntly, though her words sparked an unusual bout of sympathy in him. He hated seeing her upset, and it was obvious that this was something that had been bothering her for a long time.

"I don't know," she whispered, drawing her knees up to her chest. "I'm used to being... flawless. Physically. Now I'm damaged. Everyone can see the reminders of the awful shit that has happened to me."

He considered that for a while, mulled it over. He wasn't a man who was good with words. They weren't his forte. They were hers. He wasn't comfortable with more than a few of them at a time, and rarely did they convey what he wanted them to. This rarely bothered him; he was a man of distance, of destruction. He could will his meaning into physical being with a bullet or a knife, when he really needed to.

But right now, for once, he wished that he had a tongue that was more adept at expressing the images that played through his mind. A way to tell her that the scars weren't imperfections, they weren't damage, not unless she let them become so. They were the weathering of a stream on a boulder, the bruising char of fire on a tree that still stood. They were a defiance against what could have been, against fate and nature. A mark that screamed _victor_ , not _victim._

But he wasn't a man of words, and she couldn't read his mind, so instead he shifted and reached out to pull her against his side, and pressed his lips and nose to the top of her head. "Fuck that. Who gives a shit what they think?"

She leaned into him, taking a deep, shuddering breath. Christ, did she love him. "Me, sometimes, I suppose," she chuckled quietly.

"Well, I don't. So sod them, and trust me on this one, alright?" he muttered. "And enjoy the damned jacuzzi."

"Yeah, okay," she chuckled, nesting him a little more.

He smirked just a bit, rubbing her back. "Much better."

"This place has a habit of our work seem.. further away, doesn't it?" she murmured thoughtfully, shifting into a more comfortable position, her arm stretched out along the back of the tub; he was hot as fuck, and the hot tub was just making her warmer. It wasn't often she had warmth to spare.

"That is sort of the point," he deadpanned, his hand finding the back of her neck and massaging gently, letting the heat and his fingers loosen knots.

"Yeah, but it's... hmph..." she lost her words for a second as he started to work on a particularly bad knot, then regained her train of thought. "For us, it seems to be that work is just... always present, you know? We go out to eat and we have to worry about kidnapping. In your quarters at HQ, there's always like, a bombing threat. Here... I don't know."

He shrugged a little, thumb rubbing over the tight muscles. "Yeah. I guess that's true. It's my sanctuary. Has been since I bought it."

She made a small content sound in response, eyes closed, melting back into his hand. "Mm, you keep that up, I'm going to pass out on you before you get to cash in on your freebie night."

"If that's the case I didn't do nearly a good enough job of winding you up," he chuckled, the hand remaining on her neck, but another slipping down beneath the water to find her thigh.

"You did a fine job. But wine and a jacuzzi? That's going to unwind anyone," she smirked, looking up at him through her lashes.

He nodded just a little, drawing circles on the inside of her leg absently. "It's unwound me a bit, too, to be honest," he grunted, head flopping back against the edge of the tub.

"Good," she chuckled, giving him a cheeky smirk. "Being tense after the day you've had is just going to make it hard to sit tomorrow."

"Carefully, or I'll put you right there with me," he warned, not bothering to open his eyes.

"I've been made too sore to sit right by you more times than I can count, that's not really a threat," she pointed out, lifting a hand to run a finger across his collarbone.

He felt goosebumps rising up under her finger. "Reasonable," he admitted grudgingly, an arm slipping around her waist.

She grinned. "I know. I think I'm pretty good at reminding people unfortunate truths, don't you?" She loved it when he put an arm around her waist like that; she felt an odd mixture of safe and a little bit pleased, both because of the possibility of it (it wasn't like she got picked up and pinned to the nearest surface every day) and because it made her feel like they were solid, that all was good between them. And it made her feel like she was his. With her doubts about Jim that was even more important.

"I'd go so far as to call it a talent," he chuckled, shaking his head a little and, with a light tug, shifting her up onto his lap.

"Oh, good," she hummed, as if she hadn't just been deposited into his lap, "I love hearing about my talents."

His hands found her hips at either side, and he bent slightly to press his lips to the back of her neck. "That's because you have a dangerous ego issue," he retorted against her skin, teeth scraping.

A very noticeable shiver ran down her spine, and she had to stop herself from rocking back into him. "I don't know if _dangerous_ is the word I'd use," she mumbled. " _Non-existent,_ maybe."

"Is that so?" he asked, grinning against the back of her neck, hands sliding over her abdomen as he pulled her closer to him. "I don't know... I'm certainly an egomaniac, I thought for sure you were in my ranks, what with all your boasting points."

"It's not boasting if it's the truth," she smirked, dragging her nails up his thigh under the water. "Are there any bonuses for being in the club, though?"

He sighed through his nose, a low growl sounding in his chest as her nails scraped against him. "One or two," he murmured, hands closing around the inside of her thighs and lifting her, sliding her back further until her arse brushed his stomach, his cock rubbing against her skin.

"Such as?" she hummed, leaning back against his chest, studiously pretending that she didn't want to grind down on him, and that his hands weren't inches from where she wanted them to be.

He rolled his hips up against her slowly, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. "Membership benefits include me cooking for you and sharing my jacuzzi."

"What's this, then? A sneak peek?" she murmured, pretending a little less studiously, barely suppressing a shudder.

"Got to get you interested somehow," he pointed out. "Sign up now and see where full membership takes you."

She chuckled. "Alright, but only because that sentence was so masterfully crafted. I don't think you really had to work to get me _interested,_ though."

"True," he grinned, lifting her hips and shifting a hand down to line his dick up with her entrance. "So anyway, ready for membership?"

"Just fuck me, already," she groaned, leaning her head back against his shoulder and turning a little to bite the corner of his jaw.

He laughed, but pushed into her without further patter, his hips circling slowly beneath hers.

She took in a sharp breath, arching off him a little, a little sensitive from earlier in the day but still hungry for more.

He placed a hand on her center back, leaning her forward a little and groaning as she tightened around him as a result, his hand following her spine down below the water and then skirting out to her hip again as he buried himself within her fully, taking a moment to appreciate the feeling.

It really wasn't very often that they slowed down enough to bother to savor the moment, to really drown themselves in the sensation. "Christ, you feel good," she moaned, circling her hips down onto him, the on-the-edge-of-cool water a stark contrast to the burning heat of him.

He smirked just a little, starting to roll his hips slowly. "I should hope so," he returned, broad shoulders rolling back against the porcelain of the tub, muscles flexing in his chest and arms.

She lost the will to make words, reduced to quiet gasps and breathy moans, completely focused on the searing friction, soothing the ache in her core.

He slid a hand over her abdomen, felt her muscles clench and shift as he started to move slowly, for once in the mood to take his time. He pressed his forehead to her back, his lips brushing her spine as he set up a slow rhythm.

It was hard to contain herself. Most times she was too busy occupied keeping herself in the same place, holding on for dear sweet life to squirm, her hand clutching the side of the porcelain tub hard enough to turn her knuckles bone white, moving to the rhythm he set as well as she could without throwing him off with her ever-present urgency.

He could feel the tension throughout her body, energy rolling beneath her skin, but kept control, pushing her forward further in the tub until her balance depended on his grip, starting to slowly roll his hips against her.

She gasped his name, resigning herself to being kept up by his will and his alone, her back arching, a drop of water, or maybe sweat, rolling down her spine, leaving a cold trail. This was what nirvana felt like.

He smiled as she whispered his name, pushing into her a little more firmly in response, adding a bit of force but not speed. He angled his hips so that the tip of his cock pressed against her walls, tracing lines within her as he swayed his hips forward and back against hers, the water swirling around them.

Slowly but surely he was building her up towards the end, her heart beating hard in her chest until she was sure he could hear it, feel it, biting her lip as he changed angles and holding back a needy whimper.

He shifted until he could kneel, bury himself in her deeper. A hand reached forward to grasp her neck, fingers tracing the thin scar his knife had left running across it. He pressed his knees outward against the inside of her thighs, spreading her further and allowing him to reach just a bit deeper, the arm around her waist holding her up and against him firmly.

She grabbed his wrist like a lifeline, her breath coming harsh even before he had a hand on her throat, another spark of electricity shooting down her spine. "Seb, Seb, fuck," she gasped, a hand going behind her to claw at his side, uncontrolled.

He gripped her throat a bit tighter as she scratched him, letting out a low, growling moan as she called his name. He finally allowed his pace to pick up, the water around them sloshing in response. "Christ, you feel good," he hissed in her ear between clenched teeth.

She couldn't find the words to respond, just arching further, changing the angle again and nearly crying out until it caught in her throat and all she could manage was a low moan. She finally found her voice. "Seb, fuck, I'm close, I'm close," she panted, her voice strained, thighs shaking.

He allowed himself a bit more momentum, his grip on her tightening as he approached the edge as well. His nails scraped across her throat. "What the fuck... are you waiting for then?" he asked, voice strained.

She came at the scratch of his nails, her own scoring marks down his arm, her lips parting in a soundless cry, burning up from the inside from the heat of him.

The wave of molten energy that flowed out of her and over him sent him spiraling without a chance of recovery, and a few seconds later he came, shouting her name as he buried himself deep within her, the water from the tub sloshing dangerously close to the edge.

She slumped back against him, heart still beating hard against her rib cage, the cooling water a balm on her hot, sweaty skin. "Shit," she breathed, resting her head back on his shoulder. "I feel like I'm going to melt, now."

He could feel her pulse pounding against his chest, making him feel like he had two heartbeats rather than one. He grunted his agreement with her commentary, leaning back against the side of the tub. "You know, I design this lovely apartment, state of the art entertainment systems, game room, stocked bar, and all you and I ever seem to do is fuck in th' jacuzzi."

"That's a lie and you know it. You design this lovely apartment, state of the art entertainment systems, game room, so on and so forth, and all you and I ever seem to do is fuck _after leaving_ the jacuzzi. We're usually a little more patient," she snorted, chuckling wearily.

"Are you calling me a liar, Harrison?" he drawled, staring up at his ceiling absently.

"I'm not calling you a liar, just don't lie to me," she smirked, shrugging just a little.

He nipped the back of her neck as a retort.

"Fine. All we ever seem to do is use the jacuzzi and fuck, and sometimes there is overlap. Better, Ms. Details?"

"Much better," she agreed, smirking to herself. "But fine, I'll concede that maybe we should spend a little less time in those two categories. A _little_ less. But we have so little time here, it's a little difficult to achieve."

"I wasn't complaining," he retorted. "I was commenting." He shifted her out of his lap, standing with a grunt and a stretch.

She got up too, with a little more effort, her legs still not working quite properly, and stumbling a little out of the tub and grabbing a towel. "Oh, I'm hoping you weren't planning on anything after this, because I'm a little orgasmed-out."

"I wasn't, no," he snickered, drying his hair before wrapping the towel around his waist and grabbing the bottle of wine. He poured them both another glass of wine before heading out into the bedroom with his glass and the bottle.

She trailed after him, the towel wrapped around her chest. She took a sip from her wine glass. "You know, I don't have the patience for wine most times. I forget how much I like it."

He nodded a little in agreement. "It certainly isn't my favorite, but every once in a while it certainly is enjoyable." He headed through the bedroom, out into the apartment proper, walking down the steps and then over to the wall of windows, opening the curtains to reveal the night landscape of London.

She followed him down, stopping next to him, still wrapped in a fluffy white towel. She took a sip of wine, eyes on the city in front of them. "London is still my favorite city, I think. Above Paris, certainly. Too many French people there."

He shook his head. "Not mine, though I do enjoy it," he said, walking over to sit on a leather couch facing the windows.

"Which one is yours, then?" she prompted, staying where she was, wet-tipped hair pulled over her shoulder. The night was surprisingly clear - she could see farther into the city than normal.

"Portland," he said, zero inflection in his voice to indicate whether or not he was serious. He took a slow sip of wine.

"Portland? I've never been that far west. Most of the work I've done in America was for Armetti, and New York City is a big place. I don't know if I've ever gone farther than Detroit," she murmured, deciding to take him seriously. She got the feeling with him that he liked to let the truth out when it was least likely to be that - true. And he had the tendency to tell her surprising things. She wondered if even Jim knew what she did about his life. She had a twinge of jealousy at the thought that maybe Sebastian had told him, too.

He shrugged. "Jim had business there a few years before you came around. Spent about a month there. We had a good time." He set his glass aside, standing up to walk over and wrap his arms around her from behind.

The mild sting from his words was soothed by the physical contact, and she sighed, leaning back against him a little. "Don't get me wrong, I love the traveling part of our jobs," she finished off the last of her wine, "But, I don't know. This is just home. Spent all my formative years here and whatnot. Plus, it'd be a pain visiting the family on Christmas if I lived anywhere else. They're certainly not going to climb out of the ground and get on a plane."

He chuckled a little, resting his rough-shaved chin on her damp head. "I was not suggesting we move to Portland. London is fine." He took her wine glass out of her hand and stole a sip, handing it back.

"Hmmph, like Jim would ever let us _move,"_ she snorted, watching the blinking lights of a plane pass slowly by. "Anyway, I wasn't being defensive or anything. Just thinking aloud." _Something that I didn't think I'd ever be able to do with you around._

"Mmm..." he said, straightening and smacking her arse lightly as he headed for the wine bottle to refill his glass, before turning to offer her the last few inches with a raised eyebrow.

"Nah, I'm good," she shook her head, finishing off the last of her wine. She didn't want to get beyond tipsy tonight. There was nothing she had to cover up with drinking.

He shrugged, pouring it all into his glass and sitting again and stretching out across the couch, leaving a spot for her next to him if she wanted.

She came over a moment later, sinking down next to him, quiet for a moment. As much as she was stupidly, stupidly jealous of Jim and Seb's working/sexual relationship, she found it hard to imagine a moment like this between the two of them. Just idle quiet. No agendas, no goals. She leaned her head against his shoulder, shutting her eyes with a sigh. "Fuck, I'm tired."

"Sleep, then," he says with a chuckle, shifting an arm around her and closing his own eyes. "Or do you want to go to bed?"

"I don't care, all your furniture is equally comfortable," she murmured, and then wanted to kick herself for wondering if he knew what Jim's furniture was like.

 _Stop being so paranoid._

 _How?_

"I think you just insulted my bed," he snorted, shifting up over her to get to the floor and scooping her up, heading for his room.

"I did no such thing," she grumbled, not at all phased by being carried, even up stairs. She'd spent a lot of time while recovering from muscle atrophy and starvation being carried about places by him, and it wasn't as if it was a completely rare occurrence before then.

He elbowed the door to his room open and walked in, tossing her onto the bed playfully and flopping down next to her.

She yawned and tossed her towel off to the side, rolling over to snuggle up to him, already half-asleep. "Just so you know, if Jim ever shows up here looking for a threesome, I will not be engaging. I love you and this apartment but for god's sake I don't wanna deal with the physical representation of the job here. I'll put on loud music and drown you two out or something."

He had already closed his eyes, but opened them to observe her incredulously. "Where the fuck did _that_ come from?" he asked with a snort, trying to ignore how casually she'd tossed out the phrase that they- or at least he- still danced around.

Her eyes were still closed. She hadn't wanted to meet his eyes before she said it, and now she wanted to even less. "I don't know, nowhere in particular."

" _Some_ where in particular. Don't fucking bullshit me," he snorted gruffly, sitting up and away from her so that he could consider her with more ease.

She groaned, leaning heavily back against the couch, eyes still stubbornly closed. "If you know it's in particular, don't make me _say_ it. I don't want to say it. Christ."

"I don't know what the fuck it's particular _to_ ," he snorted. "So cut the passive-aggressive fuckery."

"I am _not_ being passive aggressive," she retorted, finally cracking open her eyes to squint at him. "I'm _jealous,_ Sebastian, okay? I can't help it. I can't compete with Jim."

" _Jesus_ ," he sighed, getting up out of bed and heading out of the room, grabbing a robe on the way out.

Her stomach made a sickening drop, and she rolled onto her side, pulling the covers up until they were untucked and piled lopsidedly on top of her. She didn't know what to think of his reaction; just that she was stuck with the awful feeling of wanting to be somewhere else and not being able to make herself leave.

He put some music on low downstairs and poured himself an impressive glass of whiskey. _Jealous. Jealous of Jim._

He would have liked to have blamed her, but really, he couldn't. If she were dating someone like Jim, he'd have probably killed the person.

She kept herself from breaking down into anxious tears, curling up further and burrowing into the pillows, and started to try and will herself to sleep. Less thinking happened when she was asleep. Less idiotic things came out of her mouth.

He took his time and a few records to work his way through his drink. He had little doubt that she was upset he left, but he was pleased to find he didn't particularly care. His bout of dependence on her had been waning, and he was finally regaining his ability to detach.

Sleep was hard to come by when she felt so trapped; too afraid to leave, too afraid of what he might do to stay. She sat up, leaning back against the headboard with a thump hard enough to hurt a little. She raked a hand through her hair, trying to ignore the nervous rhythm of her heart. She'd thought she was over this fear of how he might react to certain things she said. She guessed not.

He stood, finally, setting his glass on the end table. He paused to consider the wood through the condensation-speckled glass, a momentary gathering of thought. Then he headed back towards the stairs. He took his time walking up, each step quiet and measured. He reached his room and pushed inside. Despite the darkness he could tell that she wasn't asleep, could hear the short breaths, could almost imagine the rapid pounding of her heart.

She could see him better than he could see her - her eyes had adjusted to the oppressive darkness in his absence, and she could tell by the tilt of his head he wasn't exactly certain where she was. She didn't mind that. Still, she made a slight shift in position, just enough to rustle the sheets a little, cluing him in. She didn't lay back down, though, just stayed leaning against the headboard, eyes drifting up to the nearly-black ceiling.

He walked over to his side of the bed, climbing in and laying down, pulling the blankets up. "Do stop panicking, will you?"

She snorted, not bothering to look down at his dark form, her stomach twisting unpleasantly. Why did he have to pretend that the way he acted wouldn't have repercussions on her? "I wouldn't, if you didn't fucking react like that. How I am _supposed_ to act after that? Would you rather I was angry? Hysterical? You made me tell you what was bothering me, and then you do that. The only appropriate reaction is fear. But I guess that's just a little too raw, isn't it."

"Don't turn this around on me," he growled, a warning tone in his voice. "You're _jealous_ of Jim? I asked you, when this started. I have given you nothing but... but _unparalleled_ courtesy in this situation. If you're jealous then you should have told me _long_ before it became a problem."

She made a frustrated noise, raking a hand through her hair. "Sebastian, I'm not saying it's _your_ fault. I didn't tell you because it's _not your problem._ You think I wouldn't have said something if I wanted something different? I'm far too selfish for that. But this... I didn't think it was worth bringing up." She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I'm not trying to turn this around on you. I _am_ saying it would be nice if you could just say this _first_ instead of disappearing for half an hour and giving me cardiac arrest."

"Well, you react your way, I react mine. The fact that you could even consider Jim to be a threat to..." He gave a broad wave of his hand and snorted. "Ridiculous."

She was quiet for a moment, her stomach settling a little. "He's a genius, and a sadist, and our boss. It might be ridiculous to view him as a threat, but..." she gave a helpless shrug. "It didn't help that before we killed Magnussen and fucked in the basement he asked me, rather aggressively, whether or not I'd be jealous if he fucked you." She let out a tiny, tired chuckle. "Damn that memory of mine."

He took a slow breath. "Do you want to change the situation at all? Or is this a pointless conversation?"

"I don't know, Seb. I really haven't given it all that much thought," she sighed wearily, shifting to lie down finally. "I can't predict how I'll feel tomorrow about breakfast, let alone this. I think it's best just to leave it for now."

"Good, great. Now that we all feel so much better, go to sleep," he muttered, rolling away from her and closing his eyes.

She tried not to feel stung and failed, curling up into a ball about as far away from him as she could manage without falling off the bed, respecting his obvious need for space. At least _her_ jealousy hadn't manifested into accusing him of loving Jim.

He was quiet for a long time, drifting in and out of sleep. Every time he thought he was finally drifting off, he found himself suddenly awake, as if he'd never been dozing.

Finally, he rolled over and pulled the lump of Lorna into his arms. He was asleep in two minutes.

She fell asleep as soon as he did, soothed by his unexpected, warm embrace, and that if he was willing to drift off in at least the same bed as her, things were alright.

* * *

Playlist: Cat Pierce - You Belong To Me


	78. Picture Of Domesticity

He woke in the early hours of the morning, eyes drifting open of their own accord, but didn't move, not yet. Soon he'd go work out for a while, he could already tell there was no point in sleeping any more, but for the moment he was comfortable.

She shifted about fifteen minutes later, burrowing into his chest sleepily, the previous night's argument forgotten for the moment, his warmth more important. "What time is it?" she yawned, since he was almost definitely awake.

"About three," he said quietly, finger tracing patterns on her shoulder blade.

"In the _morning?_ Eugh," she groaned, sighing into his chest, quietly enjoying his touch.

"Go back to sleep," he suggested, smirking a bit.

"Gladly," she muttered, nestling into him a little more and promptly dropping off back asleep.

He waited until she was soundly out before he slid out of bed, heading for his dojo to work out for a few hours.

* * *

When she woke up a few hours later, she was just mildly alarmed that he wasn't in bed with her anymore, and his spot on the bed was cold. She got up with a quiet grunt and slid out of bed, deciding to make her way down to the kitchen. He would turn up. Right?

He was sitting at the breakfast table with a mug of tea. He'd showered in the downstairs bathroom and was still in a robe, short hair sticking out a bit at odd angles as he read the Times on a tablet.

She fought the urge to smile as she saw him, the picture of domestic fucking bliss, tousled and yet alert. "Morning. For real, this time," she murmured instead of smiling, passing him to head for the fridge.

"Morning," he agreed, if only to the time, taking a sip out of his mug. The tea had gone lukewarm a while ago but he wasn't particularly interested, his attention on the article.

"She got elected. My sister."

She paused, leaning against the fridge with a carton of milk in her hands, eyes on the tablet that she could just see peeking over his shoulder. She didn't say the first thought that came to her head, or the second, which were respectively _Yikes,_ and _Shit._

"Is Jim going to use her?"

It was a stupid question.

"No, he's developed a habit for letting perfectly good assets with accessible pressure points lie about being wasted," he retorted, expression unaltered despite the sarcasm.

"She has pressure points? Like what, her tendency to throw civilians unauthorized into solitary confinement or her rapist father? Yeah, because those have ended political careers in the past," she sighed, unfreezing to move and grab a box of cereal and a bowl to pour it into. "I hope he knows better than to assign us to anything involving her."

"Lesser things have brought better politicians than her to their knees. It all depends on the presentation. Jim's good at that sort of thing." He finally gave up on his tepid cuppa, standing to go dump it out. "Or do you doubt his abilities?"

She gave him a look over her bowl of cereal, which she was eating while leaning against the counter. "You're asking me that after last night? Really?"

He shrugged, not bothering to look her way as he poured new water into his mug from the kettle. "You're not always incredibly logical."

She snorted, steadily feeling more annoyed. But she knew better than to speak up about it, not while he was thinking about his sister. She knew better than to speak up about it _period,_ if she was being honest. So she said nothing, eating her cereal in a silence just short of sullen.

He glanced over at her, wondering if this apartment was bad luck. They always seemed to fight, here. He took a breath, deciding to move the conversation forward. "I'll need to go discuss this with Jim."

She nodded, finishing up her cereal and turning to wash it in the sink. "Yeah, I figured," she said, a little tonelessly, still stuffing down the annoying persistent bitterness lurking in her chest. "If he needs my department, I'll go sort it myself. No way I'm leaving that shit up to chance."

He stands, bringing his plate to the sink and pausing to consider her, before leaning down to kiss the side of her neck, as close to a silent apology as he would likely ever stray. Then he headed for the bedroom to shower and change.

She stood there for a moment in shock, her face suddenly too warm. She waited for the blush to leave her cheeks before she followed, feeling absolutely ridiculous, and far too pleased. She managed not to pull her shirt on backwards, though.

He came out a few moments later, freshly shaven, securing the last button of his shirt. "Let's go," he said, passing her and heading for the stairs. "Today might turn into an interesting one if we play our cards right."

"Certainly have been a lack of those, lately," she sighed, following and trotting down the stairs behind him. "Honestly, I'm afraid I'll lose my touch."

"Well, hopefully we'll get a chance soon," he said, grabbing the keys off the hook and heading out the door, waiting for her to follow before locking up. "I've been stuck indoors for far too long."

"I've noticed. You actually don't even have your sniper's tan anymore," she smirked, leading the way to the car, now that she had a couple steps on him.

"Don't worry, I'll get my attractive raccoon mask and farmer's tan back shortly," he snorted, the car lights flashing as he pressed the 'unlock' button on the key fob.

* * *

Thirty minutes later he was standing outside of Jim's office, reaching up to knock briskly. He almost didn't want to know. Didn't want to find out what the psychopath had planned for his sister, because he was almost certain that Jim wouldn't even try to resist the temptation to place Moran on the assignment.

"Come in, Moran. I've been expecting you," Jim called lazily from his desk, scrolling through a report in his email about something he didn't really particularly care about. He had an itch he couldn't scratch about this latest project, and he was devouring other, extraneous bits of information in the hopes to sate his thirst. It wasn't working all that well. A pity for Harrison.

He headed inside, closing the door behind him and walking over to stand at ease in front of the desk. "How are you, this morning, sir?"

"Good. A little restless, maybe. Things are never quite moving _fast_ enough for me," he smiled pleasantly, for once without an edge to his voice. He wasn't going to give this job to Moran because he wanted to see the sniper uncomfortable; he was giving it to him because there weren't many people he could trust to keep their loyalty _and_ their wits about them on a long-haul like this. And someone had to make Harrison look a little more normal. It started to grate on him when Moran paced too much. "I'm sure you've seen the newspaper today. You're fairly good at keeping up to date on things. The good news is that I have a job for you. The bad news is that you're not likely to enjoy it."

"That's why I'm here, boss," Moran sighed. "I saw this coming as soon as I read it. What's the game?" He walked over to sit across from Jim, raising an eyebrow as he waited to be filled in.

He nodded, turning off his computer monitor. "Your sister was elected, yes, but she's never held a position in Parliament before. A municipal position is a much, much smaller pond, and she's not a very big fish. I'm sending Harrison in to spy for her. Sara is going to need a lot of leverage if we're going to get anywhere worthwhile, so at least one of you will have to report to her regularly. You'll be posing as a married couple in the top 1%. I'd let you pretend to be siblings, but I can't have somebody walking in on the two of you fucking like guinea pigs in some alcove or another," he snorted with amusement, and leaned down to grab a bottle of bourbon and a couple of glasses from a cabinet by his desk. He poured them both a splash. Moran looked like he needed it.

"Dig up as many dirty secrets as possible, and do whatever Sara tells you to do, as long as it's in reason. I'll recall you when I've got my claws in a few other politicians. Questions?"

"Yes. Are you sure you wouldn't rather I spell out one of the live-in torture corpses?" he asked dryly, taking the bourbon and downing it quickly. He didn't let his expression change, but he felt like his guts had been dipped in liquid nitrogen and shattered.

He considered the man across from him for a long moment, tapping the pads of his fingers silently against his desk. "I want you to know I'm not giving you this job to fuck with you. I'm giving it to you because there's no one else I trust with it."

He took a slow breath, rolling the empty glass around in his fingers and trying not to be surprised. Not by Jim's reasoning- he knew when Jim was trying to fuck with him, this wasn't it- but that Jim went so far as to clarify. To care what he thought. It was unusual to say the least.

"I know that. If I thought you were trying to screw me over I would be a lot less calm than this. I know I need to do it. But like you said. I'm not going to enjoy it. Remotely."

"Hmmph," he snorted, downing a big sip of bourbon. "The two of you will be just peas in a pod, then, won't you? I don't doubt that a few there would recognize Harrison, if she wasn't so drastically different. Either way. I've already bought a good townhouse not five blocks from Parliament. Try not to bring any rifles with you. You wouldn't want someone walking in on your gun collection during a _fundraising_ event, now would we?"

"I'll say I do skeet-shooting and support gun rights," he shot back, standing. "Unless there's anything else, sir?"

He gave a slight flick of his wrist. "No, you're dismissed. I expect you to be moving in by tomorrow, though. I've already had things sent."

He nodded just a little. "I'll read over the documents and let you know if I have any questions. Also unless you have objections I'll be placing Evans at the head of your personal security while I'm gone. He does good work."

Jim shook his head. "No, I've no objections. You know your staff," he stated, turning his computer monitor back on. A signal to leave.

He took it without objection, walking out of the office and heading for the grifting department. He grabbed a fire extinguisher off of the wall on the way, thunking it down on Lorna's desk as he approached. "Brought you a present."

She snatched the paper she was writing on out from under the extinguisher just before it touched home, giving him a mildly exasperated look. "Thanks, but ours were filled up... two weeks ago. Sorry, we have to do it so fucking often I forget. Might as well hire the damned fire department," she snorted, folding up the paper in her hands into a paper airplane. As Kelly passed by, she aimed it at the back of his head. It hit his neck. "Kelly! Fill out that requisition. I have my hands full." He rolled his eyes, but bent to take the form and continued on his way. She returned her attention back to Sebastian.

"I assume you've come to tell me about the job? I just finished reading the report. Too many names on there I'd rather not see, but oh well. You want to look through the ring box with me?"

He shrugged. "Just pick something out. I don't care too much. Once you do, though, come up to the flat. We have a lot of discussing to do if we're going to play married. Need to set a story."

"Right," she muttered distractedly, running her hand through her hair, thinking about the story and going through the box in her head. She stood. "Okay, I'll see you in five to fifteen minutes, depending on how many new rings we've accumulated since I last needed something that would pass a jeweler's inspection."

"Mmm..." he grunted, already on his way for the stairs. This was going to be an interesting few months.

* * *

She ended up picking a silver engagement ring set with a moderately sized ruby, the color of blood. She thought it was appropriate for them. Coincidentally, it was engraved with a tiny S.M. on the side facing her finger. Likely a maker's mark, but nonetheless. No one would ever know about it, so she felt safe enough to get away with it. For the wedding rings, she chose for herself a simple gold band. She headed upstairs after him ten minutes later, a hammered silver ring in her pocket. It was edgier than most of the things in the box (literally), and it would stand out more on his hand.

"Here you are," she hummed as she entered the door. "One fake wedding ring. Had to guess the ring size."

He took it and slid it onto his finger, nodding in approval. "Good eye," he admitted, before returning his attention to the file in his hand. "What's our plan?"

"We're going to be one of those rich couples with far too much money and time on their hands. We'll pretend to be funding your sister, and with money to spare. This will give us a little leverage. Jim's already given us one of his shell companies to work with, in case we need to actually use money." She pulled out a folded piece of paper from her pocket, opening it up and giving it a quick glance. "As for the two of us, we met a couple of years after you left the military - need some kind of explanation for _your_ scars - at... Well, this is where we have to decide whether or not to admit you're a Moran."

"No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "We need to be able to hang my conviction over my sister's head if we need to, and we can't bring that up without sinking me with her if I don't have an alias."

She nodded, moving further into the apartment and sinking onto the couch. "I thought as much. Just felt that we had to at least consider the possibility of using your family's brand name. As for me... I could pull off ex-military in front of someone who hasn't ever served, but to a vet? Absolutely not. I'm leaning towards kidnapping victim."

He considered her. "Could be how we met. Your family had the money, hired me to get you out of whatever situation you'd ended up in after I left the military." He smirked a little. "I can be your knight in shining armor," he drawled.

"Sounds good to me. Saves me the trouble of coming up with an elaborate backstory, gives us both a bit of a sharp edge. I'm only going to call you my shining knight if you're wearing leather, though, just so you know," she smirked, rolling her eyes a little. "Alright, my heroic rescuer, how long have we been blissfully married?"

"Short enough to excuse my nailing you to every available surface, long enough to justify one of us straying if necessary," he sighed. "Where does that leave us?"

"About a year, I'd think," she chuckled, running a hand through her hair. "That seems to be how married couples go, right? I don't know many of them." She let out a breath. "Okay, so that's the most important times for the timetable. What else is there?"

"We're keeping our ages, I assume, to keep things simple... How long should we have known each other?" He reached out to take the file, glancing over it.

"Not too long. Don't want people to doubt us just because my scars seem a little newer. Three years, maybe?" she suggested, shrugging a bit.

He nodded in agreement. "The rest we can just improvise, never had an issue before." He set the file down, and grinned a bit. "So, what ring did I get you?"

She pulled the two out of her pocket, handing them to him with a chuckle, figuring that even if he did see the coincidental S.M. it wasn't the end of the world. "They're beautiful, you really _shouldn't_ have."

"Nothing but the best for you, dearest," he shot back, examining the rings. He saw the initials, but after a moment's pause, decided not to comment, not seriously at least. He liked the idea of having a bit of claim on her. He couldn't resist a quip as he handed it back, however. "Guess I'm keeping my initials."

"It's easiest for both of us, I think," she snorted, sliding them both onto her hand for safekeeping. "I hate it when I'm using an alias and I don't look up when people say the name."

He nodded in agreement, flipping through a few more pages in the file before setting it down. "Man, I am going to hate this."

"Look on the bright side," she sighed, stretching out horizontally on the sofa and making herself comfortable. "There should be lots of political mumbo-jumbo parties, and that means a lot of dresses. Tight ones, usually. Occasionally without underwear."

"That _is_ a bright side," he agreed, fingers tracing along her calf. "Jim wants us to move in ASAP. Today, preferably."

"Hm. I suppose we can manage that. Have to get together some clothes I can't live without..." she muttered distractedly. "Oh, well. I hope it's nice, at least. Had enough shitty apartments for a lifetime."

"We're playing wealthy snobs. I'm sure it's acceptable." He stood, heading for the bedroom to pack his own clothes. "Otherwise where would we entertain?"

She hauled herself up and followed him, making a beeline for the closet. "Good point. Oh, I so look forward to sneaking away from our own party," she smirked, starting to push through the racks of dresses she had.

"Christ, when was the last time you went to a party and weren't trying to grift anyone?" he asked, looking over at her. "I can't remember the last one I went to that wasn't for a job."

"Never," she shook her head, picking out a few dresses and laying them on the bed. "I got into this business really young. Drug trafficking didn't exactly lead to a lot of party opportunities." She turned back to the closet to pull out a garment bag to put her cargo in. "But this won't be so different. Just another style of grifting."

He nodded just a bit. "Someday, we should find a party to crash. No grifting, just enjoying ourselves and getting smashed and dancing and whatever else you do at parties." He started folding shirts carefully.

She smiled, putting the dresses away in her bag. "Sounds good to me. Experience what some of the hubbub's about. Though getting smashed alone with you is usually a pretty good evening. _Can_ you dance, by the way?"

"I suppose you will have to wait and find out," he said, expression revealing nothing as he packed the knife from under his pillow and his favorite hand gun.

The smile turned into a grin. "If you couldn't, you would have told me immediately. Likely with a scoff."

"Alternatively, if I could, I might have done the same," he pointed out, still with no expression as he zipped up his bag, turning to look at her. "Are you going to prattle on all day or are you ready to go?"

"Nothing I say is prattling, just to set the record straight, but yes, I'm ready," she snorted, pulling her bag over her shoulder. "Let's go get settled in, I suppose. At least this one is less likely to be riddled with bugs than Mycroft's."

"There is that," he agreed, grabbing a bottle of scotch and sticking it in his bag as they passed the liquor cabinet. They headed down to the garage, and he walked around a bit before deciding on a black 1980 Firebird near the back. "Seems like the right image," he said, walking to the valet's booth to grab the keys.

"Just a _little_ bit Bond," she chuckled, opening up the door and throwing her stuff in back. "I wonder how the place is going to be decorated. I don't really want to have to change my outwards personality because there's some really strange design choices."

"It was Jim's choices, from what it sounds like. So it's anyone's guess. We can always rearrange." He started the car, waiting for her to climb in before taking off out of the garage.

"I'm happy to leave it up to you. You seem to know what you're doing in those endeavors," she replied, keeping one hand on her seatbelt, just to make herself feel a little more secure. His driving wasn't too exciting in boring cars. In cars like these? She was never sure how he was going to corner.

"I have a feeling you'd have a good eye for it, what with your taste for clothing," he said, stopping for a red and watching a cop car cross the intersection.

"I'm flattered. I'm not completely sure it translates 100% of the time, but it'd be nice if it did," she hummed, though internally wondering whether or not she'd ever really own a flat of her own again. The one across from his at HQ didn't count, and she'd sold her off-site a couple years ago just to stop paying the rent.

"We'll see, I suppose," he said, taking off again and glancing at the street names as they passed. He'd passed by the road of their new address a few times in his treks around the city, but had never been on it. He made the last turn, and found what he expected. A street of stone-hewn townhouses with large gardens, all with delicately 'unique' architecture that was indistinguishable to anyone who wasn't an expert in architecture or a salivating realtor. Number eighty-one was theirs, near to where this street met a round-about of several others, for a quick and confusing escape if necessary.

She didn't know what to think as they pulled up, eyes looking over the well-manicured gardens and wondering who was taking care of them. Anybody with important connections? Or just a lower-class citizen trying to make some good money? "Well, it looks spacious enough for a party, at least. We'll see what the floors are like. It's a pain to get wine out of carpeting," she muttered, getting out of the car, already carrying a tad bit of a different air. Any new neighbors, especially nosy ones, would be instantly curious to see who was moving into their neighborhood. "We never did decide on a last name, by the way."

"No, that's true, we didn't. I'll leave that up to your talents," he said, getting out as well and shutting the door, walking around to offer her his arm, in case anyone was watching. "We need something nice and distinguished. Old money sounding."

"Hmm.." she hummed, taking his arm and starting the walk up to the front stoop. "Madison, perhaps? Harder to get more old money than Moran, to be honest. Oh, oh wait; Morton. That sounds very _us,_ doesn't it?"

"I don't hate it," he said, shrugging and lifting the doorbell to press his thumb against the scanner, watching the light turn green before he opened the door. "What will you be called, then? Your first name?"

"Lorna. I don't like to put on a fake front name during a long-haul. I might start to slip up," she shrugged, letting him step inside first before following and pushing the door shut. The floor was made of light maple hardwood, which she was pleased about. No sounds would be muffled on this floor; any home intruders would give themselves away almost immediately. Not that she was expecting many of those, but it never hurt to consider all the options. "You know, we should probably say you're distantly related to her. Cousins, or something. I've only seen her the once and I know she looks like you. Well, your father, I guess. You both do," she sighed, peeling off into the open dining room, trying to immediately usher the thought of Riordan Moran back out of her head. Every once in awhile, she still had the slightest drop in her stomach when he crossed her mind.

"Then we may want to choose a different name than Morton. Seems a bit of a coincidence," he points out, walking around and running fingers over walls, eyes scanning the room. It was of modern design, with few nooks and crannies in which things could hide, which he appreciated.

"You're more than welcome to have a go at it," she called from the kitchen, idly twisting her "wedding" ring around her finger. The kitchen was similar to Sebastian's off-site flat, though lacking the same spark. Maybe it was simply knowing that he had had nothing to do with this. "You're the one from old-money stock, anyhow."

"Yes, because I had so much experience with that culture," he called dryly, eyes scanning the bookshelves for any listening devices. He knew Moriarty would have had the place scanned thoroughly, but old habits...

"What about McGuire?" he asked, pulling out a tome and flipping a few pages. "I knew a bloke by the name once. It means 'pale-coloured'. Give a nod to our scarring."

"Yeah, because I _really_ want to think about my scars," she replied sarcastically, reentering the room he was in, eyes trailing over the crown molding on the ceiling. "But fine, I can live with it."

"If you'd rather something else, that's fine," he said, returning the book. "It was just something to make us stand out from the prissy folks we'll be meeting, at least just to us. Could go with anything, honestly, with an 'm'. Marley, Miles, Montgomery..."

"I don't care, Sebastian, really," she sighed, spotting the stairs and making for them, interested to see what the upstairs looked like. "If you can remember McGuire, that's good enough for me. Hell, I suggested Morton just for the value of how easily it might be turned into _morte."_

"Now I'm torn," he muttered, heading after her, wanting to have a solid knowledge of the extent of the house before he relaxed. It was large for a townhouse, which lent itself to entertaining but not security.

"How are we going to explain your scars, by the way? The words, I mean. The glass wounds are pretty explainable considering your military background." She reached the second floor, which was carpeted with an unoffensive beige. The walls were a light blue, intersected by wainscoting. "And let's hope to god no one sees your bare chest."

"We say I don't like to talk about it, imply it had to do with my honorable time in the service, and let the rumors fly," he said, wandering into what proved to be the master bedroom. The bed was large and carved of sturdy oak. He smirked. "They'll make me a modest hero. As for my chest, the words are gibberish to anyone who doesn't know Gaelic. I doubt a lone JM is going to stand out. If it does, I'll make something up or have a bout of post-traumatic stress. Whichever is more convenient."

She chuckled, flopping back onto the bed and sprawling out. "Gotta love a tragic backstory. I just hope people don't stare at me. I do so detest that," she groaned, reaching out the side to grab one of the pillows and stuff it under her head, finding it a pleasing mix between fluffy and firm. "Honestly would like to get through a single long-haul without having to fuck around with someone. Some grifter I am, right?"

"Maybe you'll get lucky," he said, going through each of the cabinets and drawers in the room carefully. "Never know. It's not like we're actually trying to get anything specific, at least not yet." He pulled open the TV remote and removed the batteries, checking for extra wires before reassembling it.

"Maybe. Crossing my fingers that we'll just need to do some politicking. I always did like manipulating people," she hummed dreamily, trying very hard to look on the bright side of this. "I'll, uh, do the reports to her, if you want. No reason the both of us have to go."

He shook his head, setting the remote down and not looking at her as he moved on to examining the television itself. "You aren't ever going to be alone with her," he said firmly.

She was silent for a moment. "Are you worried about her safety or mine?"

"I would gladly help you murder her," he said quietly as he decided the television was safe. "But unfortunately that would compromise our goals. However, I see no reason to trust her, and so I see no reason to make you deal with her alone."

"We don't have to trust her. We have to trust Jim. If she's got any sort of brain in that head of hers at all she knows not to cross him. Either way. I hate her, but I don't associate her with my trauma. That's reserved for your father. You, on the other hand..." she rubbed her eyes. "Not only do I personally want to help keep her from you, but I don't want you to regress and start opening up the words again while we're here. Bleeding at an inopportune moment could make for a bad moment."

He sighed through his nose, opening and closing a drawer before nodding just a little. "Fine." He didn't say any more about it, just headed out to the hall and the next room.

She let him go without following, deciding that it wasn't worth risking a conflict. Not now, not here. They needed to be a cohesive unit for this job. Instead she just kicked off her shoes and waited for him to finish the inspection. He'd come back when he was ready to.

* * *

He came back about an hour later, having given the house a thorough looking-over. He didn't mention the issue again; in his opinion it was settled. Instead he walked over to lay down on the bed. "I can't be Sebastian," he opened. "Sebastian and Lorna, the names are too uncommon. Anyone who knows us is going to notice, and with some of the people who know us, that's risky."

"Ah, shit, you're right. In that case I'll change mine, then. I use Lana enough to not slip up. I would totally be up for you changing your name if I could be completely certain I could keep my mouth shut while we're fucking in a broom closet," she shrugged matter-of-factly. "Maybe I should dye my hair again."

He smirked a bit. "I wouldn't object to that," he agreed, walking over to lie down on the bed. "Lana," he tested out, then nodded. "Close enough that if I slip up it can be attributed to faulty hearing in the observers."

"A lot is going to be resting on faults in the people around us," she snorted, shifting a little to give him more room. "We're going to have to really keep on our toes." A small smirk spread across her face. "You can borrow a pair of high heels, if you want."

"Never really could get comfortable in those," he retorted casually. "And most aren't built to support my weight. Last time I wore a pair I snapped a heel off."

She laughed. "I don't know, I have a pair that might have managed, given they were seven sizes bigger. The more I think about it, the more suspicion I have that my skeleton could fit inside of yours."

"That's something I'd rather never figure out for certain," he decided, stretching out and looking up at the ceiling before bringing his hands back down, pausing to observe the silver band on his ring finger for a moment. "So. What should we do now, do you think?"

"Probably figure out where and when we're going to interact with the political mob. I assume Jim will send us that information, though, right? So I might dye my hair. See if there's any in the bathroom. This place is amazingly well stocked."

"Yeah, I saw. Whoever prepped this place had 'long time live-togethers' in mind, which is useful. There's even a wedding photo in the living room downstairs."

"Fuck, really? Do I look good? I've never completely trusted the photoshop capabilities of our staff," she muttered, sitting up and sliding off the bed. She made for the spacious bathroom, stripping out of her white shirt as she went and tossing it back behind her. "More importantly, can you see our hands in the photo?"

"You always look good. And I don't know, I didn't look that hard. Why?" He raised an eyebrow as the shirt flopped onto his arm, and shook it off onto the ground.

"I highly doubt they had time to put in our rings. It might look weird to see both of my hands in the photo, both missing at the very least the 'engagement' ring," she called from the bathroom, rummaging in the cabinets beneath the sink until she came across a drawer filled with boxes of red hair dye. She tried to ignore the fact that this meant Jim knew all about Sebastian's preference for redheads, or the other fact, that they were likely going to be here a long while, if he'd stocked _this_ many. She took one of the boxes and slid the drawer closed with her elbow before standing.

"If they were that stupid, then we'll call and have them make a new one," he said, watching her through the door as she walked around topless.

She made an affirmative sound, preoccupied with the bottles of dye components now in front of her. When she was done putting them all into the mixing bottle she spoke again. "You like redheads because of someone you fucked or is it a natural predilection, just out of curiosity?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Reminds me of blood." He stood, walking over up behind her and tracing a finger along her spine, distracting.

She palpably shivered, though she acted as if nothing had happened. "You should see me in the shower after I dye my hair red," she snorted, pulling on the pair of supplied gloves. "Always alarms me at first."

"I plan to," he smirked, the finger continuing downward, along her tailbone, before he kissed her shoulder.

"How distracting are you planning to be?" she chuckled, picking up the applicator bottle. "I don't know how close you want to be to me while I've got this stuff in my hair."

"I'm improvising," he muttered, nipping her collarbone before standing back just a bit, watching as she got to work. "You know, maybe this won't be terrible. A vacation of sorts."

"There's no reason we have to be miserable," she agreed, focusing on not dripping dye all over the place. "The more fun we have, the more believable our cover is. Rich newlyweds with too much time on their hands."

"Our idea of fun is just a tad bit deviant from the norm... but I take your point," he said, sitting on the edge of the tub to watch her work.

"You know half those bastards hanging out in parliament have something deeply unsavory hidden beneath their skirts," she snorted, just barely managing to stop a drip of red from rolling down her neck. "All we have to do is find out their secrets before they find out ours."

His eyes were fixed on the red as it stained her light hair, and he stood again, taking a step forward just as a drop landed on her bare shoulder. It was almost exactly the color of blood, and he wondered what in hell he'd done to put Jim in a good enough mood to order that. He reached out to brush up the drop with his finger tip, eyes on the light stain it left on his skin. He was tempted to put it to his lips, but knew better, the scent of chemicals rough and rusty in his nose. Instead he reached up to brush it off on a still-dry part of her hair, eyes dark.

She met his eyes in the mirror, a smirk on her lips. "It might be one of my favorite things to see the way your face changes when you've got your eyes on this color," she chuckled, dropping her eyes from him as she had to dip her head forward to start applying to the back of her head. "I'd buy lingerie the color of blood if I didn't think you'd rip them immediately."

"And if I promise not to?" he asked, bending to press his lips to the curve of her spine.

"Then I guess we'll see what I look like in them," she smirked, running her fingers through her hair, trying to spread the dye around.

The scarlet flecked across her wrists, and he took a slow, deliberate breath. "A significant downside of this business is that I can't just walk downstairs and carve into someone when I want to," he whispered a tad hoarsely, leaning in to kiss her shoulder despite the mess. A strand of her hair drew across his face, leaving a crimson, horizontal line across his cheekbone that bellied out at the lowest point and dripped down the hollow of his cheek.

She grinned, looking at him in the mirror again, eyes just a little darker than normal. "Feeling a little pent up?"

"What do you think?" he asked, pressing his pelvis against her arse slowly as she bent over again.

"I think that if you don't wipe that dye off your face you're going to regret it," she hummed, though she leaned back on her heels, pressing back against him.

"Probably," he agreed. "But right now all I can think about is getting more of it on me." He slid a hand up her arm.

She took off her gloves and rinsed her wrists in the sink. "Think you can wait a half an hour and get rough with me in the shower? I'd like to avoid leaving streaks of red across everything."

He sighed, sliding his hand up her chest until it closed around her throat for just a second, but then nodded. "I suppose."

"Thanks," she cleared her throat, just a reflex, and tossed the gloves into the bin in the corner, before turning and boosting herself up onto the counter. She was almost as tall as him this way. "In the meantime I'm sure we can find some way to entertain ourselves."

"Yeah?" he asked, sidling his hips between her legs and leaning forward just a bit.

"I'm pretty sure," she chuckled, hooking a finger through a belt loop and tugging him just the slightest bit closer, close enough to brush her lips across his, just a tease.

He grinned, leaning forward to kiss her properly, his hip rolling against her hand a bit. "Alright... you might have my interest."

"I think I'm going to need more commitment than that," she scoffed, as if he wasn't already half hard, and as if she couldn't tell.

"The ring on my finger isn't enough?" he snorted, leaning forward to kiss the corner of her jaw. "What more could you want, woman?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said whimsically, just barely holding back a laugh. "My name tattooed across your forehead, perhaps? Maybe you should write me a sonnet."

"I'll call the tattoo artist tomorrow," he snorted, biting the side of her neck, egging her on.

She groaned, her free hand curling into his shirt. "You're going to make me impatient, too, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't want me to suffer alone, would you?" he asked, voice just a touch rough, his nose brushing against her skin.

She made a vaguely exasperated sound, though it was more of a 'giving-in' kind of noise than anything. "Fuck. Using that voice is _cheating,_ Seb."

"All's fair..." he pointed out, letting her mind complete the phrase, his lips occupying themselves instead with the dip of her collarbone.

She had to agree with that one, rucking up his shirt a little so she could touch his skin. "If you put it like that, well, I guess I don't have a leg to stand on."

"Agreed. I think they're going to be rather occupied around my waist," he retorted, his torso shifting sideways a bit to meet her fingers, his smirk taut against her jugular.

"Oh, smooth," she laughed, hyper-aware of his breath on her neck. "That's a good line, you know, you should save that up for use again sometime." She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer with them.

"Apparently it does work, so I suppose I'll keep it in mind," he smirked, grinding his hips against hers.

She let out a soft sound, fingers tightening on his side briefly before slipping between them to practically yank open his trousers. "Do you think _real_ married couples in their first year fuck as much as we do?"

"No idea." He reached between them as well, jousting her hand for position as he worked to undo her trousers. "Probably not."

"I'm glad our conclusions were the same," she chuckled, pinging his pants' waistband.

He was just leaning forward to kiss her again when the doorbell rang. It wasn't the typical distant ringing of chimes in the foyer, however, but rather a noise that was repeated by speakers throughout the house. He took a slow, deliberate breath.

"I take it that means we're not to ignore the door."

"That isn't exactly a detail that would have been added by the realtor," she muttered, glaring over his shoulder towards the doorway. "We don't have to look too presentable. This is supposed to be _our_ home. The more vulnerable we look, the easier it'll be to fuck people over later."

"True," he said, stepping back and tucking in his shirt, though he left his fly partly unzipped and mussed his short hair a bit. "Ought to look the part. You want to appear a few moments later, looking abashed, or shall I?"

"I'm shirtless, so I think I should," she snorted, sliding off the counter and crouching to dig through the cabinets until she came up with a dark towel, wrapping it around her dye-soaked hair.

"Which leaves me to make a first impression. Brilliant," he said with a small sigh, heading for the door.

"Smile. _Without_ teeth! You look like you're going to eat people when you smile with teeth sans laughing," she muttered, following him out so she could find her shirt.

"Usually because I am," he retorted, at the top of the stairs. "Look at it this way: if I fail miserably we can always kill them and try again," he suggested, only half joking.

"Fine, but _I'm_ not going to make the call to Jim requesting a clean-up team," she called after him, turning her shirt right-side-out again and yanking it on, silently cursing the towel.

"Scaredy-cat," he snorted, reaching the bottom of the stairs and the offending door. There were figures outside, and he checked them out for a few seconds through the peephole before opening the door. They were a man and a woman, in their late fifties, perhaps. Both were fit for their age, and dressed well. The woman had the man's arm, and they were both smiling and seemed to mean it. Their expressions faltered slightly as they took in Sebastian's appearance- scarred and disheveled- but the smiles remained.

"Hello! I'm Peter Franklin and this is my wife, Edith... We just wanted to say hello to the new neighbors, but it seems we've caught you-"

"Not at all," Moran said quickly, trying to smile without teeth and talk at the same time. It half worked. "My wife and I were just... ah... napping... she'll be right down. Do you want to come in?"

Edith looked like the kind of woman that wasn't deterred by anything, and she smiled wider as he invited them in. "That'd be wonderful. I'd love to see what you've done with the place! It's been a while since anyone's lived here, I almost forgot what it even looked like inside," she laughed, taking a step across the threshold.

Lorna appeared a moment later, red-cheeked and barely put together. "Oh, hi! Sorry - we weren't really expecting anyone."

"I am sorry about that," Peter said bashfully. "We should have called-"

"But we don't have your number. Oh, this is lovely," she said cheerfully, looking around the sitting room before turning to Lorna. "I'm Edith Franklin, by the way, dear. This is my husband Peter."

"I'm Lana McGuire," she beamed, stepping forward to shake Edith's hand, then Peter's, taking care not to give him too much attention. She didn't want to encourage his attention, not until she knew she could gain something from it. "This is my husband, Sebastian."

"Lovely to meet you both," Edith replied as Sebastian shook their hands as well. His massive paw dwarfed both of theirs, but he didn't intentionally tower, remaining meek next to Lorna in an attempt to seem friendly.

Peter looked almost as awkward as Sebastian, hanging back from his more outgoing wife. "Lovely to meet you too," Lorna smiled, adjusting the towel on her head. _Leave, please._

"Edith..." Peter said quietly. Edith smiled. "I know, I know. We won't keep you. I just wanted to invite you both to dinner. Tonight if you like, if not, just call and we can set something up."

"I think we can do that," she smiled, bumping her shoulder with Sebastian, in an obvious display of camaraderie. "Seb? We got anything else going on?"

"No, we don't," he said with a small smile, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "That sounds nice." It sounded horrible, but close.

"Wonderful!" Edith grinned, enthusiastically, as her husband did his best to usher her out the door, looking extremely apologetic. "We're just next door - eighty-three! See you at seven!"

Lorna grinned and nodded, and a moment later shut the door. She sighed. "God, I'm going to need a hit of cocaine to have the energy to speak with that woman."

"How about we stick to an Irish coffee," Moran said with a smirk, heading for the kitchen.

She let out a bleary chuckle, turning to follow him. "Alright. That should be enough time for me to wash this shit out of my hair. Besides the smiling headaches, though, this op might not be terrible."

He nods a little. "Who knows. We might even enjoy ourselves."

"I think as long as we stay just a little bit drunk the entire time we'll manage," she snorted, leading the way into the kitchen and starting to bang around, looking for mugs, coffee, and wherever the stockers had stashed the booze.

He walked over to open the liquor cabinet that he'd found in his search for surveillance, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "I can live with that."

"Oh, good. I had a slight moment of terror where I thought you were going to insist we stay dry," she muttered, finally finding the cabinet with the mugs and sliding one across the counter in his direction before turning to the large, sophisticated, likely 600-quid-plus coffee machine gleaming on the counter in the corner. "I wonder if this thing makes cappuccinos..."

He snorted slightly at that, pouring himself a generous serving of whiskey into the mug, considering it, and then tossing it back before pouring another for the coffee. He reached for her mug and did the same. "It probably makes fine jewelry if you want it to," he muttered, raising an eyebrow at the over-extravagant thing.

She poured the coffee grounds into the machine and then started to press buttons, pretending not to be choosing them randomly, then stood back when the thing started humming. "That's silly. Why would it be kept in the kitchen? That's the kind of thing you keep in the _craft_ room. Something I assume rich people have. I have no idea, honestly."

"Really? My sarcastic comment was silly? Staggering. Any word on whether or not the sun is bright?" he sniped, taking a sip from the bottle of whiskey and offering it to her.

She took it and two big swallows, determined not to fall behind, then handed it back to him, grimacing just a little. "Been awhile since I took anything that strong straight up," she coughed, blinking hard. "Christ, look at what I've become with your influence. You might have _bettered_ me, Sebastian Moran."

"I like to think I have," he said with a grin, taking the bottle back. "Just look at you now."

She laughed, leaning against the counter. There would have been a time where saying that would have ended up with her suddenly faced with Sebastian Moran, the sniper, the bodyguard, the chief of staff over a few hundred hardened criminals. Instead, he still remained the version that she could use 'Seb' and 'Tiger' with, could meet his icy blue eyes without her stomach dropping in fear, could turn her back on without her neck prickling in alarm. For a brief instant, she wished that there was something binding here. She shook off the thought. "Yeah, I know," she smirked, "Covered in scars, but substance-free. I'm sure you see the red hair as an improvement, too. Not that you _can_ see it in this towel."

"If I'm anything it's patient," he said with a smirk. Something had flickered across her face momentarily, but it was gone before he could pin down what it was, and he didn't think too much of it. He took another sip of whiskey. "If I wasn't, we wouldn't be talking right now."

She chuckled. "Yeah, that'd be a fun trip. You; refusing to talk, me; going insane," she rolled her eyes, still smirking.

"If I wasn't patient, you would have died long before we got to this trip," he clarified with a snicker.

"If you weren't patient, Jim would have a much smaller pool of criminals to be working with," she snorted, turning around as the coffee machine made a promising click, and fighting the pot for a moment before wriggling it free of the mechanism and pouring it into her whiskey.

He took the pot from her when she finished, filling his own mug and then walking over to the refrigerator to get tea. "I suppose that's true."

She narrowly resisted the urge to mock him using an imitation of his voice, then decided that wasn't worth the trouble, and sipped at her lava-hot coffee instead. "So - where'd we get married?"

It took him a tense moment to remember their charade, but when he turned back, cream in hand, he was relaxed. "On a beach somewhere exotic. Not a lot of easily traceable witnesses."

"Mm. Easy to claim the honeymoon was somewhere no one's ever heard of," she agreed, making no move to go retrieve the cream from him. She'd spent too many early mornings trying to get over one substance or another to bother with adding anything these days. Coffee with cream was a special occasion beverage. "I somehow have a feeling Edith is going to want to know our _entire_ story."

"Mmm... what on earth gives you _that_ impression?" he deadpanned, putting the cream away and taking a long sip of his coffee.

"You're so lucky I don't respond seriously to all your sarcasm. It'd drive you insane, admit it," she chuckled, eyes wandering over the kitchen, wondering whether or not she should put some magnets on the fridge. That seemed like a homeowner thing to do.

"We return to tonight's theme: reasons Lorna Harrison isn't currently a fine housing project for the fish of the Thames," he shot back over the rim of his coffee.

She groaned. "Alright, I'm going to have to take the bait on this one - _ha ha -_ and stop you right there. One; _human_ skeletons would make a _terrible_ hiding place for fish. They degrade! Two; the Thames isn't the motherfucking Great Barrier Reef, is it? Three; my body would float to shore _looong_ before I decayed enough to sink, unless you threw me in with a good old-fashioned ball and chain, which again, for the situation, _ha ha."_

"Human skeletons might not, but cement would, once the algae and plants set in," he said, sipping casually. "Consequently, that does sink. Cement. And just because it's the Thames doesn't mean it doesn't have its own special forms of nuclear wildlife."

"Nuclear wildlife," she scoffed, looking like she was personally offended at the thought, "In the Thames? Sebastian, the Thames may be polluted enough to give you cancer the second you take a purposeful sip, but _radiation?_ Sebastian, _please."_

"Remember that murder thing? Really starting to appealing," he said, voice and face completely neutral.

"Yeah, right. You haven't fucked me with the red hair yet, I'm safe. Betting you're not a necrophiliac," she rolled her eyes, chugging her coffee and setting the empty mug down on the counter. "Speaking of which, I have to go wash this out of my hair."

He rolled his eyes, but let her go. Part of him wanted to follow her, to watch the red run in rivers down the shower walls, but that would just end up with both of them and most of the shower stained pink, so he stayed put.

She returned fifteen minutes later, wet crimson hair pulled over her shoulder, still wrapped in a towel, so she didn't stain any of her clothes with the water that dripped off. "Good news; water pressure is perfect."

"Sounds good," he said from where he was working on his laptop. "I'll probably shower before we go. What should I wear?"

"Wear your standard uniform. You look good in a blood-red shirt. I suggest you button up one less than usual, but that's more my own personal preference," she smirked, then sobered a little. "No cuff links until we get invited to a party with six or more people. No need to be showy about the money. They'll see it eventually."

He laughed. "Alright, that'll work. I'll keep that in mind." He closed his computer and stood. "Shaved or keep the scruff?"

She made a thoughtful face, considering him for a second. "Keep it. You look... more dangerous when you're freshly shaved. I don't want people imagining you on a rooftop with the stock of a rifle up against your face. Try to keep in mind my grifting lessons from New York, will you?"

"That's why I'm asking," he said with a small smirk. "I'm allowing you the artist's input to make me look more... cuddly."

"I appreciate it," she laughed, "But don't worry, I won't make you look _too_ soft. We just need to round the edges off our killer personas. Politics is just a game of war for pacifists."

"Some pacifists. Some... not so much. My father's crowd would mingle well with Jim's." He headed up the stairs.

She didn't answer. That was her issue with this mission. Sebastian's sister may have allowed what had happened to her, but she hadn't been a direct cause. She was going to have to spend months swimming in a bubble tainted by Riordan Moran. She would have to talk to his friends, she would have to hear stories about him. She'd have to tell people that the ugly scar crossing her face, put there by Riordan, was from a kidnapping. It turned her stomach.

He returned a few minutes later, dressed in fresh clothes, one button undone on his shirt, his cropped blond hair neat, scars a bit pink from the heat of the shower. "What time is it?"

"Half an hour til we gotta go," she hummed, dressed now in a sweater and black jeans, damp hair pulled up into a bun. She was going through her email on her phone. She'd just sent her department a very lengthy email warning them to hold it together until she got back. "We should probably try to guess what they'll want to talk about so we'll have similar responses."

"How we met- we have that down. What we do to pass the time and make an unnecessary living. What we might have studied in school, what schools we went to..." He sat down to pull on his shoes.

"Alright, well, we'll try to stick to what we know. More believable. You're a gun-range hobbyist, which shouldn't be too surprising, and I'm stereotypically into fashion. I'll say I never went to university, which shouldn't be too unbelievable considering my general youth and obvious turmoil in my life."

He nodded. "I'll say I went straight into the military," he agreed. "The man who kidnapped you. What should his name be?"

 _Riordan._ It almost slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself, but she swallowed it back at the last possible moment, too keen on how much that would affect him, too. "I don't care," she muttered, not looking up from her phone. "It doesn't matter."

He glanced over at her for a moment. Her tone had been tense. He let it pass, however. "Fine. Let's just both avoid using a name. I'll say it's classified or something."

"I don't think people will be surprised when I say I don't want to talk about it," she snorted, putting her phone down and looking over at him. "You look good."

He nodded. "You do, too. This should be an interesting night."

"Depends on your definition of interesting, I guess," she chuckled, standing and sliding her phone into her pocket.

He nodded in agreement, tying off his second shoe and adjusting the hems of his trousers. "Well, let's go find out what kind."

* * *

Four days later, her and Sebastian's phones buzzed at the same time, containing the same message.

 _You're having dinner with Sara tonight. Play nice. -JM_

She swore, tossing her phone onto the sofa and heading for the stairs. "I have to go do my makeup."

He was still staring at the message, eyes closing for a moment after that, fingers gripping the phone tightly before he set it aside so he didn't break it. He took a slow breath.

 _Dammit._


	79. Pay Me Back

She was back in twenty minutes, eyes and lips done to perfection (she'd never had to use skin makeup a day in her life, which she thanked god for), a black dress thrown over her shoulder, a bottle of tequila in her hand. She stopped in front of Sebastian and handed it to him. "Drink. Neither of us is going to get through this if you don't have something that will take your mind off the shittiness of it," she murmured, then turned and headed for the stairs again, filled with a nervous energy. "Get into something black!"

He took the bottle in hand, considering it, before opening it and tipping it back, taking a long swig.

A very long swig.

She was back in another whirlwind in five minutes, dropping a small stack of clothes in his lap and whisking off into the kitchen, now fully dressed herself in her black dress and bright red pumps. "Please tell me we've still got those leftovers from the other night? It was fantastic and she can find that out for herself, but we're not cooking something fresh for that harpy if we can help it."

"The salmon?" he asked, setting aside the much-lightened bottle of tequila and pulling off his current shirt. "Yeah. I made far too much. We have plenty."

"Good," she muttered, wandering back into the living room and taking the tequila, draining it the rest of the way. "I don't suppose we've got anything inconveniently toxic lying around? Not enough to _kill_ her, just to confine her to a bathroom for a few days."

"We could rub some raw chicken on her plate and hope," he suggested as he buttoned his shirt.

"Mm," she grunted through a mouthful of booze, "Alternatively, we could see how much we can possibly spit in her food before it's noticeable."

"Why not both?" he suggested, standing to step into his trousers.

"Seems to be a waste of chicken," she snorted, setting down the empty tequila bottle on the coffee table, in plain sight. She didn't care if Sara knew they were drinking. All she cared about was appearing altogether above Sara.

He straightened his shirt, and pulled on his suit jacket, quiet for a few minutes. "We can't be too difficult. We're under orders."

"Welcome to the world of politics and women, then. You're about to get a crash course of bitchiness and backhanded compliments," she muttered, lifting a hand to very, very carefully itch her eye. "I think she knows better than to complain about a little sass to James Moriarty, don't you?"

"Hopefully. He needs her. That makes her special." He took a slow breath. The tequila he'd shotgunned was starting to hit him, and he forced himself to relax. A finger slipped under his shirtcuff to trace the tail end of a word.

She stepped forward to straighten the collar of his shirt, even though it didn't really need doing. "Anything he needs from her could be just as easily accomplished with anyone else. It's not hard to fabricate a blackmail-able scenario," she hummed, letting her hands fall, one of them slipping into his, thumb trailing over the back of his hand. "You can let me do the talking if you want."

He frowned at her. "I can handle myself," he retorted. "I've dealt with unpleasant dinners before."

"Okay," she shrugged, "Just thought I'd ask. I _hear_ it's the polite thing to do."

He slowly dropped the scowl, taking a slow, quiet breath before he dropped her hand and headed for the cellar. "I'll find wine."

She sank down onto the sofa, running a hand through her hair with a sigh, and reaching for the empty tequila bottle. She shook it once to make sure there was nothing left and set it down again, frowning.

He walked down into the cool blackness of the cellar, and immediately regretted it. The damp, earthy smell, the darkness, the way the chill burrowed under his skin... His fingers found his words again, quickly- (somewhere there had been the rip of fabric, he didn't care)- pressing into them like a vice. He took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, but the tequila was beginning to hit him full force now and it was as if the air had been knocked out of him.

He looked up and the walls were suddenly much closer than they had been. He tried to move back towards the stairs, but he couldn't make himself move.

 _I'm not back there. Don't be an idiot, Moran._

But the voice of reason was gradually growing hoarse, and he could feel his words as they broke under his fingers, finally free from the skin cage that entrapped them. Earth surrounded him. He was back in his darkness, just him and the words...

He sat slowly, his breath coming quickly as he closed his eyes and found the words.

Ten minutes was far too long a time to pick out a bottle of wine, even for Moran. So she hauled herself up and headed for the cellar stairs, cursing the darkness and her pumps as she picked her way down. _Christ, where's the light switch?_ "Moran? I certainly hope the troll I'm almost certain is living down here hasn't gotten you."

His voice wandered out of the darkness, barely above a whisper.

 _" ...Bhí sé cosúil le long bháite sa spéir. Nuair a thosaigh an spéir a crack. Bhí sé cosúil le fuip ar mo dhroim..."_

 _"Fuck,"_ she hissed, kicking off her shoes and chucking them in the general direction of the stairs before following the sound of his mumbling, fingers curling into his jacket and pulling, trying to get him to stand. "C'mon. C'mon, we're going upstairs. _Seb."_

He jolted against her grip, surprised, and part of him knew exactly who she was, knew to listen, was shouting at the rest of him to do so- He snarled and twisted against her, a bloody hand snapping up to grab her wrist, but then he stopped, frozen, fighting himself. "Upstairs," he finally agreed, voice strained.

She didn't waste any time pulling him after her, hand falling from his shirt to his wrist, towing him up the stairs until they reached the light of the living room again, where she spun and grabbed both of his wrists in hers, to get a good look at how much blood was on his hands. "I'm calling Jim. She's not coming here. I'll meet with her, alone, like we were going to do anyway, I can't let her affect you like this, I won't."

He closed his eyes against the light. It seemed his pupils had blown out even in just the few minutes down there. Old habit, he supposed. "I'm fine," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have gone down there. That was stupid." His blood was running easily thanks to the alcohol in his system, and he sighed. "Just let me get cleaned up."

"I'm not risking it, Sebastian. I'm calling Jim," she shook her head, letting go of him and retrieving her phone from the sofa. Absently, she wiped off her bloody wrist on her dress.

"You want to call James Moriarty and tell him I'm not up for a job. Don't be a moron," he snorted, walking into the kitchen to start rinsing his bleeding arms.

"That's not what I'm going to say," she retorted, following him into the kitchen with her phone in hand, finger hovering over the call button. "But I am going to tell him that... no, fuck, you're right. I can't bring him into this. Fuck! The second that bitch stops being useful I'm going to carve the nose off her goddamn face."

"Something I will readily assist you in. For the time being, get the first aid kit. And a clean shirt for me." He glanced over at her, taking command solidly into his hands.

She nodded with a quick duck of her head and disappeared back out of the kitchen, chucking her phone back onto the couch with a muttered swear directed at the situation. She was back a few minutes later, the first aid kit in one hand, the replacement shirt in the other. "Here. I'll take the other one."

He nodded handing her the shirt and opening the kit, pulling out gauze and pressing it to the oozing scratches on his left arm.

Again she disappeared, this time to throw the shirt into the hamper upstairs, but she when she came back down she sat at the kitchen table, sighing. "I should probably go pick out a wine, shouldn't I." She made no move to get up.

"Probably." He'd moved on to bandaging the arm, wrapping it firmly and taping the bandages in place before pulling on the new shirt. He glanced at her. "Relax."

"Sorry. We both know how I feel about being helpless," she muttered, rolling her eyes at herself. She stood, scuffing her bare foot on the floor. "I'll go get the wine and my shoes."

He nodded, buttoning up his shirt and sticking the first aid kit under the sink, taking a breath. _Keep control._

She was gone a little longer this time, mostly because she had to find the light switch, but when she came back it was with the clacking of heels and a Pinot Noir in hand. "Have to say," she sighed, setting the bottle down on the table with a dull thud, "I am a little curious as to what she has to say that requires an entire dinner."

"It may be nothing," he pointed out. "Jim might just be testing our resolve. My resolve."

"If that's the case, I can't wait to hear what excuse she makes up," she muttered, sinking down at the table again. Absently, she twisted the wedding ring on her finger.

He stood, walking over to touch her chin, raising an eyebrow until she looked at him. "She's nothing. You're letting her under your skin. Don't."

She gave him a rueful smile. "I know. I wish I could shrug it off. Turns out I'm only good at that when it involves strangers."

He nodded a little, expression blank. "Then pull it together as best you can. We have a job to do. I don't want to face Jim if we fail here. I know I started this spiral but we need to stop it before it gets worse."

"I don't have to pull it together. This is why I'm such a good actress," she snorted, smirking a little more sincerely now. _I don't want to point out that I don't feel like I have to act in front of you._ "Don't worry. She won't know shit from me."

He nodded just a little, then headed into the kitchen to start prepping the leftovers.

She stayed where she was, knowing that the time it would take for Sara to arrive would pass more quickly than she would like even sitting here in boredom.

* * *

The doorbell rang just as he was putting the fish in the oven to reheat, and he took a slow breath before walking out into the living room. "Right..."

Lorna was already by the door, looking over her shoulder, waiting for Sebastian. When he was by her side, she twisted the knob and pulled open the door, a cold smile slipping onto her face. "Sara. Come on in."

Sara examined the two of them closely. Behind her was a tall man, dressed in a dark suit that screamed 'bodyguard'. "This is Paul. I hope you don't mind that he joins us?"

It wasn't a question, but Moran didn't let it phase him. One bodyguard with little experience (judging from the tie) meant little to him. "Hardly. Come inside." He stepped back.

Sara stepped inside, her bodyguard on her heels, her eyes scanning the pair with a sharp eye. She hadn't seen either of them since she'd had them thrown in their respective dungeons, and they were looking decidedly worse for wear, though, excluding the scars, they looked healthy. Not that she particularly cared; she had a dull kind of curiosity for her half-brother's life, and if he was going to be of use to her, she didn't see any reason to dislike him. She wouldn't trust him, but she would tolerate him. Lorna shut the door behind them, then turned and headed for the dining room.

"Dinner's almost ready. Dining room is this way," she said tonelessly, a little bitter that Sara was still taller than her, even with the shoes she was wearing. Normally, she might have tried and flirted with the bodyguard a little - she'd already forgotten his name, and she didn't care - but she wanted Sebastian's hag of a sister to grasp just how likely she was to kill for him.

Sara followed her at a slight distance, and Moran a few steps behind, ignoring the bodyguard's attempts to start an intimidation-style staring contest. His attention was on his sister.

He hadn't been paying much attention to her appearance when they'd first met. His focus had been elsewhere, on Lorna, on escaping. Now that he looked, it was striking how much she resembled their father. She didn't have the same facial structure, and perhaps physically had less in common with the man than he did, but the feeling of her features, the overall impression, was so like Riordan that for a moment, when she turned, it was like staring his father in the face.

Sara sat at the table calmly, her expression carefully neutral as she observed her hosts. It was obvious that they did not share her willingness to put dislike aside, though she didn't suppose she could blame them. Her father hadn't told her the details of what he had done to the woman, but given the state his body had been in she had been able to guess some, and her visible scars confirmed a few suspicions. What was more interesting were the scars her brother bore, words of some sort scrawled across most of his visible skin and obviously extending beneath his clothing. She observed it with the bored curiosity of a teenager dragged to a museum, and then decided she didn't particularly care. She was here on business.

"Mr. Moriarty tells me you'll be assisting me."

"And here I'd thought you had the gall to request us," Lorna replied dryly, sitting in the chair opposite the woman, pretending that her eyes weren't that startling, signature Moran blue. "But I guess even you don't have the guts to request people who wouldn't mind an opportunity to off you." Her eyes slid to the bodyguard as she spoke, a positively predatory gleam to them, interested in how he'd react. He met her eyes without flinching, but it was obvious by his posture that he wanted to appear more threatening than he felt. _Good._

"I requested the best. It didn't matter to me whether or not that meant the two of you," Sara shrugged lightly. Sara carried far too many of her father's genes to be easily cowed, but she was cognizant of the danger these criminals could represent to her, if Moriarty couldn't keep them on a tight enough leash. Unfortunately, it appeared she'd have to put some measure of trust in him; on keeping his mouth shut, and on controlling his employees.

"We are the best," Sebastian said calmly. "At a lot of things. Lorna here is a wonderful liar, and a startling actress. Personally I dabble in strategy, torture, and murder. Right now we're on the same team. What do you bring to the table again, exactly?"

"Power," Sara smiled slightly, her hands folded together on the table. "It'll amaze you, how much it helps." She gave the dining room a quick scan with calculating eyes. Looking for personal touches, things they'd left in the open. There was nothing. She wasn't surprised.

"You know what else brings you power, Sara? Dealing heroin. That's a different sort. Useful to certain people. Political power, though?" Lorna gave a mild shrug. "Doesn't affect reality. Just liquid assets."

"Besides. You think for a moment your so-called 'power' impresses us?" Sebastian added with a snort. You're a half-dead double-A to Jim's nuclear power plant. You'll do until something better comes along. My suggestion? Try to make that 'better' a higher goal to reach."

Lorna smirked as Sara struggled for a good retort, sliding back her chair and standing as the oven chimed. "Dinner's ready. I'll help you, Sebastian. I can _feel_ the air growing stale in here."

He flashed Sara a toothy grin as he stood, following Lorna into the kitchen, leaving his sister to stew.

Lorna had just pulled the fish out of the oven, and he walked up behind her silently, bending to kiss the back of her neck, teeth nipping slightly at her spine.

She put down the hot tray with just a little more of a clang than would have been normal, a shiver going through her. "It's moments like these that ought to comfort you," she chuckled, turning to face him, "You're still completely unpredictable."

"Good. I was concerned I was losing my touch," he muttered, leaning in to bite her throat solidly, definitely hard enough to leave a mark. "What do you think my sister would say if I fucked you into the cabinetry for a few minutes?"

"I don't know," she breathed a little unsteadily, fingers pulling at his shirt, untucking it. "Why don't we find out?"

He smirked, spinning her around away from the hot stove and pressing her up against the opposite wall, pushing up her black skirt around her waist as he continued to trace tongue and teeth along her neck and shoulders.

She drew her nails down his clothed chest, convinced that her heart was going to just jump out of hers, it was beating so hard, and she almost laughed at how easily he could flip this switch in her. Her fingers caught on the waistband of his slacks and she retrieved her other hand from where it was clutching his side to enlist its help in getting them undone. She managed it after a few tries, distracted as she was by his teeth on her.

He was entertained to discover that she was wearing no knickers, and smirked against her shoulder. "Planning or just rushed?" he inquired as he pushed a finger into her with little delicacy.

She gasped, digging her fingers into his hips, biting her lip for a moment to keep herself from vocalizing further. "Pants ruin the lines of the dress," she finally responded, turning a little to catch his ear with her teeth, one hand sliding into his hair, the other into his boxer briefs. "But the possibilities didn't escape me."

He let out a low, rumbling groan against her skin, grinding his hips forward into her hand slightly. "Well, then, shall we? Don't want the fish to get cold..."

"If this is how you want me, go right on ahead," she murmured, pulling him out of his pants so she could stroke him with a little more finesse, nails raking through his hair.

He grinned and trailed his tongue in a smooth line up to her ear. "Pressed up against the wall, dress around your waist, what's not to love?" he asked breathlessly.

"Solid point," she smirked, rolling her hips into his, chuckling a little. "You might need to pick me up, though, if you want to fuck me and not my hand."

"So picky," he muttered, removing his hand from her and grabbing her hips. He lifted her without any struggle, pinning her against the wall and pressing himself against her, shifting for a moment before he lined up, and pushing into her without any ado.

She muffled a moan into his shoulder, clutching fistfuls of his shirt, already trying to get a rhythm started, aching for more. This was the best 'fuck you' to his sister that she could think of, and she was going to enjoy every second of it.

He made an effort to keep his voice down, but no attempt to keep his movements quiet, the drive of his hips thumping Lorna against the wall slightly with each stroke. He very much hoped they could be heard. Soon, however, even that thought was gone, and his sole focus was on the burning pleasure winding its way along his spine.

She held on for dear life, as was her usual strategy when they needed to be done quick, with no time for dallying, and the harsh sound of his breath by her ear and the wall against her back and the way he could _move,_ Jesus _Christ,_ all had her panting hard into his neck, partly from the sheer ecstasy of it, partly because not moaning was taking _so_ much effort.

"Oh come on," he cajoled in her ear, his voice hoarse and breathless. "Give'r one good moan to remember us by." He dug his teeth into the side of her neck as he ground his hips against hers firmly.

"Oh, _fuck,"_ she groaned, letting her head fall back, another moan escaping her before she could help it, now that it was allowed. " _Seb."_

He snarled against her skin, smiling at the desire in her voice as he shifted a hand between them, rubbing roughly as he started to get close.

She cried out as she tumbled over the edge, arching off the wall into him, unable to keep herself still under the stimulation, nails scraping across his clothed shoulder blade, searching for a hold of any kind to keep herself grounded.

He came right behind her, pressing his forehead against the cool wood of the cabinets, gripping her tightly to him.

She just caught up on her breath as she came down, one hand lightly clasping the back of his neck, the other hooked limply into the waist of his slacks. "I think that breaks the record of speed I've orgasmed in," she muttered, chuckling a little, leaning her head back against the cabinets, "You've outdone yourself."

He laughed. "I had some extra incentive," he pointed out, setting her down and standing back to redo his trousers.

She smirked, pulling her dress back down and turning on the spot to get plates out of the cabinets. "I hope that's seared into their brains for the next few months."

"I have little doubt that Paul will be jerking off to it later this evening," he said cheerfully as he took the plates and started to divvy up the fish.

"Good," she hummed, "I enjoy making men vulnerable." She got out the wine glasses and retrieved the wine itself, carrying it out into the dining room with a smirk on her face. She desperately hoped one of them said _something;_ she was way too smug to keep it all to herself.

Paul was red in the face, though he seemed to be willing it to disappear. Sara looked like her calm exterior was a difficult thing to maintain.

"Glad to hear my brother has an active love life," Sara said coolly, attempting to get the ball back in her court. "I heard trauma can cause issues in bed..."

That wasn't going to stand, and Sara should have known that. She knew what they were capable of, vaguely - she'd only seen their handiwork, hadn't she? Lorna thought that it was about time she was reminded that the threat was _very_ present. She slammed the wine bottle onto the table with a squeak of abused glass, and was in Sara's face the next instant, pushing the chair back so it was on two legs, held from tipping over only by her hand. The bodyguard would stop her in a second, but that was all she needed. "I'll defend Sebastian with my life, but your _brother_ is not the one who's trauma could cause issues in bed," she spat, not hesitating to make the survivalist in her obvious in her eyes. "Do you _know_ how many times I was raped by your father? Did you even conceptualize it? Don't talk to me about _trauma,_ you political whore."

Sebastian was on her before the guard had even fumbled his way out of his chair, pulling Lorna back before Paul could get trigger happy with the glock poorly hidden in his belt. As soon as Lorna let go, Sara's chair tipped backwards and she hit the ground with a thud.

"Calm the fuck down, Harrison," he hissed in her ear. "We're playing nice, remember?"

Sara was gathering herself, getting back to her feet with Paul's assistance.

"That _was_ playing nice," she snorted, the fire gone from her voice like she'd flipped a switch, stuffed it in a drawer to be forgotten. "I didn't touch her, did I? Not my fault I had to drop the chair," she shrugged, turning on her heel to give him a bright smile before she leaned over to pick up the wine again. _I'm playing nice. I just wanted her to see my fangs before she got too cocky._

He nodded just a little, making a mental note to get her to let the energy she'd just squelched out later, and turning to Sara. "If you wouldn't mind curbing your comments a bit, Sara. It's a tad rude to antagonize your host. People can get... hurt." He headed back into the kitchen without waiting for a response, and returned with their plates of food.

Sara didn't say anything until the wine was poured and dinner served, preoccupied with her thoughts. There was a difference between hearing about a rabid dog and being faced with one yourself, and she was fairly certain she'd just seen the difference herself. This didn't mean she'd let herself be bossed around by the two of them, but perhaps she would keep the quips to a minimum. Paul was cheap, as hired guns went, but her brother was one of the most expensive money could buy. The playing field would be easier to navigate in public, of that much she was sure. "There's an art auction coming up that I can't make it to. The two of you will go; buy something, chat up the competition, see if you can't ingratiate yourself to Haley Hanover. She's got legislation in the works that I can't have coming to pass. I need spies. Do what it takes to make it into her little 'inner circle'."

"I believe we could be convinced to do that," Moran agreed, smiling. "But it's going to cost you."

Sara frowned, sipping her wine. "I've paid Moriarty his fees."

"Moriarty isn't the one who could shoot you from a thousand yards. Sure, I'd take some flack, but in the end, you're replaceable." He didn't blink, just drilled his gaze into hers.

Sara ate a forkful of salmon, eyes flicking once from Sebastian to Lorna, then back again. "Fine," she said, a little stiffly. "What do you want?"

"For one, don't come here without at least a week's notice. I don't appreciate that kind of surprise," Lorna said archly, leaning back in her chair, glass of wine held delicately in her fingers.

Sebastian nodded in agreement. "Secondly, for every three jobs we do for you, you will give us a video tape of you and a lover doing something... inventive, without any clothing on. Assuming all goes well, they will never be released to the world. Assuming it doesn't... Well, Lorna gets a little pointed revenge."

Sara finally looked actually flustered. "Excuse me? Absolutely _not,"_ she scoffed, frowning fiercely. Lorna chuckled.

"Why not? Nobody who will fuck you for a dime?"

"Pity," Sebastian sighed. "You know, Lorna, with that big head she has I bet I could kill her from farther away than a thousand yards. Two thousand, maybe?"

"Every five jobs," she said tensely, glaring at the two of them. "Every five jobs, you'll get a tape. Deal?"

"Four," Sebastian smirked. "Or I lose interest. And it had better be more fun than missionary, sister dear. I'll be rating."

Lorna let out a sort of exasperated criminals-will-be-criminals chuckle and shoveled down some more salmon, with Sara could barely force herself to touch.

"You're disgusting," Sara grimaced, which was tantamount to surrendering.

"And yet I've never debased myself so far as to stick you in solitary for three months. Rethinking that line now," he returned sweetly. "Oh, look at the time," he said, gaze never shifting from her, much less to a clock. "I think you've overstayed your welcome, Sara... I'm sure you remember the way out?"

Red-faced and angry, she stood with a huff and left, her bodyguard trailing behind her. Lorna didn't truly relax until she heard the door slam behind them, and then she chugged her wine.

He stood, walking through to the entryway and locking the door, watching on the security monitor next to it to ensure that Sara and Paul actually left, before heading for the kitchen and finding the largest bottle of high-proof alcohol he could find. It proved to be vodka, and he opened it without a second glance, taking a long pull straight from the bottle before finding glasses and cranberry juice from the fridge.

"I have to say I think that went well," she said in a strained voice as he returned to the dining room. "Oh, good, you made drinks. I'd like to get hammered."

He set down the glasses and filled them most of the way with vodka, added a splash of juice and shoved one in her direction, leaving the vodka bottle open. "Extremely."

She downed the first one like it was a shot, and immediately poured herself another one, still swallowing the aftertaste of alcohol and cranberry. "I'd say we did a little table turning."

He nodded in agreement, taking his own vodka just a touch more slowly, though by the time she'd finished pouring he was about ready for another. He smirked. "Her face was priceless."

"We better hope she doesn't cry to Jim, though," she shook her head, though she chuckled a little. " _Such_ a politician. I wouldn't have gotten up in her face with her if she was an actual criminal, but that was just irresistible."

"Jim won't give a shit," he said with a shrug. "Why would he? It's not like we're impeding what she can do in any way. Who knows. He might actually be amused by the situation."

She snorted. "He might have us send him the tapes. I do look forward to seeing who she plans to use."

"She isn't in a relationship, at least not that Jim knows of. And for Jim _not_ to know of something seems much more unlikely than her being single." He swirled his vodka absently.

"Sounds like Paul's paycheck might be getting more substantial soon," she smirked, sipping at her own beverage and remembering the look on his face.

"Christ, I hope so. That would be fucking hilarious," he snorted. He picked up a bit of fish and considered it, before putting it in his mouth, thinking quietly. "So now we need to go make friends with what's-her-name."

"Haley Hanover," she muttered, more to herself than to him, just so she wouldn't forget it. "Well, we could also probably find a place to fuck in an art gallery, so there's that little bonus."

"Does it seem to you like we're living drink to drink and fuck to fuck, or is that just me?" he asked, the vodka starting to kindle a nice warmth in his ribcage.

She sighed. "I don't know what other kind of life we could live, Sebastian. During a job like this, I don't think there's a lot of downtime, even just being by ourselves. I'll take what distractions I can get."

He shrugged. "I don't know. I miss sniping. Haven't gotten to do a damned surveillance job in months now. Seems like more and more I'm doing this." He waved his hand at the house. "Grifting."

"Sorry," she murmured, taking another drink. She knew how he felt about her profession; he didn't see any longevity in it, and god knew he'd rather kill and torture than lie and cheat his way to the next paycheck. There wasn't much she could do about Jim assigning him to go with her, though.

"Not your fault. And I'd rather he bore me than torment me, so I suppose there's that," he smirked. He glanced over at her. "You're not bored, sometimes, at least." He was glad for that, though he phrased it as more of a playful jab.

She gave a bit of a tired chuckle into her glass. "Yeah, I guess so. I'm just thankful I'm not filling out paperwork at a desk. Who knew the criminal underground had so much bureaucracy?"

"Not me, that's for sure. And yet somehow I ended up doing most of it," he snorted.

"Damn that paperwork," she smirked, finishing off her second drink. She was starting to feel just a little unbalanced now. "At least when you're grifting with me _you_ can fuck me instead of someone else."

* * *

As it turned out, they had almost two weeks to kill before the auction. Moran did everything he could to remain sane. Satellite work for Jim, going to the shooting range (though clay pigeons were ridiculously easy to hit. He had more fun winning bets against old, pompous aristocrats), and fucking Harrison in as many creative ways as they could sort out. It was... interesting, but he realized that there was a reason he never took vacations. He hated them.

Finally, the night had arrived, and he was tying the special rip-away bow-tie of his tuxedo into place. "Almost ready?"

"Almost," she hummed from the bathroom, applying the finishing strokes of lipstick onto her lips before stepping back from the vanity. She was outfitted in a navy blue dress that was tight until it hit her hips, where it flared out - much less attention-seeking than her club attire, and classier, too, especially with the positively _boring_ black stockings she''d pulled on. With suspenders, of course. She couldn't bear it otherwise. "Okay, ready."

He nodded, finishing off straightening the tie and resisting the urge to pull it off. Even specially constructed as it was, it went against his judgement. "Alright. Let's go then. We're already fashionably late."

"Good. That's how I like to make my entrances," she grinned as she came out of the bathroom, heading for the door. "Let's go get em', Tiger."

He smirked, offering her his arm and then heading down with her for where the Jag was parked out front. Jim had been generous.


	80. Art Show And A Potshot

Twenty minutes later he was handing the keys off to a chauffeur with an idle threat and heading through the front doors of the museum where the auction was taking place.

"Now, I've been doing a little research into Ms. Hanover, and it boils down to talking to her about three things; guns, immigrants, and the poor. Positively, negatively, and negatively, respectively. You'll be good on the first part," Lorna murmured to him as they stepped into the main hall, eyes already scanning the crowd for people she recognized. Hopefully, she would be unrecognizable to anyone who had seen her before, but it was always wise to be cautious. "It should be easy to get her to invite us over for drinks sometime. She's a heavy alcoholic."

"Seems like we'll all three get along swimmingly," he said with false brightness, looking around as well. "If I remember correctly she's a bit toadish, isn't she? Like Umbridge." He caught the look. "What? Who hasn't seen those movies by now? I've been bored."

"No, no, you're right, I shouldn't be surprised. You own the extended edition of the Lord of the Rings movies," she chuckled. "But yes, she's short and squat, and wears those awful pink dresses that politicians wear that look like they've been made out of a sofa."

"Sometimes I question people's existence," he said almost absently as he continued to look around. He sighed. "Is it just me, or did everyone's grandmother have an armchair exactly that pattern?" he asked, nodding towards a short woman across the hall from them.

She had to stifle a giggle-snort. "Nope, nope, that's not just you, I think I know who took my grandmother's sofa off the curb," she smirked, tearing her eyes away from the woman to look for Hanover. "There she is. In the corner."

He nodded. "How do we ingratiate ourselves?" he asks quietly, beginning to move in that direction.

"Tell her the truth; we did some research on her and wanted to get to know her," she replied, giving the slightest shrug.

He nodded slightly. "I suppose that works," he murmured. "I'll let you make the introductions, shall I?"

"Sounds fine to me," she replied quietly, putting on a big smile as they approached Hanover, who turned away from another conversation just in time to see them coming. There was, of course, the split-second flinch that everyone gave when they saw how scarred they were. She hated it, but there was nothing she could do about it. "Hi!" she beamed as they stepped into hearing range, sticking out a hand to shake. "I'm Lana McGuire and this is my husband Sebastian. We heard you were going to be here and decided we had to make your acquaintance. We share similar values, you see."

Hanover gave a curious smile, taking the offered hand. "I'm glad to hear I've made an impression. It's been a long campaign."

She offered her hand to Sebastian once she'd shook 'Lana's', and he took it, trying to gauge how firm it should be based on hers. He was aiming for just a bit firmer, but she was the dead fish sort of shaker, so he just settled at "barely gripping" and still got a raised eyebrow.

"I'm sure it has. We would have liked to have helped out during, if we hadn't been abroad at the time," Lorna smiled, wrapping an arm around Sebastian's waist, really displaying the _we really haven't been married all that long so look how infatuated I still am with him_ vibe.

Hanover gave a gracious smile, which looked out of place on her Umbridge-like face, and shook her head. "No worries, dears. Never too late, I always say!"

Sebastian slipped a protective arm around her shoulders, tucking her into his side a bit. "We'd be happy to help. Your work for gun rights is particularly exciting."

Haley beamed, taking a large sip from her champagne glass. "Oh, marvelous! I love it when I meet new people with similar interests! Perhaps we could have a day at the shooting range sometime!"

"Oh, I'm sure Sebastian would _love_ that," Lorna grinned, squeezing his side.

Oddly enough, it actually did sound enjoyable. He managed something close to a pleasant smile. "I would. Shooting is one of my favorite sports." He glanced at Lorna with a grin. "I've attempted to get my lovely wife involved, but she never seemed to love it quite as much."

"I enjoy the finer things in life," she smirked, leaning against him. "But I don't mind watching and cheering from the sidelines. Drink in hand, of course."

"The only way to go about most things, I find," Hanover grinned, raising her mostly-empty glass in a casual toast. "So! You obviously know a fair bit about me, tell me about _you_."

"What's there to say, really?" She laughed, shrugging a little. "My family has always been involved in the fringes of the politics around here, and we were abroad, traveling, and I woke up one morning and thought, 'what am I doing? I have no purpose!' So we decided to come on home!"

Moran gave a nod, glancing in Lorna's direction. "She's very driven. I wasn't interested at first, but she's pulled me along for the ride and now I'm just as invested."

"That's wonderful, dears! Do we share any other interests?" the squat woman asked, still with the exact same smile.

Lorna leaned forward a little bit, conspiratorially. "I'm a little concerned about... the _immigration_ problem here. I didn't realize it had gotten so _bad,"_ she stage-whispered, looking around a bit nervously.

Moran nodded in agreement, lines in his face hardening to their usual set. "I didn't fight for this country just to see it infringed upon."

Haley nodded vigorously. "I couldn't agree more. They need to fix the issues in their own countries rather than just hiding here and leeching off of our taxpayers."

Lorna fought the urge to let her face morph into one of disgust. She'd grown up dirt poor, with a wanna-be kingpin for a stepfather and a mother who didn't have the guts to do real crime, and once she'd started smuggling, she'd gotten to know more than a few foreigners. Most of them, like her, were only doing it so they had a leg to stand on. Most of them, unlike her, wouldn't hurt a fly. She didn't like to speak ill of the innocents in the drug trade, immigrants or not. "Absolutely awful, isn't it? Just because _we're_ civilized doesn't mean we want those dirty heathens mucking up the place!"

"Exactly, dear. Exactly." She shook her head slightly, then looked up as a voice came over the loudspeaker. "Sounds as though they're starting the auction. We'd better go- don't want to miss anything. I've got my eye on a few pieces." She chuckled.

"We'll be right over - we have to discuss what piece we're going to go in on," Lorna smiled, pulling a business card smoothly out of Sebastian's chest pocket and handing it to Hanover. "Here, you can contact us here. We can set up a little get-together some time!"

"Sounds like a plan. Lovely meeting you both!" she said cheerily, toddling off.

"I have an odd mixture of like and hate for that woman," Sebastian murmured. "Mostly hate."

She smirked, winding her arm through his again and heading the opposite direction as the rest of the people. "You only like her a little because of her penchant for guns, you know it."

"True," he admitted with a nod. "We'll see how genuine that is when we meet for shooting, I suppose. Something tells me she might just be there for gin, not guns." He snorted slightly.

"I can settle for some gin," she muttered, heading for the glowing exit sign near the back. No one would notice them slipping out early. "C'mon, I really don't want to have to sit through that auction."

"We were supposed to buy something," he smirked, though honestly he couldn't care less.

She laughed. "Yeah, well, I'm not wasting Jim's money on any of that garbage. We want art, we can go steal a Renoir."

"I knew there was a reason I kept you around," he smirked, pinching her arse as they approached the exit.

She squeaked, swatting at him as they stepped out into the brisk air. "You better watch it," she warned half-seriously, unable to stop herself from smiling. "C'mon, let's go. I wanna fuck you in that suit and I'm not doing it outside when it's chilly."

"Where are we doing it then? Because hell if I'm waiting a half hour to get home," he said softly, his fingers trailing over the small of her back teasingly.

She smirked, shrugging a little. "Not where it's cold, that's for sure. Otherwise, I'm not picky."

He grinned, leaning down to kiss her before standing up and heading for the front of the building. "I'm thinking the car should be plenty warm once we get the heat going. Thoughts? The back seat is pretty roomy."

"That sounds fine," she grinned, following with a spring in her step. "Has anyone ever told you how good your ass looks in slacks?"

"Can't say they have," he deadpanned, raising an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Usually when I wear a tux, I'm on business."

"I'll mix business with pleasure any day," she hummed, letting him open the car before she got in the back, winking at him as the door shut.

He got into the driver's seat, heading down the block and taking a few turns and parking in a car park. By then the heat had toasted the place up a bit and he got out, going around to the back seat and climbing in with a smirk.

She waited until he closed the door behind him to drop her panties in his lap. "You can take off the tie."

"Thank fucking god," he muttered, untying the offending object and throwing it forward. He smirked as he picked up the panties and tossed them in the same direction. "That's an encouraging start..."

"You bet," she murmured, moving to straddle his waist, a hand going to grab his coat collar.

He dodged her lips with a smirk as she came at him, going directly for her throat with a low growl, teasing as he nipped her sharp collarbone.

"Shit, going straight for the kill?" she muttered, unable to resist tiger puns around him. "Please continue."

He smirked a little. "Keep it up with the quips and I'll leave you striped," he shot back, a hand slipping under her skirt.

His quest was interrupted as the glass of the window pinged slightly, a chip appearing in the glass. He looked up curiously for a moment, before shoving Lorna unceremoniously off of his lap and onto the floor, pushing her head down.

She curled up into a ball on the floor of the car, far too used to being shot at these days to fight it.

Keira tossed the BB-gun to the side, despite how expensive it had been - getting a BB-gun that looked realistic had been harder than expected, but whatever. She pulled the knife from her pocket and stepped out of the bushes at the side of the parking lot. She held the knife in front of her, palm facing out - where she'd painted HELP onto her skin.


	81. Keira Malone

He opened the door slowly, shielding himself behind it and drawing his gun from beneath his jacket as he peered through the bullet-proof glass. He frowned at the sight that met him. A figure dressed in a hoodie, features hidden, wielding not the gun he'd expected, but a knife. He stayed put. That didn't mean they didn't have an accomplice with a gun hiding nearby.

His eyes fell on the word on their hand, and he was immediately suspicious, but curious enough to not just shoot. He kept his gun carefully in hand. "Who are you?"

"Your kid," she answered, in a cautious voice, and dropped the knife, raising up both of her hands, a very obvious _don't shoot._ Unlike her father, her hair was dark, but her eyes were ice-blue. They swept over Sebastian - what they could see of him, at least - curiosity edged with a wary hardness. The only picture she'd seen of him was of a much younger version of him.

"I'm sorry, _what?"_ Lorna asked, sitting up off the floor of the car.

"I don't have a kid," he said coolly. "Try again." He raised the gun, motioning for her to walk forward slowly. "Keep your hands in view."

"No, seriously, I am," she shook her head, walking forward as she did. "Look, I'm going to reach into my pocket and get a picture of my mother, alright? I've got fucking tiny pockets, I don't know what else you think I could possibly pull out of it," she continued, still holding up one hand and slowly reaching into her front pocket. She pulled out a folded up picture, and took another step forward, cautiously holding it out. "Look, okay? I mean, from the shit I've heard about you I don't know if you'll remember, but it was in Scotland, tail end of 1999. Edinburgh."

He took it with one hand, the other still training the gun on her. He glanced at the photo and folded it again quickly. "Let's assume for a second you aren't lying. Care to explain the pot shot you just took?"

"BB gun. It's in the bushes over there. I work for another organization, smaller than yours; pissed the wrong people off. They thought it'd be funny to get rid of me by trying to take you out. Fuck that," Keira snorted, standing where she was, trying not to stare.

"Hood down, slowly," he instructed, not lowering his gun for a second. He was turning the situation over carefully. He remembered the woman. It had been one of the few nights he hadn't been bloody shit-faced. The night before they'd left back for England. He'd spent a few years wondering about her. Considered going to find her.

She did as told, movements slow and deliberate. Lorna had to admit she looked like him. Sharp features, and those _eyes._ Still, the idea was fucking insane. The idea of Sebastian Moran as a father?

He could see the woman in her face, but he could also see himself, clear as day. He walked forward slowly, gun never wavering, and reached out to touch her chin, pushing it up and to the side, checking along her jawline and behind her ears for scars. Signs of plastic surgery. Nothing. He let her chin drop.

He stared at her for another long, tense moment. Then:

"Get in the car."

She nodded, ducking her head back down and climbing into the back, where Lorna and her shared a very awkward moment before Lorna made a 'nope' kind of sound and climbed out to get into the passenger seat. "Well, this isn't a fucking crazy idea or anything," she muttered, giving the girl an irritated glance in the mirror. She wasn't crazy on Moran's family. "How the fuck are we going to keep her from Jim, Moran?"

"Who the hell said we were?" he asked, handing her the gun. "Make sure she behaves." He started the car and pulled out into the road.

"You _really_ want Jim to have this kind of leverage?" Lorna scoffed, eyebrows up to her hairline, but kept her eye on the girl, who looked like she was having to hold back from saying some nasty things to her. "You just met her, yeah, but people get _weird_ about their offspring."

"Kindly shut up, Harrison," he said casually, taking a turn just a bit hard as he headed for their flat.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered under her breath, raking a hand through her hair. This was something she did not want to deal with. She'd never liked kids, never wanted to be around them, and now one (a mostly grown one, she would admit) was dropped in their laps. Not her idea of a picnic.

He parked in the drive and got out of the car, walking over to open the door for their passenger while Harrison remained in place with the gun. "Get out."

Keira got out in fast, efficient movements, though careful not to get too close to him, not to seem too threatening, and stood there, staring at the house. Her eyes got a little narrower. "Do you guys live here? Shit, are you _married?"_

"That's none of your concern," he said, voice devoid of any clue or emotion as he reached out to take the gun from Harrison, training it on the girl again. "Let's go inside. Keep your hands visible."

"Quickly, please. We're on a lit street, and we have nosy neighbors," Lorna reminded, shutting the car door as quietly as possible so as not to draw attention.

The girl didn't resist, but he still watched her every movement carefully, his gun close to his side to remain as invisible as possible until they entered the house. "Harrison, please grab a chair and some rope or handcuffs?"

"On it," she nodded, kicking out of her heels and disappearing upstairs with a trot. She was back a minute later with several pairs of handcuffs in hand, and immediately disappeared into the kitchen to grab a chair. After she'd carried one out and set it down in the middle of the living room, she gave the girl an expectant look.

Keira sat with a small huff. "My name is Keira, by the way. Since nobody asked," she grumbled.

"Keira what?" Sebastian asked, as Lorna cuffed the girl's hands behind her and to the chair, and did the same with each of her ankles.

"Malone," she sighed, shifting uncomfortably as Lorna stepped back. "My mom married some rich guy a while back but I didn't want to take his name. He's a dick."

"There's a lot of rich guys like that," he said with a nod. "How did you find me?"

She shook her head. "I didn't. The people I work for did. I didn't bother asking a question that I wouldn't get an answer to."

"But they knew about your association with me," he pointed out. "Did you tell them that, or did they find out from somewhere else?"

She groaned. "It was _stupid,_ really. I didn't know who the hell you were - how could I? All I had was your first name, and a crumpled old photo. I was telling my friend about my past, all that shit, and I showed him the picture, and-"

 _Fred laughs when she says she doesn't really know who her father is, and he only settles down to chuckling when she gets defensive. "Relax, K, I'm not laughing_ at _you, I'm laughing because I've met about five people who know their dads." He says 'about five' about a lot of things. About five guys, about five piercings, about five fish. She doesn't know where he picked it up. She's been saying it more, though, since she met him. She pulls the decaying, wrinkled old Polaroid picture from her wallet and hands it to him, rolling her eyes._

 _"That's him. He's probably in his thirties by now. My mom took it when he was smashed, or at least acting like it." She waits for him to respond, and when he doesn't, she looks up from the scratch on the back of her hand to see his face. It's stark white. "Fred?"_

 _"That's Sebastian bloody Moran, K," he says in a hushed tone, like it's hard to get out of his mouth. "That's the fucking sharpshooting butcher of Europe."_

"- he recognized you. Told whoever'd listen. Blabbermouth."

He bit back a long stream of curses, and turned away for just a moment. When he faced her again, any trace of emotion was wiped clean. He would treat this like an interrogation room. Feel nothing, think nothing but logic. "How many people know of our supposed relation?"

She shrugged as best as she could restrained. "I don't know. Ten, fifteen, a hundred? I'm sure everyone's talking about how they 'sent that little asshole to get killed by her own father.'"

"What organization?" he pressed, walking forward to stand over her, blue eyes meeting blue.

"Luciano's" she replied. "Based in Italy, I think. I don't know, I haven't been. I work in the London division."

Lorna knew who that was, and she wasn't particularly pleased with it.

"Right..." Moran muttered, watching her. Then he walked forward, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressing it into her mouth, walking around to tie it behind her head while she forced out muffled expletives. "I'm not sure what you expected. I need to do some research. If your story checks out, I'll consider letting you live. Don't cause any trouble or that consideration will be gone."

Lorna checked her thin wristwatch before her eyes flicked back to Keira. "I'll be down in a few hours, give you a bathroom break. God knows I don't want to clean that up," she snorted, then turned for the stairs, pulling her crimson hair out of the elegant twist she'd had it in and letting it tumble over her shoulders. "I'll be upstairs, Sebastian."

He followed after her without comment. He did need to do research, yes. But at the moment he needed to think, and process.

He waited until he had closed the door to their bedroom behind them to speak.

"What the _fuck_ just happened?"

"Your long-lost kid from a woman you fucked once is in a crime network run by Giorgio Luciano, an Italian mobster in human trafficking circles who I thought was dead until two minutes ago. Unzip me, please," she added, pulling her hair over her shoulder, standing with her back to him.

He walked forward, sliding the zipper down before turning away, walking over to the window to stare down at the street.

What the hell was he going to do?

The logical thing was to kill her immediately. Harrison was right. Kids were trouble. Weak points.

But...

Part of him was fascinated. Those eyes were _his_. He'd put them there. The sturdy nose, the high cheekbones. He hated his family. His father had been the bane of his existence for years and his sister had somehow managed to outdo even that. But this... this was a whole new game...

Lorna got undressed and into pajamas, leaving her dress in a puddle in the middle of the floor before going into the bathroom and shutting the door. She sat down just over the threshold, her head falling into her hands.

 _New York. A party. Armetti was with her, a hand on her exposed back, left bare by the dress she was wearing. He says nothing as they step off into a smaller hall, his hand increasing in pressure just a little before it leaves as he turns and melds back into the crowd, and she walks down the hallway alone. She has a tiny syringe pressed into her palm, the needle carefully kept away from her skin. She can't remember the name of the poison held within. She opens the heavy oak door at the end of the hallway and beams at the handsome man waiting for her in a leather armchair. Luciano. A typical Italian beauty. He doesn't suspect a thing until she injects him in the thigh, a vicious stab through his slacks. There's a brief fight, but he doesn't stay on his feet long. She turns and leaves, tossing the syringe to the side with the tinkling of glass._

Sebastian was too busy, too preoccupied to deal with this right now, with this version of her, the sick and twisted one that she kept separate from herself. She couldn't trust herself to stay in there and not say whatever came into the head. That girl was an unknown variable, and it made Moran dangerous to Lorna again, made him too unpredictable to trust completely.

She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, biting back a pained swear.

* * *

He didn't know how long it was before he was heading back downstairs. He walked into the living room and undid the gag, tossing it aside for now. "What happened to your mother?"

She stared at him for a moment, swallowing the dry taste in her mouth. "She and my step-father died in a car crash a year or so back. Why?"

He nodded just a little, going to sit on the couch. "Just wondered. You seem a little young to be drifting around. You're what... fifteen, sixteen?"

"Seventeen in a few weeks," she murmured, shifting her weight a little. "What, you didn't start that young? Bet your 'wife' or whatever she is did. Us girls, we start young. That's what I've seen, anyway."

"I was a golden boy until I was thirty," he said sarcastically. "Led a scout troop." He leaned back in the couch. "What got you started?"

Keira sighed. "My mom paid for me to get lessons at a shooting range. Thought it was important for me to protect myself. Imagine all the old geezers' surprise when I pass up the best of them. Some guy approached me one day. Gave me a card. Told me to call him if I ever wanted to make money. I didn't, not until my parents ate it."

He nodded a bit, and some part of him was pleased to hear she'd inherited his skill with a weapon. He did his best to stifle the emotion. "Then you call them and end up mixed in with Italian human traffickers."

"Yeah. The guy - he was a contractor. An agent, kinda. Like for actors? Put me in touch with people. The Italians. I wasn't sure what they were doing, but I suspected. I don't know," she sighed, shrugging again. "Not my business."

He nodded. "Good policy," he admitted. "What did you do to piss them off, exactly?"

"Shot the asshole who tried to touch me in the head. He was my CO, kinda. Friends in high places. You know."

He smirked just slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He'd spent a whole hour on his computer, run a background check on this girl more thorough than the checks he ran for Jim's security officers. Called in a few favors. He knew her friends, enemies, her fifth-grade science project. There wasn't any doubt about her story.

There also wasn't any doubt that she was his.

The question now became what to do about it.


	82. Progeny

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked quietly, without much inflection.

He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed and stood. "Something I'll likely regret," he muttered, walking forward and kneeling behind the chair, unlocking the various sets of cuffs. "Please keep in mind that if you give me any reason, I have no problem reversing this decision and tearing you to shreds."

She couldn't move for a moment, she was so surprised, but then she slowly stood up, rubbing her wrists distractedly. "Yeah, yeah, no, of course not. I'll just... sleep on the couch, I guess?"

"You can if you like, but if I were you I'd take the guest room upstairs," he said casually. "There's food in the refrigerator. I've had a long night. I'm going to bed. Don't try to leave. I'll know. Plus your employer will probably feel less confident about your death."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," she nodded quickly, suddenly nervous. She hadn't expected to get this far. Hadn't expected any sense of comfort or familiarity with a man she'd only just met. Maybe she'd expected to be dead. She wasn't really sure.

He headed up the stairs, but paused outside of his and Lorna's bedroom. Suddenly, he didn't want to be there. Didn't want to have to explain his decision to her. So he turned instead to push into the office. He set up the house security cameras on his computer and turned the monitor towards the couch, and then lay down to sleep, with an alarm set to inform him if anyone tried to leave the house or enter Lorna's room.

Lorna didn't leave the bathroom, battling off the combative fear and coldness that threatened to close in an icy sheath around her heart. She trembled with the effort of keeping still, of not dragging bloody furrows down her own arms, of not smashing the mirror, of not ripping the shower curtain from its hooks. Trapped. She was trapped, paralyzed, frozen solid. She couldn't _do_ anything, not on a job like this, not on something so important. All she could do was sit there and try not to cry in silence. Sleep wasn't a possibility.

It wasn't until he'd studied the cameras for a while that he realized that Lorna wasn't in the bed. He frowned, getting up from the couch and walking over, looking across the cameras for a while. There was no camera in the bathroom, so he figured she was there, but as twenty minutes turned into forty, his patience evaporated and he walked out of the office and into their bedroom. "Lorna?"

She couldn't make herself unlock for a moment, then her hands clenched into fists against her face, and she coughed. "I'm fine," was all she said, in a voice that wasn't as normal she was expecting. This was not acceptable. He couldn't see her like this. He would think it was for all the wrong reasons. She pressed her hands against her eyes harder, ignoring that they were already slick with tears.

 _A dark basement, filthy children. Armetti screaming._

 _His sister is gone but there's nothing she can do about it._

Her voice was _wrong._

His boot had broken the lock before he even had time to think about it, carefully so as not to hurt her if she was sitting against the door, and he pushed the door in, feeling her slide across the tile with it as he stepped inside, half expecting to find her bleeding. Instead, he found her curled in a shaking ball on the ground. He crouched down, his hands finding her fists, trying to figure out what was going on. "Harrison...?"

She let out a muttered, sniffly swear, not bothering to fight his grip. "You've got too much shit on your plate to worry about this, Sebastian, don't-" she shook her head, only able to open her eyes and look at him for a second before she closed them again. "I killed him. Luciano. I thought I did." She took a breath. "It was personal. He took Armetti's kid sister. She died before we could get to her. And I'm not one to like kids, but this girl..."

He didn't ask further, just sat down and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

He wasn't sure when exactly he'd become a hugger. He needed to consider that some day when he had fucks to give.

She stuffed down another spike of fear about Luciano finding her and burrowed into him. Maybe she could still trust him. She still loved him more than anything, that was certain.

"You're fine," he said quietly. He wasn't sure what she was upset about, precisely, but whatever it was, they could handle it. He had no doubt of that.

"I'm just a little freaked out," she whispered, "You know how I hate feeling cornered. Luciano can't find out where I am, and Armetti can't know I failed. Christ. I can't believe he _survived._ I wonder what damage he still has..."

"What the hell did you do to him, anyway?" he asked, his arms tightening around her just a touch at the mention of Armetti.

"Luciano? Poison. Cyanide, probably, considering what materials we had available at the time," she murmured, irrelevantly pleased that he'd pulled her just a little closer. "When I needed to kill someone at an event I always used poison. Blood was too easy to spot. I don't know why it didn't kill him."

"Sometimes you just get unlucky," he said with a shrug. "Whatever the reason is, I would bet on him being a bit excited to hear you're around."

"That's what I'm worried about. I saw the conditions he held those children in. And he thought kids deserved special treatment. What would he do to _me?"_

"Nothing," he said calmly, his voice not sturdy or harsh, just logical. "He won't get close. Don't be an idiot."

"It's happened before, Sebastian," she reminded, a little defensively. "I appreciate the comfort, but statistically speaking, it could happen. It might."

"Statistically speaking, I'll kill him first," he said, just a hint of an edge to his voice. "I won't fail like that again."

She didn't say anything in response, just let out a quiet breath and reached for his wrist to press a kiss to the back of his hand. A sniper's hand. Calloused, strong, rough where hers were soft. She'd always liked his hands, even before they'd fucked in Italy - it was something she couldn't help noticing about dangerous people, like her subconscious was assessing just how easily those hands could strangle her. She ran her thumb over the back of his hand, her nail catching on his ring for a split second. "I love you," she said quietly.

He watched her as she took his hand, playing with it, and let her, absently fascinated by how much smaller she was than him. Her fingers barely came to his first knuckles. He refocused as she spoke, and tried to decide what sort of mood he was in this evening. After a few moments he pressed his lips to the top of her blood-red hair.

"I love you, as well. You'll be fine. Between the two of us he won't stand a chance."

"They rarely do, in the end," she snorted softly, relieved he hadn't pushed her away, physically or emotionally. Declarations of feelings were always a gamble. "I'm exhausted. I'm going to go to bed."

He nodded, pulling his arms away so that she could stand. "Alright. Sleep well."

"What, you're not coming? How on earth am I supposed to sleep without the living space heater?" she asked reproachfully, climbing to her feet and looking down at him with the slightest bit of pout.

He stood, too, rubbing his half-asleep arse. "That's what blankets are for. I need to do a few things. Get some sleep."

"Okay," she sighed, turning for the door, "Come to bed when you can, yeah? Aw, shit, I need to give the kid a pee break. Ugh. I'll be back."

"Nope, it's fine, already done," he said calmly, his long strides easily making the door before she could without appearing rushed. "Go to bed. I'll talk to you later."

"You better not," she muttered, turning for the bed. "I'll be _asleep."_

"Just shut the hell up and go to bed," he smirked, heading out the door and shutting it behind him. He took a breath and headed back into the office, glancing over the monitors. Keira was in the guest bedroom, sitting on the bed, and he nodded a little to himself, laying down on the couch and closing his eyes with a sigh.

She crawled into bed as the door shut, shifted between the covers, and passed out without another thought to Luciano, Armetti, or the girl next door.

He drifted in and out of sleep that night, waking up every hour or so to check the monitors. Neither Lorna nor Keira woke, however, and when dawn started to break, he dragged himself off of the couch and headed downstairs to make himself a pot of coffee.

* * *

Lorna woke a few hours after dawn, crawled out of bed, shuffled the door, and opened it onto the girl in the hallway. " _Jesus,"_ she jumped, a hand going for the door frame. "He better have let you out, because I do _not_ want to have to fight this early in the morning."

She nodded. "Last night," she added, considering Lorna. Moran hadn't told the woman he'd let her out. That was interesting.

"Good," she sighed, dragging a hand through her hair and slipped past into the hall. "I'll get you some clothes a little later. You'll probably fit."

She straightened the hoodie she'd slept in and headed after her. "Harrison, right?"

"Yeah," she sighed, heading for the linens closet. "First name's Lorna. I don't care what you call me, I'm not in charge of you," she shrugged. She opened the closet door and started to root around, coming up with an extra towel and a new toothbrush.

"No one really is, at the moment," she pointed out, taking the offered items with a nod of thanks. After a moment's pause she ventured "My dad... What's he like?"

Lorna snorted, giving a quiet laugh. "Well, that's the one-hundred million dollar question, isn't it?" she chuckled, turning and heading for her bedroom again. "C'mon, might as well pick you out some clothes now." She paused in front of the walk-in closet and opened the door, waving a hand at the clothes. "Pick what you want. I'll tell you what you can't have. As for your father, well. He's a bit of an asshole, honestly. He's used me, betrayed me, and nearly killed me." She lifted up her chin a little. "That's his handiwork, on my throat. But I just can't seem to stay away. Guess I fell in love with the better side of him along the way," she murmured, leaning her shoulder against the wall. "If I could go back, knowing everything I do now, I would make the same choices. Sometime maybe I'll tell you what I did to your grandfather for Sebastian."

"Grandfather..." she muttered, thinking that word over for a bit. She hadn't thought about that part of the equation, though if she was judging by Lorna's tone correctly, she didn't need to. "You are married, then," she said, nodding to the ring on Lorna's finger as she started to look through the clothes.

"No," she shook her head. She was unexpectedly disappointed to hear herself say it. "No, we're on a job. The marriage is just a cover. Christ, I can't imagine Moran emotionally tying himself to someone in that way to save his life. But we've been through a lot of shit together. That's probably where our 'married' vibe really comes from."

"And the fact that you're fucking," she retorted casually, pulling out a few pairs of jeans and some shirts, glancing to Lorna for approval.

She waved a permissive hand, and shrugged. "In our line of work, I don't think it's all too unusual. But I suppose we've had an arrangement longer than most. With more bumps, too."

"How much is longer?" she asked curiously. The more information she had about the man downstairs, the better.

"Years," she shrugged, "I don't know. I'm not good at keeping track of time. I spend too much of it locked up or traveling."

She nodded just a little at that, taking her selections out of the closet and heading for the guest room. "Does he have any other kids? Other family?"

"No," she replied, following. It was only half a lie. Sara wasn't a sister to Sebastian. But the part of it that was a lie was just to keep the girl from knowing too much. That wouldn't do. "No one. If he has other kids we don't know about them."

She nodded just a little at that, again. "Yeah. He did seem a bit surprised when I mentioned my relation."

"Granted, I think that's the same for everyone," she pointed out, taking a step backwards towards the hall. "Now, if you haven't got any other questions, I could really use a cup of coffee."

She nodded, heading into the guest room and closing the door, heading to the bathroom to shower and brush her teeth.

Sebastian was halfway through his second pot of coffee, staring absently at his computer. He looked up as Lorna came down. "Morning."

"Mornin'," she yawned, making a beeline for the coffee. "Ran into Keira upstairs. Until we figure out where to put her we can say she's your cousin."

He nodded just a little, scrolling through emails. "I have to tell Jim."

She snorted as she poured herself a mug. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled with the news. He can start training up a replacement bodyguard for when you kick the bucket."

"That's a good spin. I might try that," he said absently as he pulled out his cell phone, flicking through his contacts to Aunt Ruth and dialing.

"Hello?" An elderly woman's voice.

"Hello, Aunty. How are you?"

"Sebastian! I'm just fine. Fifi has been ill, though. We had to take her to the vet."

"I'm sorry to hear that. How's she been eating?"

"Very well, so I don't think that's it. Oh well."

"Hopefully her new collar will cheer her up."

"You're right, dear."

A pause, then:

"Your codes are correct and the line is clear. What can I help you with, sir?"

"I need to speak with Moriarty."

"I'll transfer you now, sir. New codes will arrive to your email within ten minutes." There was a click, and then more ringing.

Jim picked up a few minutes later, wondering what the hell Sebastian had to say so early into the job.

"What is it, Moran?" he droned, looking down at the little blinking red light that said he was connected.

"There's been a small... complication," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Apparently I have a daughter. She's shown up."

Jim put down the phone for a moment, lifting his free hand to rub at his eyes. He sighed heavily. Picked up the phone again. "How old, Moran? Are you sure she's yours?"

"Sixteen. And yes, sir. I've checked into it extensively. Everything but a DNA test, and that's not really necessary given her appearance. She's mine." He leaned back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. "Her mother's dead."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, swiveling in his chair and staring at the french-blue wall for a moment, just absorbing. It wasn't often that he required an absorption period. "I assume she's working for someone else if she found you, so that leaves you with two options. You kill her, or you vouch for her, and she comes to work with us. If you vouch for her and she betrays us, you should be perfectly aware how _displeased_ I'll be with you. You have a week to make your decision."

"Understood, sir," he said with a nod. "I'll send you a file with her details if you want them, and let you know within the week."

"Good. Choose _wisely,_ Moran, for your own sake," was all he said in reply, and the line went dead a second later.

Lorna sipped her coffee, raising her eyebrows as he dropped the phone from his ear. "That seemed to go shockingly well."

"It's always more disturbing when it does than when it doesn't," he said, pocketing the phone. "Threats are predictable, even Jim's. Instead he's given me a waiting period and a sense of foreboding."

"Jeez," she muttered. "I hate it when he does that. It's harder to tell what he's really thinking. How long do you have to decide whatever it is that's up for debate?"

"I have a week to decide whether to put a bullet in her head or employ her," he said, flicking his laptop open again. "If we employ her, her performance is on my head."

She sighed into her coffee. "Well, shit. That's a hassle."

He shrugged. "But it makes sense. If I decide to vouch for her, I'm responsible." He pulled his gun out of its holster, turning it over in his hands a few times.

"Whatever you decide to do, I'll support it," she said, even though he probably didn't need or want to hear it. "Don't kill her here, though, if you can help it. Don't need a mess, here."

"I'm not an idiot," he said, with no particular venom to his voice. "Kindly don't insinuate otherwise."

She rolled her eyes, though, similarly, there wasn't much emotion to it. "You know I just say shit for the sake of saying shit. I never insinuate anything about you, unless it's completely inappropriate for polite conversation."

"I'm well aware," he said with just a bit of a smirk. It faded quickly, and after a moment he turned to look at her. "What should I do here, do you think?"

She was a little surprised he'd asked for her opinion. She'd been deliberately avoiding giving it to him, just because she was worried about what he'd spit back. She took a sip of coffee to mask the pause. "Use the week wisely. Find out if you even _like_ her, for one. No use keeping around a little snot; Jim'd kill her anyways, if she's too much trouble. If she follows orders and doesn't fuck up, get her a job. She's smart. I think she knows enough to keep on your good side, and Moriarty's."

He nodded a little in acknowledgment, standing with his empty coffee mug to get his seventh cup of the morning. "This is an... unusual situation," he finally said as he poured the hot, black liquid. "I'm more hesitant than usual when I consider how to handle it."

"She's your kid. You're genetically programmed to keep her alive," Lorna pointed out, moving to sit on the sofa, her arm stretched along the back. "Add in how much the rest of your family sucks ass, and you're bound to be a smidge conflicted."

"Mmm..." was all he said, taking a long sip of coffee and walking over to sit back in his place. The fact that it was right next to her, under the small stretch of her arm, was completely coincidental, and he made no acknowledgment of it.

She let the conversation drop for the moment, drinking her coffee in silence, her hand dropping forward a little bit to absently run through his hair.

He closed his eyes at that, hands still on the keys, not tense or relaxed, just focused on her hand in his hair for the moment.

She let herself enjoy this minute of peace, this moment where she could almost believe they were married, that this was their house, that they didn't have to worry about the life of the girl upstairs. Then the moment passed, and she sighed, though her hand didn't stop. "What are we going to do if they come after her?"

"Kill them," he said, as though it was the easiest answer in the world. For him, it was. He would actually relish the chance to get his hands dirty. He'd been starving for the feel of a good pulse between his fingers.

"Okay, yes, but, I meant more if they blow our cover," she sighed. "I can only hope they don't already know where we are."

"We'll take it as it comes," he said quietly. "To an extent, we have a cushion. This Sebastian has had some shady dealings. He's ex-military as well. I can pretend I was in deep cover with a gang or something. We can talk our way out of a lot with these people, if you give them what they're looking for. A hero or a victim, either way you have them in your hand." He leaned back against the couch, giving up on the pretense of work for the time being, head falling back against her hand.

"Mm, that's a good point. Fuck it, I guess," she snorted, deciding to follow him and just forget about their potential problems for a little while. God, and they weren't even having sex.

He was quiet for a bit, before he reached out without much of a word and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her down next to and inward of him as he lay down on the wide couch. Coffee or not, he'd barely slept the night before, and when field adrenaline wasn't pushing him forward, lack of sleep was miserable.

She threw back the last of her coffee as he pulled her down so she could set it to the side, more than willing to curl up with him. She'd missed him the night before.

He closed his eyes once she lay down, tucking her into a now-familiar position beside him. His mind wandered back to the first time they'd slept curled up together, also on a couch. The tense wariness he'd maintained had seemed so important at the time. With anyone else, it still would be. Yet at the time, even defying Jim to defend her had seemed the obvious, simple choice. Now, even more so.

It occurred to him for the first time that if Jim asked him to kill her, point blank, no other option...

He wouldn't.

It didn't bother him as much as it should have.

He drifted off a few minutes later into a light doze, arm around her waist.

Lorna stayed awake for a little while. She didn't trust the girl upstairs enough to let her catch them both unawares at once. It kept getting harder to hold her eyes open, though, with his heat warming her up to a cozy comfiness, and eventually she drifted off, no longer able to fight off the sleep.

He woke a few times over the next couple of hours, mainly when Keira walked in or out of the room, but for the most part he just slept.

 _He was in the room. He was always in the room. The tele sat against the far wall, the three VHS tapes he had managed to acquire stacked carefully on top of it. His plate of food (toast with peanut butter, gone cold and stale, but still delicious whenever he dared to take a bite) sat on the end table beside his bed. He was reading a book that was mostly pictures and far too easy that, he'd read a hundred times before. But this time he was seeing how much he could guess about the next page before he turned it. He knew the words by heart._

 _He was afraid, he realized. His father had been gone so much longer than usual. He probably wouldn't be back tonight. The tape player clock said it was almost eight. He was regretting having three bites of toast at six for dinner. It might need to last until tomorrow night._

 _His heart was starting to pound as he strained his ears for sounds of his father returning. The world was so, so silent... He stood, walking over to his dresser as if in a trance, and paused as he saw the mirror. There, his reflection. But he wasn't the too-skinny six-year-old he should have been._

 _He was Keira._

He started awake with a small intake of breath, hand going for the knife beneath his pillow but finding neither pillow nor weapon.

She was woken from her light sleep by his jolt, and she stayed still for a moment, waiting for his breathing to slow a little. Moving too suddenly when he'd been yanked from sleep like that was a bad idea. "Nightmare?"

"Must've been," he grunted dismissively as he sat up, trying to look casual as he stretched.

"Mm," was all she mumbled in response, running a groggy hand over her face. "Shit, what time is it? I didn't mean to fall asleep."

He pulled his phone out and glanced it. "A little past two," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes before standing and heading for the bathroom.

She groaned, pushing herself up and sliding off the couch, heading for the kitchen, where she remembered setting her laptop the night before. She needed to check her email, see if Sara had anything new for them to do. Hopefully, Keira hadn't touched it.

Their next job came much quicker than he thought it would. He was almost through his next pot of coffee when his phone buzzed.

 _I assume you succeeded. I need you to get into Hanover's party this weekend. Get yourself invited. It's a benefactor's rally for her campaign. Do not miss._


	83. Tact

She looked over at him from her place at the kitchen table, eating an orange. Nobody had that number but Sara and Jim. "Who is it?"

"Her," he said, sliding the phone across to her. "We need to get an invite. Or just party crash. I vote the second, personally."

"Hanover isn't a big player, in the scheme of things. Probably no security to speak of. We'll party crash. It will make sense, given how little time has passed since we've known her," she shrugged, popping another slice of orange into her mouth.

He nodded, reaching across to take his phone back along with a slice of orange. He ate it as he texted Sara back for details on the party time and locations.

"What are we going to do with Keira? I don't particularly love the idea of leaving her alone here," she sighed. "But it's not exactly like we can hire a babysitter."

He was quiet for a few moments as he finished texting.

"She comes with us. My cousin."

She nodded, polishing off the orange. "Okay. Shouldn't be too hard to sell."

He nodded. "We look similar enough, and the age gap isn't too significant." He glanced over at her. He wondered for a moment if it bothered her, that he had a kid, but he decided he didn't want to know.

She let out a dry chuckle. "You know, one benefit of owning a uterus is that you never have to wonder if you've got any kids out there. Unless I was somehow abducted by aliens and don't remember."

"Did I forget to tell you about the time I found you unconscious in the middle of a cornfield?" he asked absently, flicking through his phone.

"You're hilarious. Either way, it's nice to know that I don't have stray genetic material just wandering," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "I'm too young for that crap. God."

He rolled his eyes and stood, walking over to grab his coat. "I'm going to the shooting range. I'll be back later."

"Okay. If you kill an innocent civilian on the way home, do text me to warn me. There are some things I can't let you get bloody handprints all over," she hummed, picking up her phone and starting to scroll through the news.

He let out a mock sigh. "And to think, it used to be when I murdered someone you'd jump me the second you saw me. The passion is gone. Farewell, honeymoon phase."

She smirked, deciding to treat that sentence semi-seriously. "Oh, I will be jumping you the second I see you. I just won't be wearing anything stainable."

"Is that a suggestion to murder someone on the way home, or just a 'just in case'?" he asked dryly as he paused by the door.

She looked up from her phone to look at him, still smirking. "I think you know."

He smirked back, eyes darkening. "Might be home sooner than planned... We'll see." Then he headed out the door for the car parked in the garage.

She chuckled to herself and stood from the table to head for the stairs. Time to start planning what she would wear to the party.

He texted her from the shooting range as he waited for his latest opponent to take his pathetic shots.

 _Too many people give a shit in the suburbs... I'm looking forward to the challenge of staying below the radar. S_

 _Going to subtract 1 from the suburban population? L_ She responded, standing in the walk-in closet, weight on one leg, hand on her hip, fingers drumming thoughtfully. _Black, or red?_

 _At least. We'll see how things go. S_ he responded, standing once the man stepped away and placing all six of his shots dead center on the man's spread. His bullets only left one hole in the paper.

She smirked and slid her phone back into her pocket, just barely turning her head towards the door to call, "Keira? If you rather not be mentally scarred for the rest of your life, I'd suggest you go into your room and find yourself a good movie. Don't say I didn't warn you!"

There was an exasperated sigh, and the teen appeared outside the door. "What are you going to do?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"I'm going to assume that you rather not see Sebastian and I fucking against the nearest possible surface," she hummed, deciding on the red and putting away the black lingerie. "But half your family is psychotic, so I won't try to predict you."

"Jesus, no," she snorted, shaking her head. "I'll find a movie. What do you mean, though, that my family is psychotic?"

"Oh no, now is not going to be story time," she shook her head, "I'm looking forward to having fun in a little while and I do _not_ need to be dredging that shit out of the depths. Ask your father. If he doesn't want to tell you, it's not my business."

"Really? 'Go ask your dad?' Coward's escape," she muttered under her breath, turning to head for her room.

"Watch it, you little shit. You're lucky I didn't just lie to you," she snapped, following her out into the bedroom and shutting the door firmly behind her. Touchy subject. But she wouldn't tell Keira anything Sebastian didn't want her to know.

"Thank you, oh benevolent one," she said sarcastically with an exaggerated bow before entering her room.

She leaned back against the door, staring at the neatly made bed with a sigh. An asshole, just like her dad. She had to wonder what the mother had been like. She shook her head of those thoughts and stepped away from the door, getting undressed.

* * *

Hunting in suburbia was easier than he anticipated. People liked their semblance security, sure, but in actuality their systems were laughable and their homes isolated. Sure, it wasn't his usual jaunt in an alley, but it was nice to change things up, add a bit of risk.

He chose a house on a cul de sac, removed from the road for what he was sure had been some very expensive 'privacy'.

It did very little for the woman he found inside, though he appreciated the advantage immensely. She apparently wasn't a fan of cameras, either (he'd made a scan for technology as he'd entered), so his life was simple.

He made no particular effort to be clean with her fluids, though he manipulated the blood spatter as best he could to send confusing signals. Eventually he stood, wiped his prints from the knife and tossed it aside, and examined his work. He'd laid out her organs in some sort of ritualistic pattern, to throw whoever investigated off the trail. With that, he headed out of the house, dragging his feet to obscure any footprints, and got into his car where he'd parked it behind the hedgerow. Within five minutes, he was gone without a trace.

Lorna settled herself down on the sofa in the living room, reading a magazine that had been left here by Jim's home decorators about cooking. It wasn't exactly captivating, but she knew Sebastian would be home soon, so she didn't feel the need to truly engross herself in anything. She'd changed into sweatpants and a shoulder-less top she'd reserved for such an occasion, the blood-red strap of her bra on display. Just so he knew not to rip anything.

He pulled the car into the garage and waited for the door to fully close behind him before he emerged, his clothes flecked and stained crimson. He was pulsing, every part of him roiling with energy, the kill still vivid in his mind. Her gurgled attempts at screams, hands clawing, eyes wide with the realization that she was going to die, that Sebastian was going to kill her.

He'd covered the car with trash bags to save the clean-up, but for the moment he left them in place, heading into the house via the connecting door, a small smirk in place, eyes ravenous as they fell on Lorna, sweeping over her. He eyes quickly found the red of the bra strap and his breath caught slightly as he walked forward.

"Honey, I'm home..." he murmured, his voice soft and deadly, a silk noose.

Her eyes roved over him, taking in the specks of crimson. If she didn't know better, she'd have said he'd purposely worn light colors today. "Who are you wearing?" she smiled, reaching out a hand towards him.

"Margaret Turnbull, judging by her mail," he said, taking the hand as if dancing and stepping forward, bringing her hand up to trace through the blood spattered across his cheek.

She gathered up a smudge of still-wet blood onto her thumb, eyes dark. She stood. "And what did you do to Miss Margaret Turnbull?"

He smiled, pulling her closer and stepping in against her, a hand wrapping around her waist to hold her there as he dropped her hand, reaching up to get a light grip on her throat. "I crushed her larynx," he murmured, stained fingers leaving a trail as he dragged them across her throat, "So that she couldn't scream..."

Then he let the hand drop, and examined it, sighing slightly to note most of the blood had dried. Then he smirked, reaching up to press his finger between her lips, between her teeth as she opened. "I need ink to tell the story properly," he murmured, heart thundering as he waited for the pain and the fresh blood.

She grinned, biting down slowly until she tasted blood, her heart jumping as the taste of copper spread across her tongue, and then let him go, even though she wanted more, wanted to taste him in the most intimate way. "By all means, feel free to use my body as a canvas. We wouldn't want anything to be left out, would we?"

"It would be a shame," he agreed quietly, examining the blood rolling down his finger with a smile before shifting his other hand to remove her loose shirt, shifting it up over her head and tossing it aside. He paused for a moment to admire her bra, eyes catching hers with a grin. "Incredible color choice," he murmured as he pressed his oozing finger into the dip of her collarbone and dragged it slowly downward, holding her gaze. He lifted his finger just for the bra, then dropping again, over her sternum and her abdomen. "I cut her open," he whispered, a low growl in his voice, his nail scraping her skin.

"You must have been careful, to have this little blood on you," she murmured, just a tad breathless, all her focus on the slight burn left behind by his finger.

He knew he was taking it slowly, too slowly for her liking, but he was coiled up like a spring, bloodlust roaring, and he wanted her to join him.

"I was precise," he said quietly, leaning in to let his tongue trace her ear. "Exact. Ritualistic. Wanted to throw anyone investigating off my tail... I removed her liver first..." He traced his finger over her corresponding patch of skin. "Left it attached, just severed the tissue holding it in place..."

She shivered, closing her eyes to imagine it, imagine him bent down over a living body and cutting it open, the blood welling up wherever he touched. "I almost wish I'd gone with you," she whispered, hooking a finger into the waistband of his trousers, just to keep herself anchored to something. "I love watching you work..."

He smiled. "Next time we go together," he agreed quietly, nipping her under the corner of her jaw. "What would you have taken next?"

"Was she alive?" she breathed, lifting up her head just slightly to allow him access. "If she was, I'd have gone for the kidneys. Wouldn't care what was in my way."

"She was," he confirmed, her words bringing imagery to the surface, and he groaned slightly. He moved his lips down to her shoulder, light scruff brushing against her neck. "Trying to scream, but that's difficult without vocal cords..." He spread a hand across her abdomen, fingers splaying wide. "I took her intestines first. Unraveled them slowly and used them to make designs on the floor... that's about when she went into shock."

"Mm, I bet," she chuckled, leaning into the searing warmth of his hand, "The psychological damage _alone..._ When did you take her heart?"

"After her kidneys and her stomach," he said quietly, pushing down the sweatpants with his good hand, his bloody finger still tracing his path. "It was still beating... she was a hell of a woman..." He drew a circle over her heart, feeling her pulse quick beneath her skin. "Actually saw the thing in my hand before she finally died..."

"Hot damn," she murmured, her breath coming not quite as easily as it normally did. She wanted him to go faster, to scrape harder, but she knew that that wasn't his game right now. He wouldn't. "Did you leave her there like that?"

"No, made her organs a bit more... ornamental. Then yes, I left her on the floor." He finally bit her, like he'd been dying to do, his teeth sinking into the turn of her neck and shoulder, piercing flesh, blood welling up.

" _Fuck,"_ she gasped, arching a little without meaning to, digging her nails into his abdomen. "Sebastian... Fuck me, please."

He smiled, dragging his tongue over the marks, teeth stained red. He stood back just enough to begin removing his clothes, unbuttoning his blood-stained shirt.

She helped him, ignoring her own for the moment, hands going to practically tear off his belt, whipping it out of the loops with a slap of leather against the wall behind her as she tossed it aside.

"Oh, good, you're caught up," he muttered as he gave up on buttons and just ripped his shirt the rest of the way open, tossing it aside as he stepped out of his trousers. He reached out to push the blood red panties off of her hips, before sliding his hands up to her bra.

She closed the distance between them again, disregarding his convenience for ridding of her final article of clothing, leaning up to capture his lips heatedly, hungrily, her hand sliding down his chest.

He unlatched the back of her bra, but left it hanging on her shoulders as she pressed up against him, his hands sliding back down to grip her arse and pulling her hips firmly against his. He kissed her back, his tongue pressing forward to slide against hers.

She slid a hand into his hair, getting a rough grip, her hand between them shoving down the waistband of his pants. "Against the wall?" she breathed, pulling away for just a second, lips trailing across his jaw.

"Either that or the counter," he retorted, reaching down to grab her hips and lift her up either way, pulling her legs around his waist, tilting his head back and pulling slightly against her grip in his hair with a moan.

"Whichever makes it easier for you to fuck me," she groaned, slipping off her bra before wrapping her arms around her neck, her fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders. "Bend me over something if you have to, I don't _care."_

"As appealing as that idea is..." he muttered, shoving her against a wall without much delicacy. He didn't bother with any more conversation, just pushed into her with all the energy and strain that had been gamboling around his body for hours.

 _"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck,"_ she gasped, arching, clawing at his shoulders, unable to keep still with the sudden rush of intense stimulation. " _Seb."_

He groaned as her nails gouged into his shoulders, and took just a moment to let her settle around him before he was thrusting into her, starving for sensation. "I was th-thinking about this... when I killed her... abo- _mmnn_ \- about fucking you into the wall..."

She groaned, forehead falling onto his shoulder, breaths already coming hard. She took savage pleasure in the fact that he thought about her when he was killing someone else, something almost as good to him as sex. Another reminder of how much he was _hers._

He swore under his breaths as she suddenly drilled her hips against his with startling energy, and grinned. "You like that?" he asks breathlessly. "Like the idea of me carving your name into her ribcage?"

"Yes," she gasped, fingers tightening on him, getting a grip so she could lift herself up and slam back down, another ragged moan leaving her lips. " _Christ,_ yes."

He laughed even as he pushed back, pinning her almost harshly against the wall, his forehead pressed to the cool paint above her shoulder. " _Christ_ , I so want... want to kill with you... there..." he panted, a hand reaching up to grip her hair. "Hold your gaze while they die... Watch their blood stain you..."

"God, I love you," she groaned, feeling like she was on fire, the best fire she'd ever felt in her damn life, the cold wall pressed up against her back doing nothing to soothe it. "You're so _hot_ when you're covered in blood, you know that?"

"I've picked that up," he gasped, his tongue finding the side of her neck where he'd cut her before, needing to taste her, taste her blood, the images in his mind too potent and visceral to ignore. He moaned as his tongue agitated the wound again and blood bloomed across his tongue, his hips driving into hers furiously as heat raced up his spine. "Wasn't enough this time... need to be dripping in it..."

"We'll go out again," she told him, panting hard, enthralled by the friction, the pure blazing heat of him, "After the party. We'll- _shit-_ we'll make a kill together."

"Brilliant... Always wanted to try draining someone... getting every. Last. Drop..." he punctuated the last three words with the movements of his hips. He was starting to get close, the muscles along his broad back tensing and rolling with each movement. "Fuck, Lorna.."

The sound of him starting to tip over the edge was a rush, her back arching, nails clawing, breathy gasps the only sound she could make. _Almost there, almost there..._

He pulled back enough to meet her gaze as he bit hard into his own lip, a trickle of blood starting down over his chin as he chased release, every part of him focused on her and him and _them_ as he finally careened over the edge, pulling her against him with a yell, eyes clamping shut.

She swore as she followed him over, leaning forward to kiss him hard, shuddering at the taste of blood, of knowing that it was his, white spots flaring up behind her eyes. When it was over she was still clinging to him, breathing hard.

He slowly sank to the ground with her in his lap, legs too shaky to support both their weights. He took slow breaths, then let out a small laugh, nipping her ear. " _Fuck."_

"Yeah, I think that about covers it," she breathed, draped over him like a particularly in-the-way knapsack. "Jesus. I'm glad I warned the kid."

"Me too. I didn't even think about that... fuck, that would have been hilarious," he snorted, chuckling against her shoulder.

"God, like we _need_ someone living in this house who wants to kill us," she rolled her eyes, a hand absently going to run her fingers through his hair. "I already had to fend off questions about your family today."

"That will be an entertaining eventual conversation to have," he smirked, leaning into her fingers in his hair.

"I don't know how 'eventual' it's going to be," she chuckled, a small little rush of warmth spreading through her at how easy it was to be affectionate with him now. "She gave me quite the attitude when I told her I wasn't going to tell her shit. I didn't know what you wanted to keep to yourself."

"I appreciate it. Though not that you seem to think I can't stand up to the interrogation of a sixteen-year-old," he snorted.

"Oh, hush," she rolled her eyes, still good-humored. "You know what I mean."

"That's a wild assumption," he muttered, but his tone was amused.

"I'm good at those," she chuckled, leaning back to kiss him once on the cheek and then disentangled herself, standing with a groan. "I'm going to shower before I get all crusty with blood. Coming?"

"Already did," he smirked, though he stood and stretched, heading for the stairs.

"Hilarious," she snorted, following after, just a tad stiffly. "When is the party? I don't think I've asked yet."

"Tomorrow night. Some sort of holiday gathering," he snorted, walking into their room and the bathroom to turn on the shower.

"Oh, it's holiday themed? I wonder if they packed you any ugly holiday sweaters," she laughed, waiting for the spray to get a little warmer before getting in. "I can wear red."

"Then I might end up finger fucking you under a table. Fair warning," he said, stepping in beside her.

She reached for the soap, deciding she really didn't want to get a dumb infection where he'd cut her. "As long as you know retaliation is likely."

"Oh, it's expected," he said, leaning into the spray for a moment to rinse off his face before stepping back again, watching the dried blood dissolve into the water. He held up the finger she'd bit, rinsing it under the spray as well.

"I'm glad we understand each other," she smirked, shampooing her hair. "Are we bringing Keira? I can't remember if I asked."

"I think we should, yes," he said, reaching out to trace his finger- which was bleeding again- across her shoulders, watching the blood mix with the water and suds running down her back.

"Okay. I'll get her something to wear," she hummed, not bothering to turn around to see what he was doing. "I do so hope she doesn't piss off someone we need to suck up to."

"She does seem to have a bit of a tact issue," he agreed with a small smirk. "Must be from her mother."

She chuckled, wringing her hair out and moving to step out of the shower. "What was she like, anyway? Do you even remember her?"

He nodded just a little. "I do, yes. I was infatuated with her for a few years. Then the Army happened and I found my calling. Never looked back."

"Were you with her all that time?" she asked, pulling a towel off the rack and drying off her dripping red hair.

"Hell no," he laughed. "Drunken spring break in Scotland. Had a Polaroid and a plan though." He turned off the water and stepped out.

"A _plan?"_ she raised her eyebrows, turning to look at him as she wrapped the towel around her waist, pulling her damp hair over one shoulder. "Christ, I'm shocked she was alive after you left."

"I wasn't always aware I was this fucked up, Harrison," he said, amused. "Took the Army to dig that up. I embraced it thoroughly once I knew it was there, but for a few years Scotland and alcohol and red hair meant escape." He glanced at her red hair with a smirk. "All roads lead to hell, it seems."

"Please, I'm easily the best thing to ever happen to you," she scoffed, smirking, turning for the door to the bedroom. "Hell, my ass."

"And what a lovely ass it is," he smirked, following after her and smacking said rear end as he passed her by.

"I can't believe we put up with each other," she laughed, swatting his shoulder before he got out of range. "Although I think we've both mellowed a little. Gross."

"I know. It's disturbing," he muttered, making a face as he pulled out clothes. "Keira thought we were married. Bad sign."

"We _are_ actually posing as married," she pointed out. "Either way, this is probably the longest relationship either of us have ever had, I'm not _really_ surprised. You know me as well as you know Jim. Better, I guess. I just don't pay you to."

"I suppose," he sighed, pulling on pants and trousers. He glanced over at her and then back to his clothes with a smirk. "What _would_ our neighbors think if they knew of our murderous habits?"

"They'd probably think we belonged in prison," she chuckled, getting dressed herself, half through the doorway of the walk-in. "Maybe they'd make an exhibit out of the house."

"That would be hilarious," he smirked. "I'm half tempted to start a string of ritualistic murders just to hear them all chatter about it," he added with a grin, pulling on a shirt.

"Who knew you were such an attention whore?" she teased, pulling a sweater over her head. She wanted Keira to have as little of an idea about the extent of her scars as possible. She didn't want to have to deal with any comments.

"It's less attention and more amusement at the fear-mongering that would go on," he chuckled, heading for the stairs.

She simply shook her head and finished getting dressed. He had no idea how ridiculous he was.

* * *

He left Keira up to her own devices, and she eventually emerged when he was halfway through cooking dinner. He looked up as she came down the stairs and nodded slightly, turning the sausages on the pan.

Keira took up a spot leaning against the counter a few feet away, watching him cook in silence for a few moments before speaking. "Lorna said something about your family in passing earlier, then wouldn't explain what the fuck she was on about. Why does she think your family is psychotic?"

He smirked a little. "Well, they pointed a fake gun at me to get my attention, for one thing," he said, shifting the sausages and glancing up at her.

She huffed an exasperated sigh. "Jesus. You know what I mean. Give me a straight answer, huh?"

"Why?" he asked, still with a relaxed grin. "What concern is it of yours?" He returned his attention to his food.

"I think I deserve to know who I'm related to," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Especially considering how touchy she got. What happened to her?"

His expression hardened, though the smile remained. He turned around to face her, leaning against the counter, eyes cold, knife still casually in hand. "A lot," he said coolly. "I imagine you've wondered where the words carved into every inch of my skin came from?"

She leaned back just a little, sensing the need to tread carefully. He was a trained killer, she had to remind herself. This picture of domesticity he'd been presenting was a front. "I've wondered, yeah," she nodded. "Didn't think I should bring it up."

"More tactful than I was giving you credit for," he chuckled. There was no humor in his voice. "This was carved into me over a period of months. Over, and over, and over again. By the time I was able to escape, I'd temporarily lost my sight and was a bit out of spitting distance of my sanity. So understand me when I say that Harrison had it far worse, and you would do well to respect her for it."

She swallowed, an embarrassed flush appearing on her cheeks. She didn't give most people enough respect to feel embarrassed when they chastised her, so this was a bit of a rarity. She let out a small, uncomfortable cough. "So, uh... I'm guessing a Moran had something to do with it?"

"Something, yes," he said, the coolness slipping away like it had never been there, his demeanor returning to neutral. He went back to chopping vegetables to add in with the sausage. "Now, ask yourself if you really, _really_ want to know. If you still do, I'd be happy to inform you in graphic detail. If you're content just living life in a bubble I'm happy not to pop for you, then you can start peeling those potatoes."

She grimaced, and reached for the potatoes, but she had a stubborn streak a mile wide, and she was certain that her little bubble had been popped ages ago, and living her life in ignorance wouldn't help a thing. "I'll peel the potatoes, but I still want to know."

"My sister kept me locked in a root cellar smaller than the space under that table for the better part of three months. My father, your grandfather, kept Lorna locked in his basement and raped and tortured her daily. Any questions?" His voice was nonchalant.

"Fucking hell..." she muttered, very nearly dropping a potato on the floor. That was not what she'd expected. She'd known her family was fucked up, but this? She cleared her throat. "Why?"

He looked up. "Because Lorna found out about what my father used to do to me as a child and took a little revenge. My father escalated. As for my sister, I was in the way of her political career by existing. She removed the issue."

"Jesus. That certainly puts my mum's side of the family into perspective," she shook her head, still absorbing all of that. "My other grandfather sold _peat,_ for Christ's sake. Not exactly criminal stuff, that."

"No, not exactly," he agreed, pushing the pile of peppers and onions into the skillet.

"Are they still alive, your sister and father?" she ventured, after a moment of peeling potatoes in silence.

"My sister is. She's... useful. You might get to meet her, who knows?" he said, pushing the contents of the skillet around a bit. "My father was accidentally brutally murdered." He glanced over at her. "Slice the potatoes up and start passing them to me."

She nodded, dragging over a free cutting board and doing as he said. So Lorna was a killer, too. She hadn't been sure. A criminal, yes, but not all criminals were murderers. "How'd you get out? She let you go?"

"My network found me and extracted me," he said, turning down the heat slightly and walking over to the cabinet to find a few spices he needed.

"Huh. Useful," she murmured, shrugging. She passed a few chopped potatoes his way.

"That is one of the advantages to having a network that doesn't hate you," he agreed with a smirk.

"And being important, I'd assume," she snorted, rolling her eyes a little.

"Yes. Also something to strive for," he agreed with a chuckle, reaching out to scoop up some of her diced potatoes and throwing them into his pan.

"People generally don't like me," she shrugged, making just a bit of a face. "Unlike the two of you. I saw you at the art gallery, through the windows."

He also made a face, which was remarkably similar, though he didn't notice. "Grifting. Very much not my style."

"That's what she is? I've never seen a grifter so fucked up in my life. Thought your network was a little more cutthroat than that," she said with raised eyebrows, passing over the rest of the potatoes.

"Moriarty's versatile. We do everything from grifting to heists to hits. Generally all towards some grander plan." He tossed the remaining potatoes in and turned the heat back up. "And she's had extenuating circumstances."

"Yeah? And what are those? You?" she snorted, leaning against the counter again.

"'Those' are none of your business," he said calmly, turning the stove off. "Go tell Harrison dinner is ready. And be polite. I like her more than you."

"Sheesh, okay," she groaned, turning around with a hint of attitude and walking out of the room. When she told Harrison dinner was ready, it was with a lot more respect than earlier.


	84. Candy Canes Break Easy

"Nope. Fuck this. No tie," Sebastian muttered, tossing the rip-away tie into the bin. It was red, decorated with candy canes. He loathed it. "It's a Christmas party. Everyone will be wasted anyway. I refuse to wear bloody _sweets._ "

"Oh, don't be a baby," Lorna scolded, throwing a real candy cane at him. She was dressed already in a flattering, classy red dress that showed off her curves well, but she was fiddling with her makeup. "Wear that in your pocket. We don't need people saying we don't have spirit."

"I don't have spirit. I have zero spirit. The only _possible_ use I can see for one of these is to sever someone's carotid," he muttered, tucking it into his pocket anyway.

"I'm not even sure what that _is,"_ she laughed, turning off the light by the mirror with a resolution that if she didn't stop fiddling she'd die. "But either way, it's not about what we personally have. Our personas, on the other hand..."

"Yes, well, jolly is a little difficult to fake," he muttered. "And the carotid is the artery in your throat." He walked over to her. "Can't our personas loathe the holidays as well?"

"Not if we want to get invited to other parties. Okay, _you_ can be curmudgeonly about the holidays, but you're going to have to suffer through my forced holiday spirit with a smile. Just get drunk, no one will notice the difference."

"Good," he said with a grunt, heading for the door. "I think you forget sometimes that I'm not a grifter. Keira," he called, louder. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm ready," Keira grumbled, appearing from her room looking very uncomfortable in an ugly holiday sweater.

"Christ, the two of you," Lorna rolled her eyes, passing the both of them, "Let's go. And _behave,_ will you?"

"No," they both said at once, following after her. Moran hid a smirk, and glanced over at the kid. She was entertaining sometimes.

Lorna made an exasperated sound, trotting down the stairs in her heels as well as if she were barefoot. "Christ, like one of you wasn't enough. Don't make me use my stern voice in company. I _will_ use it."

"All these threats," Sebastian chuckled, stepping up behind her and pressing his lips to her bare shoulder. "If I behave, I don't get to have a that fun with you I promised."

"Ew, could you guys not? I don't want to know about your freaky sex life," Keira complained, shouldering past them to the door. Lorna chuckled, reaching for his hand and briefly squeezing it.

"That's not the kind of behaving I meant."

He grinned, heading toward the car and dropping her hand to go around to the driver's side.

"Our sex life isn't freaky. Do you think our sex life is freaky, Lorna?"

"Freaky hot, maybe," she laughed, getting into the passenger side while Keira got in the back. "Sex is sex."

He nodded in agreement, grinning a bit to himself as Keira groaned and thumped her head back against the seat.

"Alright, let's go endure misery."

"So dramatic," she snorted, rolling her eyes, then sat back and fell into silence. The party wouldn't be fun, but that was fine. She had Sebastian.

* * *

They arrived about forty minutes late, which was fine, and left the car with a chauffeur that balked at Sebastian's appearance and did a double-take at Lorna's. He ignored him, though he was tempted to rip out his eyeballs, and with that mindset, entered the party. He headed directly for the bar.

Lorna followed right on his heels, fighting back a sunken feeling in her stomach from the way the valet had looked at her. She needed a little bit of a boost. She ordered a neat scotch, leaning against the bar next to Sebastian, and turning to apologize as she bumped into the person behind her. "Sorry abo- _Jim?"_

"Hello. Oh, scotch. Lovely." He reached out and took the drink out of her hand, taking a sip. "Long time, no see. That's a thing people say, isn't it? Idiots, always stating the obvious."

"Jesus," she muttered, turning to signal the bartender for another. Keira stood just behind her, looking with wide eyes at Jim. "Don't stare, kid, your eyes are going to fall out of your sockets."

"Jim, this is Keira, my... cousin. Keira, this is James Moriarty. You will call him sir, and you will indicate just how much you value your torture-free existence by the amount of respect you choose to employ when addressing him."

Keira just gave a bit of a frightened nod, ducking her head towards Jim. Lorna thought that it was probably best she didn't speak. She wasn't fantastic with tact. "To what do we owe the visit, boss?" Lorna asked, voice quiet, in case anybody tried to eavesdrop in the loud room.

"Coincidence," Jim said calmly, taking another sip of his scotch as he studied Keira in amused interest. It was clear she was Moran's daughter, the similarities were incredible. "And I wanted to see the tiger cub for myself. See if she had stripes like daddy."

Keira gave Sebastian a very clear _WTF_ look, increasingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and somehow increasingly confused. Harrison took a sip from her new scotch, eyes still on Jim, her instinct to keep the most dangerous person in the room at her front, not her back. "She's certainly got his mouth, that's for sure."

"Have you kissed her as well, Harrison? Or are you referring to Moran's seemingly unnecessary reminder to be polite?" he asked with a smirk, walking forward and reaching out to grab Keira's chin, tilting her head from side to side as if inspecting her, just to see what she'd do. "Not that he's followed his own advice a day in his life..."

"I'm plenty respectful, boss. It's just that sometimes it's necessary to be otherwise," Sebastian said with a small grin into his drink.

Lorna didn't bother rising to his bait, just rolling her eyes. Keira put up with his grasp on her chin for about three seconds before yanking back out of it, her jaw clenched tight, eyes fiery. "I don't like people _grabbing_ me, thanks," she growled. " _Stop."_

Lorna laughed. "Kid, what you don't put up with with other people, you let the boss do. He owns your ass. And my ass, and Moran's ass. The sooner you get used to that, the better."

Jim smirked. "Second one, I see, Harrison. Look how indignant she is. It's adorable. It's like she doesn't understand that I could have Moran field gut her from the bar light right now, if I wanted. Bit spectacular though. Maybe I'll just have him take an eye. Make it look like more of an accident with an olive fork."

That made her clam up real quick, taking a step back out of reflex, eyes darting anxiously to her father and then back to the boss. Lorna smirked into her drink. She always found it amusing watching Jim exert his power over other people. Probably because it had happened so often to her. Nowadays, she was just a smidgen safer than other people. Not _much,_ but enough to inspire a certain elite confidence about being useful, and having fucked him. As long as she kept clear off the line, she was good. "Christ, she looks like she could use a drink. What do you want, Keira? Shirley Temple, maybe?"

Moran laughed as she looked at him, half afraid he was already wielding an olive fork, half a plea for help. "I warned you," was all he said, shrugging.

"He did," Jim agreed. "Do you like those stripes on his face? I put them there. And the JM, directly over his precious little thumper, is mine as well. I own him, in every sense of the word." His accent was growing a bit thicker, eyes alight as he stared down his prey. "Don't expect help from him because he's your father. He wouldn't think twice about killing you on my lightest whim. I am the one and _only_ person who controls him, and therefore you. Do try to remember that the next time you're sniveling."

"I just take him out on lease," Lorna said sarcastically, taking a big swig from her drink. Her face didn't change, her voice didn't change, but her fingers tightened imperceptibly on her glass. She _hated_ the initials carved into his chest. They were a reminder that he wasn't really hers, that he could be yanked away like a puppet on a string at any second. Her smug mood evaporated, she turned as Keira cleared her throat uncomfortably, staring at her feet.

"I, um. Sorry."

Jim raised an eyebrow, but smirked. "She can be taught." He glanced over at Moran. "I'm here to make a couple of business deals. I don't want one of then going south, so do me a favor and lock your mini-me in a closet or something around nine."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sure thing, boss. Mind if I ask who...?"

Keeping herself under control enough to avoid Jim fucking Moriarty catching on wasn't easy, but she thought she managed it well enough. Jim wasn't even paying attention to her. "Your cub's old network, actually. I don't need them catching wind of her hanging off your arm and have them up in arms. A preemptive reminder of how much scarier I am than them will do just fine," Jim shrugged, his eyes sliding off of Sebastian to his offspring, judging her reaction.

"Understood, sir," he said with a nod, not bothering to glance at Keira- who was several shades paler than usual. He could deal with that later. "Anything else you need me for?"

"I'll let you know," he smirked, winking once. Lorna fought back a wave of jealousy.

He grinned, raising his scotch once in response. "Then if you don't mind, boss, my wife and I have some mingling to do."

"Go, have fun," he snorted, waving his hand and turning away. Lorna slipped her arm through Sebastian's, already beginning to pull him back into the crowd. Away from Jim.

He glanced at Keira, mouthing 'be good' before returning his attention to Lorna's insistent leading. "Are we late for something vital, or are you just practicing for a speed-walking competition?"

"Both. I hear speed-walking is good for the heart," she snorted, drinking from her glass as she weaved through the party goers. She didn't want to have the jealousy discussion again.

He glanced over at her, caught the look in her eyes, and sighed, deciding not to mention it. He'd half expected it, what with all of Jim's blustering. That didn't mean it wasn't an issue to be resolved at some point. He just needed to figure out _how_.

"Hanover should be around here somewhere," she sighed, scanning the crowd. Too many of them had on bright shades of red and green that hurt her eyes. "We shouldn't need to schmooze for too long. It's just a party. All we have to do is cement that we're interested in her campaign."

He nodded in agreement, scanning above the heads of the crowd easily. Lorna's vantage point was a tad bit... disadvantaged. "Got her," he said calmly. "Over by what seems to be another bar. Lots of those around here, it seems.'

"It's a holiday party filled with politicians. There needs to be a lot of drinks to keep the peace," she shrugged, giving him a little nudge. "Lead the way. Smile."

"I thought I was a Christmas grump. Remember?" he muttered, before giving the best smile he could without showing any teeth (it was more of a smirk) and heading over.

Hanover brightened as she saw the two of them approaching, waving them over with a hand holding a glass full of wine. "Hello, hello! How are you dears doing? I've heard _quite_ the story about your little afternoon at the shooting gallery. You absolutely must show off for me sometime!"

His smile widened slightly into something almost natural. "It would be my pleasure. Some time after the holidays?"

"That would be wonderful. God knows we all have our obligations this time of year," Hanover laughed, sipping at her wine. "Family or politics. Not much difference, anyways."

He nodded in agreement, motioning the bartender over and asking for another scotch.

"How have you been, Lorna?" Hanover asked, taking another sip of wine.

"Great," she smiled, winding an arm through Sebastian's. "Sebastian's cousin has come to stay with us for a little while. It's nice having someone younger than me around, for a change!"

He laughed in agreement, turning to kiss the top of her head.

"Lovely. It's always nice to have family around for the holidays. Will you two be traveling or staying around here?"

"We'll probably stick around," she hummed, "We prefer to keep to ourselves come the holidays. Avoid the crowds, you know. Immigrants, the like."

"Oh, I feel the same way," she agrees enthusiastically, then smiles. "Is this your first holiday season together?"

"No, we've had a couple already, but this will be our first one as a married pair," she smiled, leaning into Sebastian. She almost, _almost,_ wished it were true. But that was dangerously foolish thinking. He might have killed her if he knew.

"That's so lovely," Hanover trilled, looking nauseatingly thrilled. "How did you two meet?"

Sebastian let out a bit of a dark chuckle, but left the storytelling to Lorna.

She let out a bit of a nervous laugh, eyes casting around the room for a moment before landing back on the drink in front of her. "Not exactly at a party. I come from a fairly wealthy family. It's nothing to brag about, really, but it was enough to attract a kidnapping. Sebastian was the one who rescued me."

Hanover's eyes rounded into saucers, and she appeared delighted. "Oh, but that's a story I must hear... How exciting!"

Lorna gave an uncomfortable smile. "It's not all that exciting, really. I was held for about a week, tortured when my parents refused to pay the ransom. That's why I'm all scarred up."

"Oh, you poor dear," Hanover said sympathetically, reaching out a slightly unsteady hand on her arm. Moran watched her like a hawk. "But then your knight in shining armor came along, hmmm?"

"Yes," she smiled, leaning further into him, though it was probably only noticeable to him. "Have to love that military training. This is why I don't support de-funding them, you know. Terrible idea."

"I couldn't agree more," she tittered, taking a large sip of wine. "Speak softly and carry a big stick, as they say. Big sticks require funding!" She giggled.

God, what a tiring woman. She didn't know how the hell she was going to get away from this drunk old bat. "That they do, that they do," she hummed, looking up at Moran. _Extricate us._

He smiled at her, catching the signal. "Darling, have you seen Keira around? I don't want to leave her to wander too long..."

Lorna turned a little, looking out into the crowd. "No, I haven't seen her for a while. We should probably go see what she's up to. It was nice to see you, Haley! We'll catch up soon, yeah?"

"You, too, dears! Absolutely. We must set up that shooting engagement. Here's my card," she said, handing it to Sebastian. "Call me, we'll work out a date."

"Okay! Ta!" She hummed, turning and leading Sebastian into the crowd without really looking for Keira.

"Still not sure if I like her or hate her," he said casually as they wove through the crowd.

"Like a drunk aunt at Christmas," she commented easily, finishing off her drink. She wasn't quite sure if this was her third or not.

"I imagine that's probably an accurate description," he agreed. He glanced at his watch. "We should actually find Keira, however. It's almost nine."

"Shit, really? I didn't think we'd been here for that long. Must be the booze. Whatever happened to the me that was an alcoholic? Where'd she go?" she muttered, starting to look around, then nudged him with her elbow. "Okay, I can't see shit, so..."

"The you that was an alcoholic will come round at any time if you keep that up," he muttered, taking her half-empty glass and setting it on a passing tray with a smirk as he continued looking for Keira.

"Oh, hush. I'm a fun drunk," she snorted, letting him tow her along. "It's silly that you're so much taller than me, honestly. What the hell is with that?"

"Actually, you're short, which is the issue here," he retorted, deadpan, as he scanned the crowd for Keira. "Where the hell did she get off to, anyway?"

"I don't know. You don't think she spotted someone she recognized and bolted?" she hedged, standing up on her tiptoes to try and peer through the crowd with more ease.

He let out a long-suffering sigh a few moments later. "Found her," he muttered, heading back towards the bar where they'd left her. Keira was sitting there with a beer in hand.

"Oh, wonderful. She's like _me,_ too," Lorna chuckled, letting herself be pulled along, putting on a mock-serious face as they approached her. Keira didn't flinch.

"Hey, guys. You done schmoozing yet?"

"Mostly. Enjoying your drink?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's gross, to be completely honest. But I really don't want to be seen within two hundred feet of a maraschino cherry," she deadpanned in response, casting a derisive glance at the people surrounding her.

"Brilliant. I'll drink it," he smirked, walking over to pluck it out of her hand. "Your friends are showing up soon. Don't be an idiot."

"That's why I _want_ it," she protested, reaching out for it with little hope of retrieving it. Lorna chuckled, leaning against Sebastian.

"Let the girl have a drink, you old coot. We'll duct tape her mouth shut if she starts to get tactless."

"Duct tape over the mouth works poorly in a crowded gala. And I am neither old, nor cootish," he muttered, though he handed the beer back after taking a sip.

She laughed, leaning up to kiss the underside of his jaw, which was about all she could reach when she was feeling tipsy. "I'm not the one who thinks my being younger than you is 'ridiculous,' but I'll let that go," she smirked. Keira made a gagging noise.

"Could you two be any less disgusting? Please?"

"Who thinks it's ridiculous?" he asked, looking down at her curiously, ignoring Keira and putting an arm around Lorna's waist.

"You!" She laughed again, shaking her head. "You ribbed me about it once. When I asked why, you said you couldn't explain it, it just was!"

"Well, obviously _I_ do," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "You're closer in age to Keira than me, I think. It just sounded like you meant someone else."

"What? Now _you're_ being ridiculous," she scoffed, putting a hand on her hip. "I'm more than a decade older than her. You're like, 7 years older than me, at the _most."_

"Details," he said with a smirk, amused at her rallying. He glanced across the crowd and saw Jim with a few grim-looking gentlemen. "Are those your friends?" he asked Keira, nodding towards the meeting.

"I only recognize one of them, and its dim recognition at best," she sighed, taking another sip from her beer with a grimace. "Probably knows me, though. That happens when you cause a ruckus."

"That is," he agreed with a sigh, glancing at her. "Should we leave, or do you think you're alright?"

Keira shifted a little, obviously thinking. "They wouldn't cause a fuss in public. Especially not in front of your boss," she said after a moment, a thoughtful look on her face. "I don't think we should go talk to them, though."

"Mmm... I agree with that completely," Moran muttered, rolling his eyes and considering another scotch. Instead, he reached out to wrap an arm around Lorna's waist again. "We're going back to mingling. Don't cause trouble."

"Yeah, yeah," she rolled her eyes, turning back to the bar. Lorna smirked.

"You're not _really_ initiating mingling, are you?"

"No," he said, leading her away. "But she's so much less annoying when she doesn't know I'm planning to fuck you."

She had to fight hard to hide the thrill that went up her spine. "Did you spot a promising alcove?"

"I was debating between the closet down the hall there, or just finding a table with a tablecloth and making your life interesting like I promised earlier. Any preferences?" he asked casually, like he was asking about what sort of toast he should make.

"I don't have the patience for a pre-planned fingering. Let's go see what the closet looks like," she decided, though continued to let him steer. She wasn't tall enough to have seen it earlier.

He smirked, chuckling slightly as he guided them through the crowd, his hand around her waist sliding over her hip subtly. "Fucking firecracker, you know that? Light you off and you need to bang almost instantly."

She laughed, shrugging a little. She was very conscious of his hand. "Patience has never been my strong suit. I think God knew I'd be too _perfect_ otherwise."

"Yes. Thank goodness he made you humble, or you might have two strikes against you," he shot back, looking around for a moment before pulling her down a narrow back hallway used by the servers and opening what turned out to be a medium-sized storage closet. "Verdict?"

"Solid, as a hidey-hole for banging in public goes," she hummed, stepping in, lugging him behind her. "We can probably jam something against the door so it won't open. Unless you'd like to risk it."

"I don't know, I think a little risk is entertaining," he said, pushing the door shut with a smirk, dimming the lighting considerably. "Besides, if they catch us, it just cements our story of young and infatuated."

"What do you mean, _story?"_ she teased, fingers curling into front of his shirt, pulling him over, grinning up at him. "I don't know about you, but I think I'm _prreetttty_ infatuated."

"Wasn't it you saying something about me being old just a few moments ago? Or was that some other incredibly snarky woman?" he retorted, leaning down to kiss the side of her neck, his hands tracing around her waist.

"I'm only repeating what you've implied," she smirked, leaning into him. She knew that they likely had limited time in here, but she wasn't going to rush. Cover story, right?

"Right little parrot, you are," he murmured against her skin, tongue tracing the corner of the scar that he'd left across her neck, a hand slipping up under the hem of her skirt, tracing over her thigh.

"You should be flattered; I don't find it worth my time repeating anyone else," she breathed, pulling his shirt untucked from his trousers and beginning to unbutton it, slowly, with no particular hurry.

"I suppose I'll take what I can get," he sighed, shifting her dress up around her hips, taking the time to let his fingers appreciate every dip and curve of her skin.

She chuckled, fingers brushing the skin of his shoulders as she pushed his shirt half off, beginning a long slow drag of her nails down his chest, feeling every muscle shift and flex under her hands as she went. She couldn't believe how beautiful he was, sometimes. "Beggars can't be choosers, right?" she grinned.

"I would hardly call myself a beggar," he chuckled. "And I _can_ be a chooser, that's why I have you..." he put a hand over hers on his chest, pressing her nails in harder as he stepped forward, backing her against the wall slowly.

"And you say my grifting lessons haven't taught you anything," she purred, hand slipping down to the button of his trousers, flicking them open to slip her hand inside. "Such a smooth talker for such a hard, dangerous man. In more ways than one, on the hard count."

"I was a smooth talker before I met you," he chuckled. "How the hell do you think I survived under Jim for so long? You just taught me how to make nice..." He ground against her hand slowly, his own pushing her panties down.

"Nice is one word for it." Her free hand scraped down his chest, digging in much harder as they caught on the _JM,_ as if she could erase them herself, with nothing but her fingernails. _He's_ ** _mine,_** _you crazy bastard._ "I just taught you how to suck up to someone you've been having really fantastic sex with so the sex doesn't stop."

"The sex didn't stop when I almost slit your throat, deary." His low laugh thrummed into her skin, just below her ear, as his fingers shifted back up to slide over slick heat. "Don't think being rude's gonna stop it, d'you?"

She moaned, caught up for a second by him, grinding into his hand. "No," she breathed, sliding her hand out of his pants so she could just indelicately push them down, "But I think you had to do a little bit of sucking up to make up for leaving me in a _pool_ of my own blood."

"It really was more of a puddle," he countered as he traced his tongue around the shell of her ear, circling his fingers around her clit before sliding back towards her entrance. He could feel a deep sting starting over Jim's initials on his chest. He was always startled by how much they bothered her.

" _I_ was the one who woke up in it, I think I'd know," she retorted, though without much volume, just barely keeping herself from audibly breathing harder. She made herself stop digging her nails into him, in case she got distracted and did too much damage. She reciprocated with delicate fingers twisting around his length, thumb dragging over the head; she wanted to make him shiver.

His body curled forward slightly, and he let out a huff of breath as his abdomen tightened slightly in response to her touch. "Details," he muttered.

"Says the man who throws people down a flight of stairs if they don't include enough detail in their reports," she smirked, the hand that had been clawing his chest sliding up into his hair.

He pushed his fingers into her slowly, tracing the tips along her walls as he pulled his head back to yank against her grip with a moan before leaning in to kiss her, his tongue exploring the deeper regions of her mouth.

She could barely keep her heart from dancing its way out of her chest, fingers tightening further in his hair, kissing him with a feeling of lust-drunk. "Fuck me, won't you?" she gasped as they broke apart for air, hand slipping from his hair, down his cheek, finding a place cupping his jaw instead. "I don't think we have all day."

"Wish we did," he muttered. It was out of nowhere, and he decided to ignore the fact that he had said it, removing his fingers and reaching to shove his trousers a little further down his hips before he grabbed her waist and lifted her further up the wall, shifting until her legs are around his waist.

She wrapped an arm around his neck to help keep herself up, the other reaching between them to line them up. She bit into his shoulder, then, an obvious _go_ sign. The longer they were in here, the more chance they had of being caught.

He pushed into her without another word, and any dregs of slowness were gone. He thrust into her firmly, trying to keep himself quiet for the sake of not being discovered, his teeth clenched.

Her free hand reached for the shelf to her right, sending a bottle of bleach flying as she tried to find a grip, arching off the wall into him, trying to keep herself just as silent; that was a battle in and of itself.

She moved and clenched around him, and he tilted his head back for a moment, pulling at the grip of her hand still in his hair, relishing the ache of it as he continued to move with her.

" _Fuck,"_ she gasped in a whisper, unable to keep entirely silent, using the leverage the shelf gave her to keep rhythm with him, a muted thumping coming from the wall behind her as he drove her into it. She got a savage sort of smugness knowing Jim was out there, conducting business; he never snuck away with Sebastian. He never got to have this.

He shifted his hands to grab her ass and pull her against him with more force. He'd been admiring that ass all day in her little dress, and he was eager to grab hold.

She muffled a cry into his shoulder as he went particularly deep, hand scrabbling uselessly for purchase on the shelf, clinging on tight in his hair. It was years ago now that they'd really even truly met, had formed a working relationship good enough to banter over. She'd been young and stupid then, but even still, she'd never dreamed of _loving_ the living tank of a man that was Moriarty's personal bodyguard and chief of staff. This, though - fucking him in a broom closet - this she'd imagined. She'd wanted him to pick her up and nail her against the wall the instant she saw a genuine smile crack his stone face. Now here she was.

He reached up with one hand to grip her throat, pushing her head back against the wall. He was aware that there was more of a chance of her making noise if her face wasn't buried in his shoulder, but he didn't give a shit, his fingers in the soft flesh of her neck flicking on the switch in his animalistic side. He bared his teeth in a growl as he locked her gaze, his hips against hers rhythmic and powerful, muscles of his thighs and arse flexing with each movement.

"Fuck, _fuck,"_ she gasped, the past flying out of her head, all her focus centering on the pleasure in her core and the pressure at her neck, the urge to be marked by him returning, to be claimed visibly - but they couldn't leave with bite marks on their jaws and bruising around their necks, that would be too much to ignore. She clenched around him on purpose, retaliation for the hand on her neck, trying to drive him _completely_ wild.

He let out a sharp snarl, and let go completely. The only restraint that remained was on his vocalizations, which he kept in check as he fucked her into the wall with unchecked abandon and power, fully intent on leaving her hobbling the next day.

At that point it was all she could do to just hang on and keep herself as quiet as possible, nails dragging across his back, leaving scrapes even through the shirt. She wasn't going to last much longer now, but _god,_ how the fuck was she going to keep herself quiet?

He knew she was getting close, could see it on her face, feel the way she was clenching and twisting desperately against him. Instinct drove him as he released her throat, his hand shifting upwards to press over her mouth to muffle any noise.

She let out a cry into his hand as she came, arching up off the wall, fingers spasming against his shoulders, thighs squeezing his waist, her breathing labored and fast. Had he not been covering her mouth, she would have alerted the entire building.

He groaned as she came, biting into his own lip to keep himself from doing anything louder, his eyes fixed on her expression as he thrust a few more times before he came, as well, burying his face in her shoulder firmly to muffle what he couldn't suppress.

She clung to him as he came, still struggling for breath, shudders still running through her as she recovered. She had another moment of smugness towards Jim. That moment was erased when she wondered if he'd ever made Sebastian cum this hard.

He eventually stepped back and set her down, breaths coming short and stuttering. He held her close to his chest, leaning his head against the wall as he got his breath back.

 _Stop throwing a shitfit. You know he'd never get this close to Jim_ after _sex._

 _I know. Shut up._

She caught her breath leaning against his chest, one arm draped around his shoulders, the other fisted in his unbuttoned shirt, her forehead against the sweat-cooled skin of his chest. "Good job keeping me quiet," she breathed, chuckling a little, "I don't think we'd be getting away with this if you hadn't."

"I _know_ we wouldn't," he muttered. He chuckled, a hand reaching into his pocket and pulling out the decimated remains of the candy cane she'd placed there, still held together by cling plastic. "Whoops. There goes my holiday cheer. Tragic."

"You're so dramatic," she snickered, smoothing down the hem of her dress and stepping away to pick her panties up off the floor. She balled them up and pressed them into his candy-cane-free hand, grinning up at him. "Here, a replacement."

He grinned, tucking them into his pocket. "I think that's a decent replacement." He tossed the candy cane into the darkness of the storage closet and started fixing up his own clothes.

"Good," she hummed, leaning against the wall because she didn't yet entirely trust her legs to stand on their own. "Now, can we find Keira and leave, or are you going to want to hover over Jim because he has no visible security detail?"

"You noticed that, too, huh? He's a total idiot sometimes." He pulled on his jacket. "How about you take Keira and heading back, and I'll stay a little longer to keep an eye on him."

"And how are you going to get back? You going to ask him to drop you off? You know he'll make you walk," she retorted, trying not to seem like she was determined not to let Jim get him alone. She was already irritated he'd shown up out of the blue, interrupted her little passing fantasy. "You could use an extra set of eyes, anyway."

"I'll take a taxi, Harrison. Honestly. And I've watched Jim on my own plenty of times before. We need Keira out of here. She's a disaster waiting to happen." He tucked his shirt in.

A muscle in her jaw jumped in the dim light, but she nodded, turning for the door. "Fine, I'll take her back to the house. Don't get shot or anything stupid."

"I don't plan on it," he snorted, pushing the door open and stepping out into the light. He could tell she was pissed, but he didn't have time deal with it now. "Don't shoot Keira."

"I don't _plan_ on it," she parroted back to him, giving him the tiniest hint of a smirk before turning and disappearing into the crowd, heading for the bar. She didn't need him getting defensive because he thought she was stewing about something. The hint of guilt that appeared at employing a strategy she used on marks, she swallowed.

He headed back across the room towards Jim where he was still talking with Keira's 'friends'. He nodded to him when the shorter man caught his eye, then stood by until he might be needed.

Jim cast a quick eye around the place, assessing where Moran's little _family_ was before returning his attention back to the people in front of him, his simpering smile staying exactly the same. This little web wasn't very important to him, but if they held a grudge against Moran's progeny, it would become a problem.

Keira looked up when Harrison came walking over. "Hey," she said, raising a new bottle of beer.

"Hi. We're leaving. Moran will follow us home later. You can bring the beer," she rattled off, already heading for the door. "Keep up, please."

She stood, following Lorna as she speed-walked towards the door. "You sound less than thrilled with that arrangement," she said, glancing back at her father where he was standing, observing, quiet.

"I don't think anyone particularly enjoys being sent home to babysit," she replied sharply, opening the door and pausing only momentarily to make sure it didn't smack Keira in the face. She didn't particularly enjoy having her feeling pointed out to her by a third party, and as she often did when talking to people who didn't cradle her life in their hands like a tiny bird, she was not shy about letting her voice do whatever it wanted to. She patted her pocket, making sure she still had the car keys he'd slipped her. "But, you know, maybe that's just _me."_

She held up her hands. "Sor _ry_. Touchy, jeez. Sorry Seb didn't let you stay so you two could fuck in the closet some more, how about. And yes. I saw you go into the closet. Nasties."

"How about this," she said, a little coldly, as she drew the keys out of her pocket and pressed the unlock button. "Every time you bring up how 'nasty' you find our sex life to be, I give you another _graphic_ detail. See how _disgusting_ you find us then. Get in the car, will you?"

"Jesus," she muttered, getting into the car. "He really pissed you off. Thank you dad, this will be a _great_ ride home."

"He doesn't piss me off _nearly_ as much as he used to, believe me," she snorted, putting the key in the ignition and starting the car with a rumble of the old engine. "Used to be we'd argue, then scream, and then, often, fight. Hardly even argued this time. It's not even completely his fault I'm pissed," she shook her head, shifting into gear and pulling out of their parking spot, heading for the road.

"Oh, yes, that's much better. Just silently pissed off at him. Grand. Who's fault is it then?" she asked with a sigh.

Her eyes never leaving the road, she sighed. "Mine."

She raised an eyebrow, glancing over at her. "Okaaaay... care to elaborate on that at all?"

"I can't control my own feelings. It's stupid and irresponsible, and dangerous, but hell if my head will listen to any of that," she snorted, lifting a hand from the steering wheel to rub one eye.

She raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous? What could be dangerous about that?" she asks with a frown.

"Moriarty's two top lieutenants having feelings for one another is risky. Not being able to control those feelings is dangerous. But I guess we've accepted that for a good while now. The problem is that if one of us can't keep it in check on a mission and we blow it, the boss will make someone pay. And _jealousy,_ well," she huffed, shaking her head. "That's not a smart feeling to have. Especially not in range of Jim."

"Who the hell do you have to be jealous of?" Keira scoffed. "You're one of the most powerful people in the criminal world, you're fucking loaded and you're banging the other one of the most powerful people in the world. Where do you get _jealous_ out of that?"

She smirked, a rueful smile that said something along the lines of _oh, the days of being young and naive._ "I appreciate that you think I'm one of the most powerful people in the criminal world. I don't think anyone really knows me, though. Not like they know Moriarty, and even that is through whispers. A long time ago I started to make a habit out of fucking my bosses. I think we took too big of a bite out of this one, though."

It took her a few minutes to piece that together, and even when she had, she didn't believe it.

"You fucking _fucked_ James _fucking_ Moriarty?" she finally hissed.

"About a meter away from the recently-killed corpse of Charles Magnussen, yeah," she nodded, sighing. "He walked in on us. And stayed."

" _Us._ Meaning my _father_ has _also_ fucked James Moriarty. Jesus _Christ_." She tilted her head back against the seat. "You are both fucking _morons_."

"Hey, at least I fucked him _with_ Moran. _Moran_ has done it _alone,"_ she retorted defensively, eyebrows scrunched together. "Believe me, this shit has not exactly made my life _easier._ Who knows what happened to my life expectancy."

"Wait..." she said, glancing over at her. "Is _that_ what you're jealous of? That he's fucked him without you? You're not, are you?"

"What, like you know how I should be feeling?" Lorna scoffed, giving her an incredulous look. "I don't need advice from a 5-year-old, thanks."

"Oh, insults, that's original. Does he know you're this jealous?" she asked, watching the road.

"Which one of them? Moran? He knows some of it. If you mean, Jim, well, I hope to god he doesn't. The only way I'd live through that is if he thought it was funny," she sighed. It was a tired sound, full of the weariness she'd accumulated from fighting with herself. "Sebastian doesn't like it when I'm jealous. God knows why."

"Because that's a perfectly reasonable reaction." She glanced over at her. "So what, you're just left to rant in the car? I'm not your fucking therapist. Talk to him. You're going to have fucking heart failure."

"You're the one who asked, brat. And no, I'm not going to _talk_ to him. I think one instance of waking up with a nearly-slit throat was enough to whip that urge right out of me," she snapped, adjusting her grip on the steering wheel, which was tight enough that the leather beneath was beginning to grow slick with sweat.

"Jesus..." she muttered. "You mean Moran did that? I'd seen the scar, wondered how you were walking around still. And the reason you're still boning him is because... Why? Exactly?"

"Because I've had a pretty fucked up life, and he's the best thing that's ever happened to me," she sighed, giving a bit of a helpless shrug. "I've been a lot of relationships, kid. Fucked a lot of people. I just can't stay away from him. When we both accepted that ending up together was inevitable, things got easier."

She shook her head, muttering a few things under her breath. "Is it too much to ask for a normal family where everyone isn't murdering or fucking or both everyone else?"

"I'm not your family, kid, so all you have to worry about it your crazy-ass dad," she snorted, making a turn onto the road that led to the housing development.

"Yeah, him and my crazy-ass aunt and grandfather, evidently," she muttered. "I just thought he was more... Well, not less deadly, not at all, but you seemed like you were in the safe zone."

She gave a vague shrug. "I don't know. These days, I think I'm pretty safe. I don't think he'd kill me unless Jim told him to. But I used to be just another employee to him. The closest he ever came to killing me was when I tried to force him to admit we were something more. I don't actually remember him cutting me - he can knock you against the wall pretty hard, your dad."

"You hear how wrong this sounds, correct? You're a fucking poster child for some heart-sick domestic abuse foundation. Jesus." She rolled her eyes.

They pulled into the driveway, and she turned off the car, but she didn't move, just staring at the girl for a long moment. "Keira," she said, just as the silence was starting to become uncomfortable, "I'm going to give you a piece of advice that I recommend you take to heart if you plan on staying in this business. Moran is a hit man and a bodyguard. He tortures people for fun. I fuck people for information, and occasionally, I assassinate them. Neither of us could ever function in a normal relationship. Normal relationships don't _exist_ in this line of work, alright? Don't go into one expecting that. Don't you _ever_ let your guard down. Do what you can to make things work, but for god's sake, don't pretend the rules everyone else lives by apply."

She stared at her for a few seconds, then smirked slightly. "I think I know what to expect from people, _mom_. Just enjoying how fucked you are. We done?"

"I'm serious, kid," she sighed, pulling the keys out of the ignition and moving to get out. "You don't want to end up looking like me, do you?"

"That is a very valid point," she said, climbing out as well. "Though you seem to have come to terms with that one and you still look like you starred on 'Will It Blend', so..."

"Not sure what your point is there," she shook her head, heading for the front steps with a passing glance at the neighboring houses. No lights on. It was late, so no one was likely to be watching them, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"My point is it didn't do you much good, obviously. So you've got no guarantee it'll do anything for me, either." She pushed the door open, stepping inside.

She let out an exasperated noise, shutting the door behind her and locking it. "I'm telling you things I've _learned,_ idiot. Sheesh. It's a good thing I didn't know your father when he was your age. I might have killed him."

"Good luck with that," she retorted, kicking off her shoes and heading for her room. "Night."

Lorna just rolled her eyes and headed for the sofa. She'd wait a while to see if Sebastian came home, then she was just going to have to suck it up and go to bed alone.

* * *

Jim was relieved when the party started to clear out; it was a cue for the others to leave, and so they did, which was convenient, as he'd been imagining inventive ways to kill them as the night wore on. That would have been an annoying mess later. "Come, Moran," he sighed, turning for the back door. "What did you think of them?"

"I thought they were immature, both as individuals and as an organization, and I very much wanted to murder them," he said casually as he fell into step with the Irishman. "But they're just idiotic enough to be potentially useful."

"Yes, that's about in line with my thinking," he sighed, elbowing open the back door and stepping out with a huff, running a hand over his hair. The air outside was humid and cool, only a little out of character for this time of the year in England. At least out here, it was quiet. "I don't believe I've the patience to sit through another meeting with them. See that I don't, in the future."

"I'll pass that information onto scheduling, sir. I can't deal with them personally at the moment, but I'll get someone useful to." He glanced over at him. "I hesitate to ask, sir, but are you actually wearing reindeer cuff links, or did someone spike my drink?"

"No one stops a man wearing reindeer cufflinks, Sebastian," he smirked, "No one could guess that he's threatening. I can't always afford the luxury of not blending in," he shrugged, slipping one hand into his pocket. "Like you, for instance. I knew the instant you were no longer amongst the sheep. Now _where_ could you have gotten off to?"

"I'm sure you were able to surmise, boss," he said with a smirk. "You saw what Harrison was wearing."

"I did, yes," he smirked, reaching out straighten Moran's collar. There was a glint of something sharp in his eyes. "I just thought I'd give you an opportunity to explain why the two of you fucked not 500 feet away and didn't invite _me."_

"You appeared busy, sir," he returned with a smirk. "Something about an important meeting. Do not interrupt. All that." There was energy in the boss's eyes that he hadn't seen in awhile. He knew that he should say goodnight, walk home. But there was a lot of scotch in his system at the moment.

"That's not my point, Moran. My point is you didn't even make an _effort,"_ he said darkly, fingers curling further into his collar, dragging him down until their faces were a few inches apart. "I'm _hurt,_ Moran. You ought to make it up to me."

Suddenly there was a new element to this equation: danger. It did nothing to help calm the hard-on he was getting. Neither did the hand yanking him around by his collar. He forgot how much a part of him loved that hand at his throat.

"Jim... _fuck_..." he muttered under his breath. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to exclude you, sir..."

"I should hope not," he murmured, licking his lips, looking thoughtfully at the sniper for a moment, calculating. He'd seen Lorna earlier, had tasted the jealousy in the air like the stink of smoke in the wind. He'd ignored it at the moment, but now, he stirred the feeling back up, swirling it like a glass of wine, trying to get a bead on the specific aroma it gave off. She was a good enough reader to know when her beau had just been fucked in an alley. Was he willing to risk the strain on their mission?

 _If she can't keep it together for the job, she's worthless to me. I'll do what I like with him._

He pulled Moran down the rest of the way, kissing him hard.

He had thought about making his excuses and walking away. The kiss threw all that out the window, and a moment later he was snogging Jim back ferociously, letting him lead. So much for that particular line of thought.

* * *

Playlist: Panic! at the Disco - Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off


	85. Christmas Presents

The time dragged by, and Lorna grew more anxious, but she resisted the urge to text him. He'd let her know if he needed her to bring him the car, or if he was going to be too much later. What on earth he was _doing,_ though, she had no idea.

* * *

He finally entered the house around one in the morning. His clothes and hair were straightened, but there was no hiding the marks on his neck and arms. Even harder to hide would be the fact that Jim had reopened his initials on Seb's chest. He'd noted the particular location of the marks from Lorna's nails, and had evidently decided that a reminder needed to be made. Slowly.

He closed the door behind him softly, taking off his shoes and walking into the house.

Lorna walked out of the kitchen with a mug of warm tea in her hand, took one look at him, and turned back around, taking in a shuddering breath. _Stop it. Stop. Stop stop stop sTOP STOP._

He saw her hands threatening to break the mug, and decided that waiting for her to speak was his best option in this scenario.

She walked back into the kitchen and poured her tea down the sink, hands shaking, stomach churning, breath shuddering. She gripped the counter like it was a lifeline. She still didn't turn back around. "Was it your idea, or was it his?"

"His," he said calmly, walking slowly forward. "He was... disappointed at being left out earlier," he said quietly. "Or rather, that he didn't at least receive an invitation."

"Disappointed. That's a word for it," she scoffed, on the verge of tears, fighting to keep herself aloof. She was losing. "The marks on you won't heal for days."

"No," he agreed quietly, taking a few more steps. He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't do it to hurt you."

"I know you didn't, why would you? You don't do anything without a reason," she shook her head, still trying to keep up the act, even as the tears spilled over onto her cheeks. She just ducked her head, refusing to let him see. "I'm fine. I'm _fine."_

He nodded just a little, not making any more moves. He could try to explain, but that wouldn't improve the situation. "How can I fix this?"

"I don't know, Sebastian. I can't just- just turn this feeling off," she breathed, swallowing hard. _Keep it together._ As if she wasn't already crying. "I thought we were done fucking other people alone. I thought... fuck, I don't know. I don't know."

"Jim has to be an exception sometimes. It would have been a very bad move for both of our safety if I'd denied him. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it. That would be a lie. But I'm also saying that I didn't have much of a choice." His expression remained calm.

"I know, I know," she whispered, raising a hand to wipe her eyes as the tiny _plunk_ of a tear falling into the metal sink reached her ears. "I can't help it. Just ignore me."

He tugged at her shoulder gently, giving her the choice of turning around. He felt... guilty. Which was highly disturbing and not something he was used to.

She turned, wiping her eyes again, harder, like she could completely erase the evidence. He wasn't disheveled, but the marks around his collar were obvious. She hadn't put any of those there.

He pulled her gently against the good side of his chest, holding her close. "I'm sorry," he finally murmured.

She leaned into him, fingers curling into his shirt, a tiny sob escaping her. Any other person, any other circumstance, and this wouldn't have become this issue. There was no one else who could have managed to make her so jealous, and there was no one else that she couldn't have taken it out on the second she'd thought it had gone too far. But he was James Moriarty, and he owned the both of them, and there was nothing she could do to change that. If she was given the choice to exchange Jim for another boss - for there would always be another boss - she wouldn't, either. Things could always get worse.

"He knows you're jealous," he said softly. "This might get worse. You need to be prepared for that." He rubbed her back gently.

She nodded against his chest, swallowing hard. She'd hoped that Jim had somehow been too busy to notice her jealousy. "What did he say?"

"Nothing much," he said quietly. "Just... be careful, alright? You're playing a dangerous game."

"Not on purpose," she snorted, then sniffled. "I'm sorry I'm being such an ass about this. Who knew I had such a huge jealous streak, huh?"

He chuckled just a little, running his fingers through her hair gently. "Well who wouldn't be about a stud like me?"

She smiled a little. "An idiot, that's who."

"Exactly. I mean, come on. What's not to be jealous about? I'm intelligent, startlingly attractive, I have a flawless personality..."

She chuckled a little, then pulled away a little, letting out a tired sigh. "Let's just go to bed, huh? I'm fucking exhausted..."

He nodded. "Come on. Also we should get a tree tomorrow. If people stop by for Christmas then they'll be suspicious."

"Yeah, you're right," she nodded, turning for the door, her hand falling to grab his. "Let's worry about that tomorrow."

He nodded, gripping her hand and heading up the stairs. He released it when they got to their room, turning his back as he removed his shirt so she wouldn't see his chest, pulling on a dark tee-shirt in case it started to bleed again. He'd have to bandage it in the morning.

She stripped out of her dress and left it on the floor where she'd been standing, heading to the bed to grab her pajamas. As soon as they were on she crawled between the sheets, desperate for some sleep, and to just stop feeling for a little while.

He lay down next to her and pulled her into his arms carefully. "Get some sleep."

She took his advice to heart, and passed out within the minute, soaking up the warmth of his embrace. At least they no longer had to make excuses for this.

* * *

He woke early to a pain in his chest, and was on high alert instantly, his hand going to the knife beneath his pillow before he realized that it was just his shirt pulling at the cuts on his chest where it had gotten stuck and was pulling. He gently extracted himself, letting out a muttered swear at the blood on the sheets, but decided that the first thing would be to get an actual bandage on the damn thing.

She groaned and shifted as he got out of bed, grey eyes slitting open. It took her a second to focus them on him, but then her eyes were drawn to the blots of red on the sheets. "Wha's that?" she asked blearily, reaching out a hand to rub at the mark, fingers coming back smudged with blood.

"Nothing. Jim just cut me up a little last night. Go back to sleep," he said quietly, walking into the bathroom and pulling out the med kit.

"What? Where?" She frowned, sitting up a little to prop herself up on her elbow. "Can you reach it or do you need help?"

"I'm fine, I can get it," he said firmly. "It's early. Go back to sleep."

She lay back down, still frowning, though with no intention of sleeping just yet. Why hadn't he bandaged it when he'd gotten home last night?

He cleaned up the cuts before putting non-stick gauze over the wound and taping it up before heading back into the bedroom, laying back down.

She could see the lump of the gauze through his shirt, which for some reason he'd put back on. She was silent for a moment. "He redid his initials, didn't he." It wasn't a question.

"Just go back to sleep, Harrison," was all he responded, closing his eyes with a sigh.

"Don't _Harrison_ me," she said acidly, rolling onto her back to stare up at the ceiling, stomach doing a barrel roll. "I hate it when you call me that when we're alone and you mean it."

He sighed through his nose. "Yes. He did. He saw your claw marks all over it and decided to re-assert his territory."

She ran a hand over her face, falling back into silence. There was nothing she could do about it. If she even made the slightest comment to Jim she was sure she would pay dearly for it. How _fucking_ frustrating.

He took a breath, rolling over to throw an arm over her waist. "It doesn't matter. It..." he sighed, trying to figure out what to say. "You're important to me."

"Shit," she groaned, rolling over and burrowing into his side again. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's not your fault, I just... I hate being unable to do anything. I'm sorry," she sighed, trying hard not to tear up again.

He gripped her tight. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I can't give you everything. I don't have that right."

"I know," she murmured into the crook of his neck. "I know. But we both know I've never good at keeping at myself in check."

"Ain't that the truth," he said quietly. "Merry Christmas, by the way."

She let out a tired little chuckle. "Merry Christmas, Sebastian."

He kissed her forehead gently, then grinned. "Come on, let's go hunt down the most ridiculously pathetic fake tree left in a discount store somewhere."

"As soon as I get another hour of sleep," she laughed, shaking her head at him. "Then we can drink eggnog and all that shit."

"Go ahead," he said, chuckling and sitting up. "I'm awake. I'm going to make breakfast."

"Mmm. Call when you're done. Now I want food," she hummed, grabbing the nearest pillow and hugging it to her chest, yawning.

"Will do," he said, heading downstairs.

He felt like baking for once, so he ended up making cinnamon rolls. He drew various bodily organs with the icing to maintain his reputation. Keira came down just as he was finishing a poor rendition of a liver.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Merry Christmas to you, too. Go wake Lorna up."

"Ugh, fine," she groaned, turning on her heel and heading back up the stairs. When she came back down a minute later, Lorna was shuffling after her.

"I smell cinnamon. Gimme."

"Do you want an eyeball or lower intestines?" he asked, handing her a cup of coffee as she walked over.

"Lower intestines. More frosting," she chuckled, taking a sip of her coffee and leaning against the counter. Last night's frustration was forgotten, for the moment.

He set it on a plate and handed it to her, then gave the stomach to Keira, taking the skull for himself.

They both dug in. When Keira was about halfway through hers she asked, through a mouthful of roll, "So I'm guessing no motorcycle for Christmas?"

"Did you ask for one?" he muttered through a mouthful of cinnamon roll.

"I wrote a letter to Santa. I thought it was supposed to magically reach my absent father," she deadpanned, then smirked, obviously amused with herself.

"Guess my surveillance paid off then," he said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a hotwheels motorcycle, chucking it at her head.

She just barely managed to duck in time, looking incredibly startled. "What the fuck? How..?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he said with a smirk. "I might check the garage if I were you. But I know you hate doing anything I say."

"What? _What?_ Holy _shit,"_ she shouted, practically skidding out of the room, the bang of the garage door following a moment later. Lorna smirked into her coffee.

"Did you really?"

He grinned, and shrugged. "Yes, but it's not in the garage," he chuckled. "I find it difficult to find entertaining things to do with my money. This will give her something to do other than annoy the fuck out of us."

"Where is it, then?" she laughed, finishing off the rest of her cinnamon roll. "You gonna send her on a scavenger hunt?"

"Nah, I'm gonna let her get really disappointed and furious and then give her a gift card to the dealer down the road," he said with a smirk.

"You're a cruel, cruel man, Sebastian Moran," she grinned, finishing off her coffee and pushing off the counter to get herself another helping. "I can only give you your yearly bourbon present while we're here. I figured the tactical sniper rifle was a _little_ much for the shooting range crowd."

"I can live with bourbon," he said with a laugh, listening as Keira started to bang things around in the garage, searching for any sort of clue. "I've got yours, but I'll give it to you later."

"What, you mean it wasn't the cinnamon buns?" she chuckled, helping herself to the eyeball one, and absently itching the scar on her face with the back of her hand. "These are pretty spectacular, I gotta admit."

"I know how to bake, I just don't particularly like it," he said with a smirk, looking up as Keira came stalking back in.

"There's nothing out there, is there?"

He grinned. "No, but your face was priceless."

"God, you're such a motherfucking asshole," she growled, looking about ready to drop into full sulk mode. Lorna just smirked. " _Christ._ Getting my hopes up for nothing? _Really?"_

"Did I say that? Lorna, did I say I'd gotten her hopes up for nothing?" he asked, taking a sip of coffee.

"No, I don't believe you did," she replied smoothly, a calm smile on her face. Keira looked between the two of them, simmering like a boiling pot.

He let her steam for a few more minutes, then sighed and stood up, walking over and handing her a gift card from his back pocket. "There. Merry Christmas, you little shit," he said, though there wasn't any bite his words. "They've got new stuff and a bunch of classics. That's enough for a bike and whatever equipment you need. Call me if you max out, but do try to be reasonable, won't you?"

Lorna smirked as Keira's jaw dropped, and she stood speechless for a moment, gaping like a fish out of water. "Serious?" she asked in a hushed whisper, "You're not pulling my leg, are you?"

"I figured it would get you out of my hair sometimes. I also figured you might want to leave the house at some point. Mutually beneficial, wouldn't you say?" he asked, still grinning.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, definitely," Keira nodded, still stunned, holding the gift card like it was a precious artifact. "Holy shit. _Thanks."_

"Yeah, yeah. We'll drop you off on the way to find a fucking tree. You're going to need to pay your own way to a license, though, clear?" He walked over to the sink to wash cinnamon bun icing off his hands.

"Yeah, sure, anything," she shook her head, falling into a chair at the small kitchen table. Lorna smirked.

"Don't promise anything around him. Next thing you know he'll be making you eat a slug."

"Still got one dare kicking around, Lorna," he smirked, drying his hands off. "Alright. Ready to go?"

"Yeah," they both said at the same time, with varying levels of enthusiasm. They both got up, Lorna still in her pajamas.

"We're going to a department store, right? Cause I don't want to go upstairs to change."

"Yes. Don't worry about changing," he said with a shrug, grabbing his coat and the keys.

The two piled after him, Keira with a spring in her step, Lorna with a mug of cooling coffee. "Wasn't gonna."

He climbed in the car and started it up, waiting for them to join him before he headed off, out of the drive and down the road at high speed. He pulled into the lot of the cycle dealer, and glanced back at Keira. "Have fun. Don't die."

"Thanks, I won't," Keira rolled her eyes, then shut the door behind her and walked off.

"God, we're like a family or something. Weird."

"Don't say anything like that, please. I despise vomiting," he said dryly as he took off again, heading for the nearby department store.

She smirked, leaning back in her seat. "At least if you ever need to purge something, we have a backup plan."

"Charming," he smirked, pulling into a parking space outside the department store and climbing out. "Come on, let's go buy some hideous false shrubbery to convince people we have a soul."

"Great," she sighed, getting out of his car. "Let's go then."

* * *

They spent less than five minutes picking a tree. There was a blood-red, metallic looking one right near the front entrance, and Sebastian just picked it up with one hand and headed for the checkout.

"That'll work," she agreed, following him to the cashier, who gave them a dead-eyed look.

"Get tinsel or something," he said to Lorna with a grin.

"Ugh, fuck, fine," she groaned, turning back for the decoration aisle. "Be back in a minute."

He laughed, waiting for her to return before swiping his card and then heading out to the car. He lashed the tree on top with a few straps and climbed into the car. "I don't get the whole bloody things about the trees."

"You should, you've got Celtic roots. I think that's where the bit about the trees comes from. That or Germany," she shrugged, settling back in with a yawn. She was still tired from that morning.

"I don't give two shits about roots. This tree doesn't have any. It's bloody plastic." He headed back towards the apartment. "Let's just go set the damn thing up, throw the tinsel on it in the shape of an inverted pentagram, and be done with it."

"I never did really care about Christmas," she commented, looking out the window. "My family always seemed to forget about it until the day after. Too busy with their life of crime, I imagine. New Year's was always more fun; we usually threw a party."

"Ah, New Years. The average individual's excuse to get bloody shit-faced," he smirked. He pulled into the driveway, parking and climbing out to pull the tree down.

She got out with the tinsel tucked under her arm, heading up the driveway for the door - she knew he had it under control. "So, what have you decided to do with Keira?"

He unstrapped the tree and pulled it down, heading into the house after her. He didn't answer until he'd set the thing up in the corner. "I'm bringing her into the network."

"And god watch over whoever has the pleasure of watching over her. You know everyone else will know she's yours. The resemblance is rather uncanny," she pointed out, ripping open the tinsel packaging.

"I plan on letting them know. I think it will be amusing," he returned with a smirk, straightening the tree and holding out a hand for the tinsel.

"Christ, that's gonna be a sixteen-year-old with a lot of power," she snorted, plopping the tinsel into his hand.

"Oh, I'll scare the living shit out of her, don't worry. I plan on personally overseeing her training from above." He pulled the tinsel out of the box, unwound it, and tossed it at the tree haphazardly. "There. Perfect. Let's get drunk." He headed for the kitchen.

She grinned, following. "Ah, maybe one of my favorite phrases. What do you want to get smashed on today?"

"I don't know, how about you choose," he said with a sigh, ripping off the last couple of feet of tinsel and tossing it around her shoulders.

She slung it around her neck like an extremely uncomfortable scarf, heading for the cabinet that housed the liquor. "Hmm... how about champagne? That's festive, right?"

"Sounds fine to me," he said, smirking and following after her. He turned to grab wine glasses before finding champagne flutes.

"Wonderful," she chirped, uncorking the bottle with cheer, very happy to be able to drink. "Should we go ahead and put some 'festive' music on? Or would you rather drink to the sound of my chattering?"

"I swear to god, if you play anything remotely resembling a festive tune, I will decorate that tree with your intestines," he muttered, pouring himself a drink.

"Please. You would decorate the tree with prettier parts of me than that," she waved off, taking the bottle back from him to pour her own.

"Maybe your eyeballs and your tits. Point is it would be painful," he snorted, downing half the flute and refilling it before handing the bottle to her.

She decided to follow suit, with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "I suppose I should just be flattered that you think my eyes are pretty. I do try not to spend a lot of time thinking about how you could kill me, if you so wished."

"There are a lot of ways," he agreed, grinning and cheers-ing her with his glass. He sighed, tilting his head back. "So. We have a fucking tree, fucking booze. Now what?"

"I don't know. Relaxation, I suppose, until somebody interrupts us. Hopefully they'll all be too busy with their own Christmas to intrude into ours."

"God, I fucking hope so," he snorted, heading for the living room and flopping onto the couch.

She trailed after him, the bottle of champagne in one hand, her glass in the other, looking for all the world as if she belonged in a stately ballgown rather than a pair of soft pajamas. "We should do _something_ to pass the time. You could use up that dare of yours, maybe..."

He grinned. "Nope. Still saving it. Someday I'm going to desperately need _some_ thing, and I plan on having that dare in my pocket," he smirked, stretching an arm across the couch to invite her to sit next to him.

"Damn," she sighed, sitting next to him, "Foiled again. Christ, by the time you use that dare it's going to be worth a fortune. Like finely aged wine."

"Precisely my goal," he says with a grin, wrapping his arm around her. He sighed, taking a drink. "Maybe I'll give you one of your Christmas presents."

She leaned into his side, settling in. It was easy to do, considering how much bigger he was than her. "Yeah? And what's that? An astounding bout of oral?"

"That's definitely on the list," he said with a smirk, turning to kiss her ear. "But I was thinking about saving that for later."

"I can wait, I suppose," she hummed, basking in the glow that his affection produced. It wasn't a rare occurrence these days, but she knew better than to take it for granted. "If only to prove that I'm not _completely_ impatient."

"Mmmm... We'll see how long you last," he said with a smirk. "Here." He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. "Open up."

Eyebrows raised, she took the envelope. "You planning on giving me a motorcycle, too?" she joked, opening it up and pulling out a folded up brochure. It was for a facility that specialized in scar treatment.

He waited a moment, then started his explanation, slightly hesitant. "I... I know your scars bother you. And I was looking around and this place has fantastic results, best in the world. They're in India. So I was thinking we could fly out, have them evaluate you, spend some time out there and you could... they could take care of some of your scars. If you wanted."

She flushed, staring down at the brochure for a moment before twisting and hugging him hard, burying her face in his neck. The emotions rushing through her were strong enough to make her tear up. He'd put thought into this, he'd gone out of his way. Sebastian Moran, sniper extraordinaire, cared that much about her happiness. " _Fuck_ I love you."

He laughed a little in relief, hugging her tightly. "Okay, good. You're not supremely offended. Good."

"No, no," she shook her head, grinning, even though he couldn't see it. "I'm not offended at all. Thank you, just- Christ, Seb, thank you."

He held her tightly. "You're welcome," he said quietly, smiling just a little. He took a breath, and then kissed the side of her neck. "I love you, too..." he murmured very quietly.

That was as much of a present as anything. She squeezed him tighter for a moment, then drew away, nestling back into his side, as close as she could get. "I've always wanted to visit India, too. Such a beautiful place."

He nods. "I've never been there, either. Should be fun." He glanced down at her, and smirked. "Were you crying...?"

"Shut up," she retorted, pouring herself another flute full of champagne. "I have strong feelings about my looks, okay? And you."

He chuckled a little, leaning over to kiss her properly. "I'm glad you like it," he said quietly.

She leaned into him, head resting on his shoulder, just trying to exude wordless gratitude. She didn't know how to tell him just how much it meant to her. He was giving her a second chance at the only other thing in life that had kept her going, and he was doing it because he wanted to. Not for the job, or the network, but because he wanted her to like it. It was enormously touching. Somehow, she didn't think he'd be all that keen on too much verbal affection, even now. "Thank you," she murmured again, instead.

He smiled. "Of course." He closed his eyes, taking a slow breath and thinking over all that had happened since they first met. "This is just a bit different than me ordering you to read through bloody reports, isn't it?" he asks after a moment, sounding amused.

She smirked, chuckling softly. "Yeah, a little," she agreed, running a thumb across the smooth glass in her hand. "You'd be bloody furious with yourself if past you could see this. Remember the days when you kept trying to remind me not to get too familiar with you? I think you would have succeeded if we hadn't kept going through traumatizing experiences with each other."

"Yeah, that would have been helpful. That's all your fault, really. I blame you." He grinned, tickling her side gently.

"Oi, watch it," she laughed, wriggling away from him. "I'll spill the fancy champagne, and you'll have to clean it up! I have to hearken back to my lazier days somehow."

He laughed, but his fingers stilled. "Fine, fine. Wimp." He finished his champagne, setting the glass aside.

"When you're as pretty as me, you can be as wimpy as you want and get away with it," she laughed, making a face at him.

"I don't think I can argue with that," he agreed with a laugh. "Alright, dammit, you know what? I'm making a fire." He stood up and headed for the hearth.

"What? A _fire?_ As in, something mildly festive?" she teased, sipping some more champagne. She was starting to feel a little tipsy, so he must have been feeling it too.

"No, I just feel like communing with my inner arsonist, that's all," he muttered, heading over to pick up a few logs by the fireplace that thus far had been mostly for show.

"'Inner,' sure," she smirked. "I don't see it come out of you all that often. I think it lives on the outside, but you stuff it inside whenever you can."

"Mhm," he said absently as he set up a pyramid. "Where's the damn kindling?" he muttered, standing and heading off to find some newspaper.

She relaxed on the sofa, eyes sliding half shut, relaxed like a cat in the summer sun. This was, really, their first official Christmas. They'd passed it together before, but never like... this. Hell, she was sure there was at least one Christmas they'd spent in captivity, but it was hard to keep track of those things after the fact, because it meant straying towards bad memories.

He returned a few minutes later, and after a long while of swearing and creativity, managed to get a halfway decent fire smoldering. He stalked back over, smelling of smoke, and flopped onto the couch next to her, glowering slightly.

"Oh, lighten up," she murmured, twisting a little to kiss his cheek. "Have a drink. The fire looks very nice, by the way."

"It's smoldery," he muttered grumpily, though he poured himself another glass of champagne, considering the empty bottle before hopping up to go grab another one.

She chuckled, finishing off her own glass and setting it to rest against her side. "It's kinda weird having Christmas in an actual house again. Haven't had that since I was a kid."

"I think this is my first one," he said, coming back in and biting the cork out, spitting it into the fire as he passed and pouring himself a new glass. "My dad didn't do Christmas."

"I'm not surprised," she sighed, looking over at him. "Mine was just conspicuously absent. My step-dad was fine, I guess. Just busy all the time. Always talking shop."

"I'm not surprised either," he said, sitting down next to her with his now full glass and offering her the bottle.

She took it to refill her glass, then leaned forward to set the bottle at her feet. "What about the army? You guys have any kind of celebration?"

He nodded. "They'd put up wreaths and exchange gifts, mostly porn and cigarettes. I generally went shooting." He gave her a smirk. "My squadron came to find me once, said I was being a scrooge. Gave me booze, and we all tried the fruitcake O'Hare's aunt had sent him. Michelson actually puked." For a half a second, his gaze was light, amused, and very much younger. Like he was nineteen again, devouring foul fruitcake and beer. Then he returned his gaze to the smoldering fire again and he was- if still cheerful- older and toughened again. "Good times."

"They don't sound half bad," she agreed quietly, leaning against him. "Better than a smuggler's holiday, certainly. More cheer. Less needles."

"Yeah, that sounds less pleasant somehow," he sighed, still smiling slightly. "How long until you think the motorized brat comes back?"

"If she completely ignores the fact that she doesn't have a motorcycle license, hours," she chuckled. She raised an eyebrow a little. "Why do you ask?"

He grinned a little bit. "No reason," he said, turning his head to push hers to the side gently, nipping the top of her ear. "How much do you want to bet she's going to ignore that fact?"

She laughed a little, goosebumps showing up on the side of her neck. "Tell me the stakes, and I'll bet."

"The stakes are that my teenage daughter walks in on me giving you that mind-blowing oral we discussed," he murmured, smiling.

She felt, suddenly, very warm. "Oh, well, if that's the only risk, I think I'm going to have to accept it."

"Are you sure?" he asked, a hand reaching down to trace over her thigh lazily. "She might just decide she hates us both."

"I think she's already dangerously close to hating me, I'm willing to risk it," she smirked, and pulled him closer by the front of his shirt.

* * *

Keira came home a few hours later without incident, hair mussed from the helmet.

They were in the kitchen, working on steak tips and peppers. He looked up as she came in. "Well? How'd it go?"

"Well, I got a motorcycle and I basically drooled all the way home," Keira laughed, looking a little breathless, still stunned. Lorna smirked.

"I think you bought a good few days of no hate."

"Better be at least a week," he shot back, clearly audible to the girl in the next room. "Don't get yourself killed, alright? I'd be somewhat annoyed."

"You have to upgrade me from annoyed, then," Lorna commented, chopping up peppers, a small smirk on her face. Keira made a 'yeah yeah' noise from the other room.

"How about I downgrade her to 'mildly inconvenienced?" he suggested, pouring excess marinade into the pan with the steak.

"Hmm, I can live with that, I suppose," she sighed, pushing the peppers his way. "I was hoping for at least a bump into anger, but I'll take it."

"I suppose, for you, I can be disgruntled. How's that?" he asked, expression unreadable as he dumped the peppers into the pan and stirred them around.

She sighed dramatically. "Well, I suppose I'll have to settle, won't I? I can't really strongarm you into anything else. Not after the living room."

" _What_ about the living room?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want answered, child," he retorted, pulling the egg noodles off the other burner and heading over to strain them.

"Ugh, gross," she groaned from the other room, and Lorna rolled her eyes.

"You've known each other for like a week! Get over it!"

"Don't plan to anytime soon. Can't you guys fuck in your bedroom or something?" she retorted. He just rolled his eyes, dumping noodles onto plates.

"Shut up and come get food."

Keira came in, looking like she would like to be stomping, but was too enamored with her new motorcycle to be so rude. Lorna handed her a plate, and turned for the dining room. "How's this for a Christmas dinner? Never did get having lobster."

"I'll have turf over surf almost any day," he agreed, smiling as he followed after her. He glanced over at Keira. "I spoke to Jim today. You'll be joining our network at an entry level."

Keira nodded, already having shoveled a forkful of food into her mouth. "Okay, fine," she said when she swallowed. "When?"

"Tomorrow," he said, taking a bite of food. "You'll start training immediately."

She coughed a little, surprised. "What? So soon? Okay, I guess. Where am I going to live?"

"On base. You'll be provided a room," he said calmly, looking up at her. "You'll be considered a trainee for a month. If you show potential, you'll be hired. If not, you'll be shot. Personally, I'd recommend the first option."

"Oh, shit. Well, that's motivation," she muttered, eyebrows raised. "How the hell do you guys find _janitors?"_

"Carefully," he smirks, turning back to his food. "And they don't ever last long."

She made an incredulous noise. "Those two _have_ to be mutually exclusive. How the hell would anything ever get clean?"

"There's a reason half of my job is screening new staff," he snorted, smirking. Actually, people well below him dealt with janitors and the like (he just did random spot checks to instill fear.) "The point is, once you join Moriarty's network, you aren't looking at much of a retirement plan."

"Hence why you got a motorcycle for Christmas, and why even the people in the network are terrified of him. He owns every single one of us, and there isn't any chance of finding a new job," Lorna snorted, having been eating mostly in silence for a minute. "And don't consider getting yourself hooked on anything particularly addictive. Jim doesn't take mercy on the people who bring heroin and cocaine into the web."

"Starting to regret coming to me?" Moran asked with a small smirk, glancing at Keira.

"No. Possible death is a definite improvement over certain death," she shot back with a snort.

"That doesn't sound familiar or anything," she rolled her eyes, glancing at Sebastian.

"I'm not sure _what_ you're talking about," he said with a slight smirk.

"Oh hush, you're not even trying to lie," she snorted, laughing a little. Keira was lucky she shared a lot of her father's traits, really. He was a survivor.

He smirked and finished eating, then stood, taking Lorna's empty plate as well as he headed for the kitchen.

"You're on dishes, kid."

Keira groaned, but pushed out her chair and stood to follow, leaving Lorna at the table, smirking. It was so fun watching Sebastian order other people around.

He came back into the room, reaching out to muss her hair a bit. "So. When should I give you your last Christmas present, do you think?"

She leaned back in her chair, brushing a hand through her hair to fix it. "I don't know, it's _your_ gift."

"True," he said with a chuckle, sitting on the table next to her. "How about now?"

She looked up at him, raising an eyebrow a little, a smidgen of interest entering her eyes. "Alright. What is it?"

He grinned, standing. "I'll show you. Come on." He reached out to take her hand, pulling her to her feet easily and then dropping it and heading towards the stairs.

She followed, interested, and just a little bit worried.


	86. LH

He walked into their room and over to his dresser, digging around for a moment before tucking something into his pocket. "Come here," he said, motioning her closer as he started unbuttoning his shirt.

She walked over, a little uncertain, her brow furrowed just a little. "What's this about?" she asked when she was in front of him, still looking vaguely concerned. She was too cautious to be otherwise.

He reached out to cup her chin, thumb running along her jawline. "You've been too jealous of Jim," he said quietly, leaning in just a little, his voice low. "That isn't good for either of our healths."

Her cheeks flushed, eyes dropping to the floor for a second, just barely keeping herself from pulling out of his grasp so she didn't have to look at him. "What's your point?" she cleared her throat, meeting his eyes again, with some difficulty.

He found her hand, his pressing something cool and metal into it, the other still keeping her chin up. "I don't want you to be jealous," he said, still quiet. "Don't deface his initials. Other than that, yours can go wherever you like." He let her chin drop to see the knife he'd placed in her hand.

The flush spread to her ears, her hand lifting a little so she could see it better, and then she felt overwhelmed, unable to quite process the gift he was giving her. "Are you sure?" she whispered, eyes darting back up to his again. "He'll be _furious."_

"Yes," he said, responding to both questions with one word. "I'll inform him it was my idea. Don't worry."

She nodded, letting out a shocked breath, running her thumb over the hilt of the knife, her mind now contemplating where she wanted to mark him. It had to be someplace he could reach easily, if not see, that she decided right away. Then, it was about balance. She placed her free hand over the right side of his chest, contemplating. "How about here?"

He smiled a little, pulling his shirt off the rest of the way and starting to unwrap the bandages around his chest. "Seems like a good spot," he agreed.

"Get on the bed, then," she murmured, helping him out of the gauze. "I don't want to fuck up."

He grinned, but obeyed, laying back on the bed and waiting for her to do as she liked.

She followed and moved to straddle his waist, knife in hand. She'd killed a man like this, a long time ago, when she was younger, and fresh in New York. Armetti had watched, she remembered. He'd never gotten off to the blood itself, not like Sebastian did; he was just in love with everything she did. If the idea of having her initials carved into him had ever occurred to him, he would have had her done it ages ago. But it wouldn't have meant anything, not really. She'd never had to fight for Vince's devotion. But Sebastian offering this to her... This meant more than the world. She placed the tip of the knife against the skin of his chest and started carving.

He stayed still, but he couldn't help tensing up and gritting his teeth as the knife dug in. Not from the pain- pain he could deal with in far higher levels. No, it was the trust. She could shove the knife down and wound or kill him in an instant if she wanted to. Yet here he lay, throat bared, belly-up under a woman two times smaller than him. It went against everything in his nature, and his instincts ran deep. He concentrated on the pain, on the sting of it, and on her face. She was worth this.

It was maybe the most intimate thing she'd ever done in her life, though that wasn't really saying much. When she was done, the LH that lay opposite of the JM was more delicate, obviously feminine, and overall just a little more stylistic than its counterpart. Jim didn't use knives in everyday life like they did, it was unrealistic to expect a territorial marking to bear any finesse. But she still took pleasure in the fact that it was the exact opposite of an eyesore. She set the knife to the side and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "I'm done."

He took a slow breath. He hadn't dared to close his eyes, couldn't fight his instincts that far, and now he blinked a few times to re-hydrate his eyes. He relaxed slowly, shifting enough to look down at the blood-smeared marks, and smiled a little. "Certainly looks nicer than his," he said quietly.

"I'm not a terrible artist. And I'm better with a knife," she hummed, getting off him to lie against his side, head cushioned on his shoulder. "I hope he doesn't decide to cut you _again_ in retaliation, though..."

"We'll see what happens," he said quietly, slipping an arm around her waist. He could hardly believe he'd actually done it. He'd been considering it for a while, but actually going so far as to hand her the knife... Jim was going to be livid.

"I'd offer to let you return the favor if I wasn't going to get my scars removed anyway. Thank you for that, again. And for this," she murmured, nestling into him a little more, soaking up his warmth. "I assume you _probably_ don't want me getting all sentimental, either."

"Not particularly," he agreed with a small smile, glancing over at her. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just, uh," she cleared her throat, giving a tiny shrug. "A little emotional."

"Good emotions or bad ones?" he asked, eyes on the ceiling.

"Why would they be bad? Good ones, of course," she replied, looking up at him.

"Okay, well, that's good," he said, not explaining any further, just holding her a little tighter.

"Why would they be bad?" she repeated again, though not too demanding. Just concerned.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I wasn't sure how you'd take that. If you'd still be jealous."

"I'm still a little jealous, of course I am. But this... I don't know," she shrugged. "This soothes some imagined wounds."

He nodded just a little, turning his head to press his lips to her temple. "I don't let just anyone sit on me with a knife."

"And I don't get jealous over just anybody," she smirked, then sighed. "Do you ever wonder what our lives would have been like if we weren't criminals?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure I can," he said quietly. "I'm a criminal because of who I am. If I weren't, it would be because I was someone else. It's fundamental."

"Yeah," she sighed, giving a small nod. "I guess the same thing can apply to me."

"We wouldn't have done well in normal society, I don't think. Plus it's fucking boring."

She gave a small chuckle. "I think we might have just become a different sort of class of criminal. The kind that doesn't get paid to kill people."

"Like I said. Fucking boring," he snorted. He glanced over at her after a moment, and smirked a little. "Merry fucking Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," she chuckled, relaxing into him a little more. "Here's to a year with less kidnappings."

"It had better be. You know, I never got kidnapped until you came around and made things complicated," he grumbled.

"Yes you did, don't be ridiculous. There's no way that the first time you were captured was with me," she rolled her eyes, nudging him a little.

"Well, it happened a damn sight less," he defended gruffly, snorting.

"Look, only like, one of those was actually as a direct result of something I did, and that one was DeWitt. The others I take no responsibility for," she retorted defensively, voice going up in pitch just a little. "I can't help it that Jim's plans often throw us into danger. Shit got risky once Mycroft really had wind of us."

"Hey, hey, Jesus," he muttered, chuckling. "I was joking, Harrison. No need to get up in arms."

She groaned, elbowing him a little. "You can't do that to me with your grumpy voice, I can't tell! I'm too used to scary grumpy Sebastian to deal with joking grumpy Sebastian."

He let out a small snort of laughter, shaking his head. "Some grifter you are."

"I don't know what you think I've been doing, but I don't treat you like a mark, believe it or not," she snorted.

"Yes, but shouldn't you have better instincts about when someone you know so well is joking?" he shot back with a grin, reaching out to tickle her side.

She squeaked, rolling away with him with a kick, then glared at him. "Are you saying I know you well? Never thought I'd hear _that."_

"You've known me for how many years now, Harrison? I'd say you know me better than pretty much anyone. Jim obviously excluded, but he has an unfair advantage." He shrugged, voice matter-of-fact.

She smirked a little. "You know you haven't been close to the same person that whole time. Just as soon as I get used to one version of you, you change again."

"Mmm.. And how much do you expect the average person knows about me?" he pointed out with a grin.

"Okay, okay, Christ, there's no winning with you," she rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Not that that makes any _sense_ \- of course the average person doesn't know anything about you. They'd need to be criminals."

He glanced at her, expression smug, but internally there was a rare flicker of doubt. Did... did it actually _bother_ him that she thought she didn't know him?

No. Of course not. She probably didn't anyway.

He stomped out the flicker and moved on.

She shifted back over to curl up against his side, an arm wrapping around his chest, carefully avoiding the cuts. "I don't miss us having to make up excuses to do this, though. Shit got tiring after a while."

He nodded a little in agreement. "True. That was an interesting... Year, I guess."

"During which I half lived with you anyway," she snorted, giving a little shrug. "Or lived across from you. That was during the fights, if I remember right."

"When were we not fighting, precisely?" he asked, stretching slightly before wrapping his arm around her again, thumb playing with the silver band on his ring finger.

"Oh, I meant more along the lines of those were the fights where you'd almost killed me, or something similarly dramatic," she hummed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Always fun," he hummed. It occurred to him that he wasn't sure they'd ever done this- just lay on their bed cuddling- _cuddling_ \- and talking, with clothes on and no intention to fuck or sleep. Just spending time together.

The fact that he didn't hate it was surprising at best.

"I was always especially angry with myself, too," she sighed, thinking back to the times she'd sat on the floor of her own shower, hands gripping her head, fighting back the _trappedtrappedtrapped_ feeling that was building in pressure in her chest. "I think I might have gotten away without feelings if I'd done what I had with my other bosses and slept with you preemptively. A little premeditation on my part used to go a long way for keeping myself detached. And then you turned out to be _really_ good in bed, too."

He grinned. "I'm a venus fly trap. I lure you in and there's no getting out."

"I don't know, I think the pitcher plant is a better representation. The slowly being devoured part, I mean," she smirked, giving a little lift of her shoulders.

"Is that what I'm doing?" he asked with a smirk. "Devouring you slowly? And that is not a euphemism."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call our relationship static, now, would you?" she laughed, grinning at him. "Though I'll admit that I've probably worn down your defenses more than you've worn down mine."

"Not that you had very many to begin with," he snorted, shaking his head a little.

"Hey, I wasn't prepared for feelings. People fall in love with _me_ all the damn time. I, on the other hand, remain immune," she retorted.

He smirked. "I'm not sure 'falling in love' is the proper phrase for what happened here. Not nearly violent enough."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, how about 'fell into the pit called love and hit every damn painful stick on the way down.' Better?"

"Add 'and occasionally weaponizing said sticks and hitting each other', and I'm sold," he chuckled.

"Add as many caveats as you wish," she smiled. "Just don't kick me out of bed and I'm happy."

"Yeah, well, that's always an option," he snorted. "But probably unlikely at this point. I'm used to your annoyances."

"Excuse me, I am a fucking delight," she muttered, mock-sullenly.

"You keep telling yourself that," he muttered with a smirk.

"You better watch it - no one else is gonna put up with your shit like I do. Who else is going to fuck you while your sister is in the kitchen?"

He gave a dramatic sigh. "Didn't I just say I'd learned to put up with you? You have your uses."

She rolled her eyes. "Christ, no wonder Keira thought we were married. We certainly bicker like people who are."

"Mmm... let's not bring up that incident, shall we? It was appalling."

"You're such a drama queen," she snorted. "Admit it, it wouldn't be that bad."

What was she _saying?_ Telling Sebastian Moran that being married to him wouldn't be that bad? Was she fucking _insane?_

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure that when Malcolm got his little ring box you told me to just put you down if you ever started thinking that way," he said levelly. What the fuck...

"Ah, fuck, you're right, I don't know what the fuck's gotten into me, I'm not even _drunk,"_ she shook her head, sitting up and dragging a hand through her hair, eyes wide. _Fuck, don't say shit that's going to get you killed like that. Idiot. "_ Sorry, sorry."

He watched her tense, saw the muscles in her neck jump as she swallowed. After a few seconds he took mercy on her.

"Relax. I'm not going to shank you for saying something stupid. At least not anymore. Probably."

She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, sighing. _Stop fucking dreaming, okay? You're getting too into the job._ "Sorry," was all she said again.

He sat up next to her, putting his elbows on his knees. "It's fine."

"Yeah, I know, I just..." she sighed again, shook her head. "I should know better. We haven't even been on this job for that long. This isn't the op with Ford, I haven't been here three months. Christ. I'm out of practice. Haven't done a proper grifting job in far too long. I'm losing my touch."

"You're fine," he said calmly. "I'm feeling it too, and usually an emotionless bastard."

"Christ, look at us," she chuckled, voice tired. "We'll be lucky if Jim doesn't make you kill me, or something worse, once he sees the initials. Somehow I don't think he'll lay a hand on me himself."

"That would be far too boring," he agreed quietly. "But we'll take it as it comes.

She shifted to lean against him, a huff of breath leaving her. "Hopefully he won't find out until he wants to fuck us again. Well, fuck you. But I guess with a reader you never know."

He snorted slightly. "My guess is that he'll see it the moment I walk in the door. But that's just my guess."

"Ugh, I don't like how much that sounds right," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "Still don't regret it though."

"You shouldn't. Like I said, I'll try and shield you from as much of the fallout as I can. It was my choice. I stand by it." He glanced over at her. "Don't worry, alright? I've done worse in Jim's eyes and walked out."

"For once, I'm actually worried about my own skin, believe it or not," she shrugged, chuckling dryly. "It was your idea, sure, but you didn't exactly have to force my hand."

"That's what I'm saying," he said firmly. "I've walked out of worse scrapes, I'll get us both out of this one."

"Okay, alright, I trust you," she relented, sighing a little. "You are a smooth talker when it comes to him."

"Just when it comes to him, huh?" he asked, but he slid an arm around her, pulling her against his side.

She chuckled. "And me, when you really want something. Everyone else is too intimidated by you to be smooth-talked."

"I suppose that's fair," he snorted, looking over at her for a moment before pulling her into his lap and tucking her under his chin, despite the cuts on his chest.

Warmth filled her chest, a comfort to an anxiety she hadn't realized was there, and she relaxed into him, although did her best not to lean too hard into the cuts on his chest. "Only one more job until your sister sends you a sex tape."

"I'm going to fucking _relish_ that, believe me," he hummed, pressing his nose into her hair just a little.

"When Jim doesn't need her anymore, it'll be damn fun to release to the public," she murmured, smirking to herself.

"Oh, good, you and I were thinking along the same lines," he said cheerfully. "I was thinking of adding cartoon sound effects."

She laughed. "Charming. I love it."

"Either that, or vaudeville music. Not sure which," he sneered.

She laughed. "Jesus. You're just evil."

"You didn't know that already?" he asked with a snort of laughter.

"I know, I just like to comment on it occasionally. I could have sworn that you liked hearing it," she teased.

"Awfully sure of ourselves, aren't we?" He bent to kiss the corner of her jaw gently, because it was there.

She grinned, the rest of the cringey feeling left over from her slip of the tongue melting away as she leaned back against his shoulder. "Would you like me if I was any other way?"

"I mean, I don't like you _now_ , but I suppose there's always the possibility," he ribbed.

She elbowed him, though not hard. "Oi, you better watch your step. I know your sleep patterns."

He laughed. "Then you know I'm a very light sleeper," he smirked.

"Mm, I don't know, I think I'm a good enough liar to take you off guard. I _do_ have a black widow moniker from my time in New York," she chuckled, turning to face him, still in his lap.

"Is that so?" he asked with a smirk. "Well, then. I suppose I should be careful about pissing you off." His voice was deeply sarcastic.

She frowned, resting her hands on his shoulders. "Do I detect _sarcasm?_ Oh, I'm _quite_ offended. Deeply hurt."

"Mm... I'm sure. However will you survive?" he snorted.

"Off the food you make me and the sex you give me. Like a succubus," she said cheerfully.

"Oddly fitting," he snorts, grinning just a tiny bit and tightening his grip a little.

"I wouldn't say it's too odd," she chuckled, shrugging. "We did have a conversation about me being one in hell, if I remember correctly."

"Probably," he agreed, laying back on the bed and pulling her with him, on top of his chest.

She huffed and settled down, relaxing into him again, pleased to be in a position to soak up all his considerable warmth. She yawned, closed her eyes. "I should probably get up and brush my teeth, but I'm too comfortable now."

He laughed a little, kicking his feet enough to get the blanket up towards his hands, pulling it up over them both. "Your teeth will survive one night unpolished."

"Mm, you're very wise, I think I'll take your advice," she murmured, sighing into his shoulder.

He grinned, rubbing her back just slightly. "Get some sleep," he said with a grin.

She shifted just a little more, then took his advice and drifted off to sleep, very content.

* * *

He woke early the next morning to a beam of sunlight in his eyes. Harrison hadn't moved, still sprawled like a starfish across his chest.

She shifted as he woke, letting out a soft moan into his shoulder. "Mmmm. What time is it?"

"Just before seven," he said, rolling to the side and shifting her gently onto the bed. "I'm going to get Keira up and to headquarters."

"Okay," she sighed, grabbing a blanket and burying her face in the closest pillow. "Tell em' hi and bye for me."

"Mhm," he said, getting up and heading to the bathroom to shower, washing away the dried blood from the night before bandaging his chest carefully with just a few flinches.

She remained half awake as he got ready to go, and rolled over a little as he came back out of the bathroom. "Walk different. Just in case you see _him."_

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and pulling on his suit jacket.

"You need to throw him off the scent. Otherwise he'll know. Immediately. I rather put that off," she muttered, rolling over again.

"I'll do my best," he said calmly, before he headed out into the hallway, knocking on Keira's door as he passed. "Get up and packed. Time to go."

Keira opened the door, running a hand through her short hair, her eyes squinty with sleep. "Already done. I'm ready."

"Good. Let's go then," he said, heading down the stairs.

She followed hot on his heels, a bag slung over her shoulder with the stuff Lorna had given her packed inside. She'd left the bedroom as she had found it. Somehow, she doubted that he'd have been thrilled if she hadn't.

He headed downstairs and grabbed the keys and his coat. It was snowing. "I'll drive you over. You can get your bike sometime when there's better weather."

"Okay, cool," she replied, ducking her head with a nod. She was a little sad to be leaving so soon. She hadn't expected to like Sebastian, as a person.

He climbed into the car and started it up, waiting for her to get in before pulling out onto the street and heading for headquarters the long way around. He was mostly silent on the way over before finally he said, "Don't be stupid, alright? Don't talk unless someone talks to you first. Watch that fucking sass of yours."

"Yeah, alright," she sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I'll be careful. Not gonna do a repeat of my last network."

"Good. Because this network is a bit less playful. They won't send you to me. They'll just shoot you." He pulled into the garage at headquarters. "Along that note- Here you aren't my kid. People will probably work it out, that's not what I mean. You won't get any special treatment because of me, so don't expect it. Understood?"

She nodded, her face serious, and tired. "Alright. I'll tread carefully. Keep back that urge to walk around like I own the place."

"Good," he said, climbing out and locking the car after she did as well. "Come on. I'll show you where to go."

"Alright. Cool. I was kinda worried you were just going to drop me off at the front door and leave me to fend for myself," she muttered, sounding relieved, following him with her bag over her shoulder.

"Not this door, anyway. Once you get to the recruitment center, that's exactly what will be happening," he snorted. "The only reason I'm taking you that far is I have to pass it on my way to check with my men in the security section."

"Ah, okay," she snorted, smiling just a little. "You guys have a _recruitment center?"_

"That's the nice term for it, yes," he said, expression calm. "Most people call it the Culling."

"Jesus, you guys dramatic much?" she rolled her eyes, then sighed. "Ugh, sorry."

"No, not dramatic. Accurate," he said with a smirk as they walked up the stairs to the second floor and turned into the hall. He stopped outside a door marked 'Recruitment'. "There's a twenty percent survival rate. Good luck."

"Yeah, thanks," she sighed, standing at the door for a moment before giving him a hesitant half wave. "Okay. Well. See you."

"Yup," he said, heading down the hall. He didn't particularly care if she believed him about the survival rate, it had been hilarious to see her momentary flinch. He didn't glance back, but he thought about it. Then he decided to forget he'd thought about it. Harrison was right, this job was getting to them both.


	87. Only Room For One Autograph in This Town

Jim was only a speck surprised to see Sebastian so early. A _tiny,_ dust-mote sized speck, but a speck nonetheless. The speck was immediately wiped out as he did his usual visual sweep. The slight favoring of the right shoulder over the left, which _should_ have been the worse of the two - there shouldn't even _be_ a 'worse.' He grit his teeth. " _Moran. Here. Now."_

He froze. He hadn't expected to run into Jim, hadn't been prepared at all. And the tone his employer was using suggested that he was already thoroughly, deeply, and _completely_ fucked. He took a slow breath, turning to the left slightly, where he could see Jim standing just outside the elevator. He walked over at a measured pace, keeping his expression neutral. "Good morning, sir-"

"The only reason I'm not demanding you remove your shirt this instant so that I can _see_ it is that I don't want the peons to _whisper,"_ Jim snarled, teeth bared in a grimace, his body rigid. " _Explain."_

Witnesses were his friend right now, so he didn't suggest they move somewhere more private. "Lorna and I have a consensual sexual relationship, sir," he said, calmly and far too quiet for the 'peons' to overhear. "Sometimes knives get involved." He wasn't being sarcastic or defiant, keeping his voice as respectful as possible until Jim gave him something to work with (intentionally or not).

Jim's grimace became just a little bit more like a crazed smile, altogether too much teeth and not enough happiness. "Just knives, is that right? A few random cuts? Now _now,_ Moran, omission is still a _sin."_

His nostrils flared slightly, but that was his only reaction. "I felt it was a fitting balance, sir," he said calmly. "Would you like me to be poetic? You're still the one over my heart." Pushing the line was an understatement, but he needed to shock Jim into thinking about why he cared for a second.

"My initials aren't on you for _SENTIMENT,_ Moran," he snapped, taking a step forward, fingers finding the collar of the sniper's shirt. "They're a _branding mark._ I own you, don't you remember? _I. Own. You._ Not that idiotic slut."

That got looks as his employer increased volume, and it was time for him to do his job. "Sir," he said quietly. "Might I suggest that, in order to prevent the peons from whispering, we move this conversation somewhere more private?" He didn't struggle against Jim's grip, but he didn't bend to it either, standing solid as a rock, but remaining submissive to the man in front of him. Protecting Jim's image.

He let go and turned to step back into the elevator, which had been hesitating to close on his foot for the past few minutes. Fury still was clear on his face. _I should kill her for this insubordination. But I suppose I owe enough to him to let him fucking explain._

He stepped in behind Jim, carefully analyzing the man's expression as the elevator door closed.

"It was my idea, sir. You noticed the jealousy issue. She would have gotten over it eventually, but this seemed a simple way to kick-start the process. It doesn't mean anything, and I honestly didn't believe it would bother you this much. My apologies. I take full responsibility."

He said nothing for a moment, somehow not entirely surprised to hear it was Sebastian's idea. Then he scoffed. "You let her take a knife to your chest? Don't tell me you _trust_ her."

"I don't trust you, either, sir, yet I've let you do that more times than I can count," he returned with a casual smirk. Too close to home.

"We're both well aware that's entirely different," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "Don't be stupid, I'm already bombarded by people who are every day. And don't think for an instant that you've let her off the hook by saying you asked her to. She still drew on my property."

He set his jaw slightly at that. It didn't bother him that Jim owned him. He knew that, had since he'd started working for the man. But being reduced to inanimate 'property' was a bit across the line.

"I'm fully aware that you own me, sir," he said calmly, eyes carefully controlled. "So is Harrison, believe me. This isn't her expressing defiance of that. This is her staking a claim in a completely different aspect of me- my personal life, which, though you've occasionally wandered in, you've stayed clear of for the most part."

Jim watched him carefully as he spoke. He knew Sebastian was defensive, a little angry, but it was beneath the surface of the tightly controlled exterior. He didn't care what people were feeling as long as they kept it in hand. He didn't speak for a moment, just stared at him. Then, "You actually care what she thinks of you, don't you?"

The 'no' was far less immediate than it should have been. Mercifully, the elevator dinged as it reached Jim's floor, and he gained a few seconds as they stepped out, carefully forming his answer.

"Not more than I care what you think, sir. Far less."

"But you _do_ care," he said derisively, hands in his pockets. "I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. You are in bloody love with her after all."

That got his hackles up immediately. "Don't insult me," he warned, an edge to his voice.

"I'm in no mood for lip, Moran," he shot back darkly, glaring at the taller man. "Her being in love with _you?_ Fine. Grifters always have a soft edge to them. But you _returning_ it? I'm baffled, Moran. I don't understand throwing away such an _advantage,"_ he growled, animated now, a hand going up into the air at his last word.

"I'm not in love with her, _sir_ ," he growled, posture stiff. "I enjoy her company and yes, I might value her opinion. But that's a far cry from being fucking _in love._ I'm not some miserable sap like that sod Malcolm. When have you _ever_ seen me passively tolerate weakness in myself for any period of time?"

"Never. Until now, apparently," he spat, and was suddenly surprised to find he was jealous. Jealous that someone else had a part of his bodyguard that he didn't have, couldn't have, and he was powerless to change it.

"Be very careful, James," he said quietly, eyes suddenly very calm, and cold. "Think about what battles you want to fight. Do you remember the last time you insulted me needlessly? The last time you stepped too far outside of your position as my employer? Because I do, and if I remember correctly, it _really_ didn't end well for you. I'm not being insubordinate right now. I'm not doing anything which in any way impedes my ability to do my job. I'm not even questioning your _ownership_ of me. All of which is combining to make your reaction right now seem a bit _pesky_."

"Get _out,"_ he snapped, hand shooting out to point at the elevator, steam practically venting from his ears. He never wanted to have an envious thought again. "Now."

He didn't argue, just took a few steps back to press the call button, never turning his back on the other man. He stepped into the elevator as it dinged, and nodded slightly as the door closed, before taking a slow breath and reaching up to check that his gun was in easy reach in his chest holster. That could have gone better.

Jim took a step back and leaned heavily against his desk the moment Sebastian was gone, raking a hand through his slicked-back hair. That was a dangerous loss of control.

He kept on his toes as he made his way out of the building. He wouldn't have been surprised if Jim sent people after him. He made it clear, however, and headed for his car, starting it up quickly and peeling out onto the street.

* * *

Lorna was having coffee over her laptop in the living room when he came back, and she looked up when he came in. "Got new directions. We have to go to an event in parliament."

"Brilliant," he said, walking past her into the kitchen and pulling open the liquor cabinet. He grabbed a bottle of bourbon and a corkscrew, opening it as he headed back into the living room and taking a generous pull as he flopped down on the other side of the couch.

"Breaking out the bourbon already? Keira that annoying?" She raised her eyebrows, taking a sip of coffee. "There's still coffee in the pot."

"Saw Jim," he said quietly, taking another swig before setting the bottle to the side for a moment.

"Oh, shit." She sat up a little straighter, eyes wide. "What happened?"

"We discussed the situation. He was less than thrilled. So was I. I may or may not have called him 'pesky.'" He didn't look at her, watching the street out the window.

"Jesus," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "Geez. Do you think he'll send anyone?"

"Not sure yet," he said, his voice calm, though he was on edge. "He just told me to leave. So I'm not sure where we stand."

"At least he didn't kill you right then," she shook her head, sounding a tad shocked.

"Yeah, still trying to sort out how that happened," he agreed quietly, standing and walking over to draw the curtains across the window before walking to pick up his laptop, booting it up.

"Pass the bourbon," she muttered, holding out her hand. It was way too early for this kind of news.

He handed it over to her while he brought up his security feeds. There was silence for a while before he finally said, "I think he might have actually been jealous."

She coughed on a mouthful of bourbon, which was not a fun experience. " _Sorry?"_

"You heard me," he said quietly, watching the feeds. "The way he talked... He just kept getting more and more frustrated about the whole situation. Saying I was his property, that you didn't have a right. Then when I pointed out that you were in my personal life, not affecting the job, he sorta spluttered and looked like I pissed on his birthday cake."

"Oh, god. This isn't good for my health," she breathed out, a little pale.

"Probably not," he agreed, nodding a little and reaching out a hand towards her for the bourbon.

"Jesus," she replied, again. "I hope if he decides to kill me he does it quick."

"He won't kill you," he said calmly. "Not unless he decides to knock us both off. Which... He might... so..." He shrugged.

"How did you arrive to that conclusion?" she snorted, eyeing him dubiously. "There's no reason he'd have to kill both of us."

"Because I made it rather clear that if he interfered with my personal life past his boundaries again, I wouldn't be so generous as to just carve my initials into him this time," he said calmly.

"For once, fucking you regularly might actually be safer than the alternative," she breathed.

"Odd, isn't it?" he asked with a snort. "You've passed the threshold."

"God, that's fucked up," she snorted, massaging her temples. "It shouldn't be safe, being near you. But I guess that there's a certain bubble of protection. Like remoras on sharks."

"Interesting comparison, but not an inaccurate one, I don't suppose," he smirked. He was starting to relax, just a little. He glanced over. "So what's this about a party?"

"Less of a party, more of a... you know, prissy wine-tasting," she waved a hand. "It's going to be extremely political. Parliament, remember? The only benefit is that we'll be able to spill our drinks on _very_ expensive carpeting."

"Prissy wine tasting. Brilliant," he deadpanned. But then he grinned just a little. "But after this, my sister sends the first tape."

"Mmm, that'll be a fun watch. Brilliant extortion, really, I'm very impressed. What inspired that?"

"My overwhelming and deep-seated disgust with every molecule in her body was a contributing factor," he said casually. "Also, I'm a sick bastard."

"Watching a sex tape of the person that disgusts you isn't really the typical reaction. But I guess the second one explains it," she chuckled, shrugging a little.

"It isn't that I want to watch her fucking someone," he said calmly. "It's that I want _her_ to _know_ that I am watching her fucking someone."

She laughed, reaching for the bourbon again. "That's fucking hilarious. You're diabolical."

* * *

In the end, Jim didn't send anyone to kill them. Not immediately at least.

The wine tasting, as it happened, was a bit of an annual event to bring in the new year. It was attended by all of politics' finest, and their entourages of corporate pocket-pickers.

Mycroft Holmes watched the debacle from the seclusion of a balcony. He had a glass of red in hand but wasn't really sipping it, more like practicing balancing the thing with digits that still refused to quite cooperate, despite long hours of surgery and therapy.

Sara Moran went through the motions of greeting various dignitaries and supporters, and sucking up to people who could help her later. Her heart really wasn't in it though, even though she really did enjoy politics. Tomorrow, she'd have to send her revolting half-brother a fucking _sex tape._ She wasn't sick enough to enjoy that.

He watched Sara Moran as she made her way through the room. She was most of his reason for being here this evening. He'd heard some interesting rumors.

He watched as one of his men approached her, relaying his message that he wanted to see her. She looked up a moment later, and he raised his wine glass in her direction before stepping back out of sight.

She ventured into the dim hallway a moment later, a stark contrast to the light and festivities (however calm they may be) down below. And there was the man who she'd seen earlier. She'd seen him before, around - he always seemed to be at the fringes of the machinations going on around her. "Oh, I know your name. Hodge... Howard... Holmes?"

"Third time and all that," he said with a small smile. "I know you as well, Ms. Moran. Perhaps better than you'd think. Tell me, how's your brother doing. Sebastian, is it?"

She stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out his game. "He's fine," she said after a moment, in which she decided that he was obviously not sent by Moriarty, and anyone who knew about her brother without that source was not someone to be trifled with. "What do you want, Mr. Holmes?"

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, Sara," he said with a quiet smile. "But I believe you're interested in watching Sebastian Moran, Lorna Harrison, and James Moriarty crash and burn, very slowly, so long as it doesn't hurt your career. Would that be a reasonable assumption?"

He took a sip of wine.

She tapped a finger against her glass in consideration, looking at him thoughtfully. "You may be right. Do you have a proposition for me?"

"An alliance, of sorts," he said calmly. "I own most of the British government, in one way or another. I want your help bringing down Moriarty, your brother, and Harrison. In return, I'll grease the right palms for you to slip into position to be PM in... say five years?"

She took a deep breath, then took a deep swig of her wine. " _Well._ I do think that I can be amenable to that."

"I figured you might be," he said with a smirk. "Youngest Prime Minister in a century. Quite a feather in your cap."

"Yes, it will be," she smiled. "Now, I assume you'll need me to do something to help you. What will that be?"

"I want information. On Moriarty, on your brother and his girl... That's the first step. What happens after that will depend on what you give me."

"Well," she grinned. "Then you're in luck."

* * *

"This one's disgusting, that last one was probably a pound bottle from Sainsbury's... Honestly, don't they have anything decent at these things?" Moran muttered into his glass as he tipped the remainder of his wine into a potted plant which was already quite damp.

"If we're lucky they have grape juice and vodka secreted away somewhere," Lorna sighed, swirling the wine in her glass and looking down at it in disappointment. "If we're luckier, there'll be a scotch bar."

"Yeah, I wish," he snorted, setting his glass down and looking around. "Let's make ourselves known and then leave."

"Sounds like a decent plan to me," she agreed, setting her glass down on a passing server's tray. "Pick the most recognizable face from the crowd and let's go."

He nodded, looking around the crowd, before raising an eyebrow. "Ah... That's a little too recognizable..." he said softly, nodding to a short, pristine Irishman staring at them from across the room.

"Oh, shit," she murmured, wishing suddenly that she hadn't gotten rid of her wine. "Do you think he'll mind terribly if we just run away?"

"Something tells me he'd find that very entertaining..." he murmured as Jim started walking slowly across the room.

"Fuck, fuck fuck _fuck,"_ she muttered under her breath, raking a hand through her hair, the only truly visible sign of her distress. "He's going to kneecap me or something."

"Not here, in front of everyone," he said quietly, though he stood, shifting a bit between her and Jim, sticking out his hand to greet the man to hold up pretenses in the crowd, and speaking quietly. "Sir... have another meeting?"

Jim took his hand, but only for the briefest moment. "Yes, Moran. And you're in my way." He glanced past to Lorna.

She paled, growing a shade closer to her white dress. "Hello, sir."

"Harrison. How good to see you again. Shall we take a walk?" No _hint_ of a question. He extended his arm to her. "Don't worry, Tiger. I'll have her home before midnight with the dress unstained."

She fought the urge to comment _It's not the dress he's worried about being stained,_ and took his arm instead, gluing a passable smile onto her face. "A tip not to taste any of the wine, boss. It's.. not so great."

"I've noticed. Terrible shame." Moran started to walk behind them despite the hint that he wasn't invited, but Jim's glance was enough to still that notion, and he peeled off, stomach tight.

Jim headed casually through the mill of people towards one of the quieter halls. "Sebastian tells me you two have been having a good few months together," he said conversationally.

"Has he," she cleared her throat, smiling a little. "I suppose that's true. Nobody's tried to kill anyone else. That's an improvement."

"Mmm... You had a bit of an unusual opportunity, though, didn't you?" he asked with a smirk. "It isn't many people that cut into Sebastian Moran and survive."

"I uh... that I did," she agreed, a twisting, uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. "I'm not entirely certain I was in my right mind, accepting his offer. But I... I don't regret it. I apologize, boss."

"Mmm... That whole situation has revealed some interesting things to me, Harrison," he said calmly as they entered an empty hall. He released her arm, stepping back to look at her. "I've never seen my sniper give a shit about anyone outside the job before. But then you came along..."

She clasped her hands together in front of her, just so they didn't hang uselessly at their sides, and she nodded a little, eyes very carefully avoiding his. "I suppose so, sir."

"And now he's gone and fallen in love with you. Can you see how that makes my life inconvenient?" he said casually.

She swallowed. "Yes, sir. I thought that we were cleared up on this front, after you uh... told me to fix him."

The snarl was sudden and feral. "I told you to fix him. Not sign him," he spat, rounding on her.

She clenched her teeth to keep herself from taking a step back, an alarm sounding in her head. A very, very loud alarm. Still, she stood her ground. "Sir, I'm not sure what exactly you want from me?"

"Why did you put your little John Hancock onto him, Lorna?" he asked, voice sweet again.

Somehow, that sucked a little of the fear out of her. Her shoulders tightened. "Because he gave me a knife and _offered._ I wanted to. So I did."

"Why did you want to?" he pressed, studying her face intently, his hands in his pockets.

She unclasped her hands, just in case he had a weapon on him, to fight back if she needed to. He was wiry, but she fought people more often than him. "Because I care about him, and this is the only claim I can ever have on him. The rest is yours."

He snorted slightly, but nodded, studying her. What did Moran _see_ in her?

Was it her appearance? Sure, she had once been beautiful, but although her looks had diminished with injury, Sebastian's fascination did not seem to have been affected.

Her personality? She was a chameleon of emotion, but her core personality wasn't anything particularly spectacular.

If he hadn't been so engrossed in his study, he would have had the half second moment of advanced notice he needed to avoid their attackers. As it was, he noticed them a second before the dart hit his neck, and then his beautiful mind ground to an unartistic halt, and he crumpled.

She'd been tensed for attack, but she wasn't prepared for attack from the side. She jumped as the dart appeared in his neck, a startled movement backwards, then a concerned movement forward, then there was a stick of pain in her shoulder and she collapsed, mind deciding that it was just going to take a little cat nap.

There was the rhythmic tap of an umbrella tip as a pair of black, shined shoes approached his line of sight from the ground, and then he was unconscious.


	88. Mycroft's Labyrinth

Lorna woke up in a dimly lit room, next to an open door, which looked like it led into an grungy hallway. It wasn't entirely clear where the light source was coming from, as the room had no windows. Just a coffee table missing three legs, a gun on the floor, and Jim, slumped against the wall opposite. She shifted a little, groaning, her head splitting. This was weird. This was _really_ weird.

He came to slowly, his head and heart pounding. It was a while before he could drag his eyes open, and he glanced around the room. Made to look old, but the dust buildup suggested otherwise.

Harrison was on the floor across from him. There was a gun on the floor between them. He waited until he felt his movements would be less sluggish, then moved with swift precision (mostly) to close his fingers around the metal.

She didn't move when he did, though she shifted a little, to get more comfortable. She groaned. "My head is _killing_ me. What did they give us, elephant sedative?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "The pain is... elegant to say the least." He hefted the pistol into his hand.

"At least they appear not to have taken Moran. If I trust anyone to bail our asses out, it's him," she sighed, shifting to sit up, unhappy to find herself still in her party dress. "Is that gun even loaded?"

He cocked it, hefting it in his hand. "Judging from the weight, it has one bullet." He leveled it in her direction, considering the situation calmly.

She didn't have the energy to be scared. "What, you're going to _shoot_ me? Before you even know where we are or the situation we're in? Fine, fine, shoot me then. That's not _insanely_ stupid for James Moriarty or anything."

"Did I say I was going to shoot you?" he asked softly, considering her. "I'm just... thinking about it." His mind was still foggy. "You've not been very intelligent of late either."

"I made a single mistake. One that I stand by, by the way, so bite me," she muttered under her breath, straightening her dress as she sat up further .

He sat up at that, eyes flashing. "Say that again," he muttered. "And I will shoot you where you sit."

"Look around, boss," she snorted, giving the filthy ceiling a little inspection. "I think the least of your troubles right now is a little attitude."

He grit his teeth, getting to his feet, stalking over to her with the gun trained on her. "The _situation_ does not _matter_ ," he said precisely, tone clipped. "You will show some fucking _respect."_

"I'll show you some respect when you treat _me_ with some," she spat, waiting for him to take a step closer, to more comfortably enter her range. _Shift forward, just a little. Just a little._ "I'm your _third,_ Jim. I might not go around having the honor of saving your life, or fucking you _all_ by my lonesome, but I think you could give me at least a fucking _third_ of the respect you give to Moran."

"Moran knows when to bow and scrape when he's in deep _shit_ Little Lorna. You seem content to breathe deep and keep _digging_." His fingers were white on the gun as he crouched, pushing the gun against her forehead.

As soon as the metal touched her skin she exploded into action, hand wrapping around the muzzle of the gun and yanking outwards, twisting, her heeled foot driving up into his stomach, sending him staggering. She passed the gun into her other hand, pointing it at him, cheeks flushed with anger. She was still mostly sitting. "And unlike Moran, I won't kneel and let you _execute_ me. You forgot that I'm not your bodyguard, Jim. I'll kill you to save my own skin."

He heaved slightly as he tried to regain his breath, eyes flashing. "Go ahead, Harrison," he said calmly. "Shoot me. See what happens to your _darling_ Moran. You think I don't have fail-safes in place? I don't tolerate failure, even posthumously." His expression was cold. "Embedded cyanide capsules are a slow way to die."

"I'm not _planning_ on killing you, moron," she rolled her eyes, gun still trained on him, in the center of his chest - a very clear no-miss spot. "For a genius, you're _really_ playing catch-up here. I'm only letting you know that I will kill you. You don't have my loyalty, you have my life. And, hell, to avoid those pesky failsafes, maybe I'll just dismember you if you try anything. I haven't dug my claws into anyone in _long_ time. I'd like to see you try to live without your hands," she snarled, pushing herself to her feet, leaning against the wall, just to have something solid against her back. "Now are you going to play fucking nice?"

"I don't _need_ to play nice," he said calmly. "You do anything to me, and I'll kill _myself,_ just for the pleasure of knowing that somewhere dear Sebby is dropping to the ground, writhing. Don't _test_ me." He walked forward, unafraid of the gun, until it pressed into the center of his chest, staring her down.

She put on the smile she did when she was thinking something particularly unpleasant. She shifted the gun, dragging it down his chest, pausing at his hip. "What do you think will happen if I shoot you in the pelvis, point blank? Do you think it could shatter your hip, like an old man's? Cripple you? How you going to kill yourself if you can't even get up and go to the bathroom?"

He smirked, and his eyes were dark with power. In a moment he spun away from the gun and slammed his elbow into her sternum while his free hand grabbed the gun from her stunned grip, continuing the spin as he backed away, leveling it at her skull. "Need to have a gun for that."

She grunted, bending over a little, hand on her chest. "Okay, _ow,"_ she grumbled, straightening up again, and giving the gun a weary look. "I think we've both proven a point here. I'm tired. How about we stop fooling around?"

He considered her, then tucked the gun into his trousers. "Agreed. Let's investigate our surroundings, shall we?"

"Let's," she sighed, turning for the door, then paused and took off her heels, keeping them in hand in case she needed to walk over something sharp. The first step into the hallway was a little disorienting. She immediately felt like she'd lost her sense of direction, like she was looking into a very confusing mirror. "Wow. This isn't going to be fun."

He glanced up and down the hall, which had door upon identical door. The place was falling apart, that was for certain, but had a remarkable amount of similarity to it. Lamps broken in the exact same manner, identical burns on the carpet. He pulled the gun out, turned around, and bashed the grip into the wall. It left a dent, but he hit something solid beneath. Metal. Not your standard drywall, then.

She gave herself and the sedative still lingering in her system credit for not jumping at the sound, just turned her head to give it a look. "Right. Pick a direction at random?"

"Sounds about right," he agreed, scratching a mark into the paint as best he could. It didn't work well. He nodded to their right, holding the gun calmly in hand as they started walking.

"Should we check any of these rooms?" she asked, peering into one as they passed. It was empty, though this one didn't have the broken coffee table. These were the only small details they had to orient themselves with, then. Great.

"Unlikely that any of them contain anything," he said calmly. "This is meant to disorient us. Things will look all the same, few landmarks. We've been given the tool we're expected to start with. I expect any others will be earned."

"Ah, wonderful," she sighed, rubbing her eyes, still keeping pace with him. "Who do you think dumped us in here? Mycroft?"

"Seems like his fingerprint, yes," he said. They came to a T, and he leaned out, looking left and right before stepping out. "Thoughts?'

"I think it looks the same," she sighed, stopping at the intersection with her hands on her hips. "Aren't you supposed to stick to the right wall in a labyrinth?"

"It's a theory," he said calmly, walking to the right and continuing down the hall. He was scanning every section of wall, every door. But it was obvious a reader had been through here- likely Mycroft- to confuse him. Everything he read conflicted. Doors with wear patterns on half the door but not the other. Combination of tarnish patterns that occurred in conflicting environments. And everywhere, things were identical. Freakishly so.

She stayed silent for a little while, walking quietly, bare feet making no sound on the dirty carpet. Then she cleared her throat. "You would recognize any booby traps, right?"

He didn't respond, eyes still scanning. He normally would have responded in the insulted affirmative, but they were dealing with the elder Holmes.

There was a reason he chose to deal primarily with the younger.

She took that as a maybe and started to walk a little more carefully. _Alright, Moran, any second now, that'd be great..._

It was ten minutes later that they encountered their first moment of interest. He took a step forward, and there was a loud click. He swept his arm back, shoving himself back into her and out of the way as an iron wall propelled down from above with tremor-inducing thud, shattering into the wood beneath the carpet and sealing off the hallway.

He straightened and brushed himself off. "Right," he said calmly. "He's toying with us at the moment. That click was ridiculous."

She stared at the iron wall with wide, shocked eyes, a single shuddering breath escaping her. " _Christ,_ though, what a jump scare."

"Mmm." He turned around without bothering to fight with the door, heading back the way they'd come.

She turned, too, after a second of restarting her heart. Well, wasn't this creative? And deadly? Really, she had to wonder where they were. An abandoned building? Underground? Were there multiple floors, or was this it? How inventive did the traps get? Were all of them deadly? She sighed, shook the questions from her head, and kept moving.

He took another turn down a hall, and then saw something _different_.

"There's a window," he said, turning to jog down the hall.

"What?" she asked incredulously, turning and jogging after him, disbelief on her face, even as she saw it. They hadn't been in here all that long, but a window was _not_ part of the design plan, that was clear.

There it was. A plane glass window, covered from the outside with wooden shutters, light breaking through the cracks in the wood.

"What the hell..." Jim murmured, before slamming the butt of the gun into the glass. It bounced off without any effect.

She reached out to touch it, brows drawn together. "Plexiglass, maybe. No way we'll get through that without an ax."

"Sure we will," he said, walking off to the side to stand at a slight angle and waiting for her to follow before he raised the gun, and fired.

The plastic fractured, the bullet hole creating a weak point, and he walked forward to smash the butt of the gun into the hole. It gave, creating a larger hole, and he started bashing the plastic free. A moment later he was able to reach through, push open the shutters-

To find a LED light emitter panel inside a cement recess about a foot deep. The light emitter shifted, changing from showing sunlight colors to a pixilated smiley face that winked once before the thing turned off.

He smashed the heel of the gun into it.

She moved forward as soon as he was out of the way, leaning precariously into the hole and attempting to yank the panel out of the cement, grunting with the effort, before pulling back and settling for ripping a loose board off one of the shutters, and emerging from the fake window a moment later looking significantly more mussed. "I'm taking whatever we can use. Who knows what else is in here."

He nodded in agreement. "Right. Let's keep moving," he said quietly.

She nodded, resting the board against her shoulder and picking a new direction, setting off, still carefully watching where she put her feet. Whoever put her here, they were going to regret it.

* * *

Time was very difficult to track in the seemingly endless hallways, but hours passed by. They stopped in rooms with adjoining bathrooms to use the toilet and get water. The toilets didn't flush and the water tasted foul, but it was enough.

It was four or five hours later, to his best guess. They were walking quietly through hallways that looked no different than the first ones they'd walked through, though he had a working map in his head. Then, out of nowhere, the ground gave an almighty heave and he hit the floor as the world shook and shifted.

" _What_ the _fuck_ is _this!"_ she shouted over an agonizingly loud groaning noise, the sound of metal being warped and manipulated, flat on her back, hands trying to find a grip in the filth, as if it would steady herself through the shaking. Then, as soon as it had started, it stopped, everything settling in an instant.

He sat up slowly, cautiously, looking around, then stood when it seemed the world had stopped. He shook himself out, jogging down the hallway the way he had come, before swearing. "Well, that's fucking _creative_."

She followed at a slower pace, making sure that she had her feet firmly under her. "What's happened?"

He waited for her to catch up to see. The right turn they had just taken was now a four way intersection, each hall leading off to turns that were completely unfamiliar.

"It fucking _changed._ "

"Fuck this shit," she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. " _Fuck._ This must have cost a fortune, too."

"Agreed. I highly doubt we were the origina-" He stopped and froze, closing his eyes, listening to the change in the general eerie silence of the place.

Footsteps.

For a moment he was hopeful. A new element. Someone to question. Torture or threaten if necessary.

Then they clarified, and the rhythm became apparent.

Four-footed gait.

"Run," he said quietly, calmly, but firmly, taking off down the hall in the opposite direction.

She dropped the heels she still carried in one hand, running after him, board still in hand, fear prickling the back of her neck. She did _not_ want to be mauled today. _Door door door door where's a BLOODY DOOR!?_

He swung around a corner and there was a door to the right. He hauled it open, dashing inside and turning to slam it shut just as she slid in, leaning against it.

She thumped back against it too, just in case it was strong enough to break through. Whatever it was. "Does this door lock, or?"

"Not that I can see," he said, voice tight but controlled. He glanced around the room. "Get that chest of drawers over here."

She nodded, dashing off the door and practically leaping across the room to the drawers and dragging them across the room like her life depended on it, which she supposed, it did. Within seconds it was shoved up against the door, and she stepped back, ignoring the strain in her shoulders. "I think I know what the gun was for."

He shifted to leaning his weight against the drawers as the _thudthudthudthud_ of a sprinting _something_ turned the corner. "Figured that out, have you?"

The screech and crack of claws through wood was deafening, and right near his head. He jumped back as black talons of some sort appeared through the pressboard of the cheap door, dragging and splitting the wood.

"What the hell _is_ that thing?" she hissed, backing away for a moment before realizing that she should help, pressing back up against the drawers again.

"Excellent question." He shifted away as the claws scraped lower. "A wolverine, possibly, though a large one..." He looked around the room, trying to find a solution.

She picked up the board she'd dropped on the floor. "I don't think this is gonna kill it, do you?"

"No, but it might stun it long enough for us to find a better place to hide," he said, gritting his teeth as the door opened, shoving the chest of drawers across the floor a little.

She swung the board like a baseball bat as the creature fell forward, smacking it across the face with a hard _thunk,_ throwing it back into the hall. "Go!" She shouted, jumping over the furry lump.

He was immediately behind her, barely dodging the swipe of claws. It caught the ankle of his trousers, which put up no resistance, shredding instantly as he cleared the creature, bolting down the hall behind Harrison.

He might not know the terrain anymore, but he knew directions, could guess where things had to be.

"Head left!"

She made a sharp turn at the next corner, very determined that she not be caught by an unknown beast just because she'd moseyed around the corner at a light trot, shoulder bumping off the wall for a second before she righted herself, shifting back into the middle of the hall again. "What are we looking for?!"

"The wall trap," he panted. "When I tell you, stop!"

"Got it!" She yelped, wondering vaguely how long Jim could run like this, and being vaguely happy that she was so comfortable running in bare feet.

They ran a through few more hallways, Jim calling out directions. They made a complete U-turn once, and then again, a furious yowling behind them getting ever closer. Suddenly he saw it- a worn groove in the carpet.

" _Stop!_ " he shouted, catching up to her and eyeing the floor and walls, listening to the screams of the angry animal behind them. Three hallways away. Two...

"Don't put your foot on that spot, jump!" he ordered, leaping across the groove to the other side, waiting for her to follow him. A flash of fur and ferocity rounded the corner, but he stomped his foot down on a spot on the carpet, jumping back as the metal wall slammed down.

She sank to the ground as the wall slammed into place, dropping the board by her side, heaving for breath, a hand on her chest. " _Jesus,"_ she panted, staring at the wall, cheeks flushed with exertion. "My lungs are _not- not_ up for this crap."

He nodded in agreement, slumping to the floor as the creature clawed and thudded angrily against the metal wall before evidently deciding it wasn't worth it and slinked off.

She got her breath back and slumped onto her back, wiping sweaty hair out of her face. "You know, I think I prefer this to Riordan Moran. And the sleep deprivation. At least we can fight back."

He nodded in tired agreement, rubbing at his face. "Come on. Let's get moving before it finds a way around."

"Yeah, okay," she sighed, standing up and picking up the board again. "Really enjoying the Hunger Games aesthetic, Holmes, real original," she said dryly, to the ceiling.

"I doubt he's concerned with originality. More likely with effectiveness," he snorted. "Failing on both fronts, however."

As if in response, there was a noise from above. He looked up to see a fine mist wafting out of cracks in the ceiling. He swore, pulling his jacket up over his face at starting to move quickly down the hallway, holding his breath.

She was completely fucked on this account, simply drew in the deepest breath she could before the white mist reached her and then held her breath and followed him. She was extremely worried about what was in that mist.

He tried to find a place away from the mist, but it seemed to be filling everywhere. He pushed into a side room but it was there as well. He was running out of air- he estimated that at his body's current adrenaline level he had about 32 seconds left.

30.

He looked around desperately for something to keep out the mist. Went into the bathroom and tore off his jacket, ran it under the water and put it over his nose and mouth. He risked a breath.

The bitter taste of the air told him he'd gambled poorly. He lost consciousness in moments.

She passed out in the hall when her parched lungs risked a breath, and didn't even manage a swear before she hit the floor.

* * *

When he woke, he immediately knew something was wrong.

He found, however, after a few moments, that it was difficult to care. The world was silent around him instead of the screaming pile of information it usually was. He felt _good._ Relaxed. Accomplished. The split second after he'd eaten a bullet in St. Bart's, that pure instant of victory, had felt like this.

But this was lasting. Continuing on from moment to moment. More than contentment, more than satisfaction. Utter... happiness.

James Moriarty was positively happy. Something was _very_ wrong.

Lorna knew specifically what was wrong when she woke up, and she lifted a heavy arm just to make sure. Yep, there was the red mark. She turned her head, looking for Jim. Ah, there he was. She giggled. "You, uh... you feeling this too, boss? Cause I can tell you what it is."

"You mean the inescapable giddiness camping somewhere in my mesolimbic? Yes. And I have a sinking suspicion as to what it is..." He didn't sound overly sunk.

"Welcome to heroin, Jim," she murmured, stretching out with a satisfied sigh. "Fuck, why did I ever stop using this..."

"Fuck..." he murmured, doing his best to be furious about the situation, but failing. He sat up, looked around, let out a bit of a giggle. "New locale, it seems," he murmured.

"Yeah? Describe them. I'm tired," she sighed, still smiling faintly.

"Lots... of trees," he decided. For once, he decided there didn't need to be more detail. The trees weren't real, of course, but they were beautifully detailed, and for a while he was content to just stare at the different idiosyncrasies in the bark.

"Interesting," she murmured, falling into silence for a while. Then a thought occurred to her, and she cracked her eyelids. "Hey... why you so pissed 'bout me marking Seb a little? S'not like I _married_ him. Not that'd I say noooo..."

He glanced over at her dryly, but it broke into a bit of a smirk. "Of course you wouldn't, you fucking... sap..." He reached up to rub at his eyes. "Because Sebastian is _mine_. Not yours."

"Bullshit," she chuckled, prodding his side with her bare foot. "Please. Your initials might be over his heart, but you don't honestly believe you've got a _foothold_ in there, do you?"

For a moment, his euphoria flickered, and he glanced over at her, eyes hardening. The anger faded a moment later, but not the thought. "You think you do? The whore?"

She laughed. "I live with him on and off-site, that must make me _quite_ the rent girl," she smirked, very amused. "Do you think he plans on paying me any time soon?"

He returned his gaze to the leafy canopy.

"When I went missing, he ripped apart the country looking for me," he said pleasantly. "When you went missing, he warmed my bed quite contentedly. I know your perception skills aren't as advanced as mine... but still, surely that must be obvious."

Jealousy raised its sleepy head in her chest, disrupting her happiness. She didn't like that. "And yet I doubt he's ever shown you real affection. Never been jealous when you showed interest in someone else. Never pulled you closer after a fight because the bed's too big all alone. Are you sure _I'm_ the whore here?"

"Our relationship isn't based solely on affection," he said calmly. He was content. He knew he owned Sebastian. Knew the man was loyal to him. It was just a matter of convincing Harrison. "I could ask you similar questions. Has he ever stood still while you pressed a knife to his throat, just because you could? Have you ever watched him squirm and snarl beneath you, under your hand, but not overpower you because he respects your control? Have you ever _cowed_ him, Lorna? Ever seen him drop his gaze and stoop his shoulders to you because he knows who he chooses to serve..."

"Mmm, just about, actually," she chuckled. "Not to the same levels, of course. He's the dom in our relationship, remember?" She sat up, moved to crawl over to him, into his lap, hands curling into his suit jacket to keep herself from falling over, another chuckle coming unbidden from her. "Is that the first time you used my _first_ name? I think it might be."

He reached up to grasp her chin between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger. "I know he's been jealous about you..." He murmured. "Got all pissy when his property went and fucked around with the little Holmes and the American... So you'll understand..." he flicked her chin, "why I get _annoyed_ when someone treads on my _toes."_

She smirked, letting herself sink back a little into the high, melting into him a little so she didn't have to hold herself up as much. "But if your relationship isn't based on affection... I think I'm a little outside your sphere, aren't I? No overlap, I think," she pointed out, humming. "Call me his property again, though. Gives me this warm feeling in my chest. And other places..."

"Just... what does he _see_ in you?" he asked with a growl, glancing down at her and not really mustering the energy to be pissed that she was leaning on him. He ignored her commentary about property.

She gave him a lazy shrug. "He used to fuck me and push me away. Threaten to kill me. Remind me that I didn't matter to him. Over time... he didn't push as hard. I think I picked him up off the floor one too many times for him to go through with killing me when I dared him to. And that was really the last straw. Both of us had to stand up and face the music."

"Some sort of life debt, then?" he muttered, flopping back onto the ground. She fell on his chest. "I suppose that with a man of his code that's understandable..."

"He doesn't have much of a code," she snorted, pushing into sitting position to clumsily push his shirt up enough to see the initials carved into his chest. "Men with codes don't usually lose control and leave _these."_

"They do if you break them," he snorted. He didn't mind the marks. It was effort to mind them. "Don't let him fool you. He likes to act like he's an angry, loose cannon, but he's incredibly disciplined, self-motivated. If he didn't have a code O'Hare never would have bothered him."

"I think he was angry, just a little out of control, before O'Hare. O'Hare broke something in him. He asked me for help, then," she mumbled, finger tracing along the S, her gaze thoughtful, a lot of her focus on keeping the memories steady. "He _apologized._ "

"Mmm... I've seen that man apologize quite a lot," he said calmly. "Not really a sparkling day in my book." He shifted a little under her fingers, before reaching up to rub at his face. He was beginning to feel less giddy.

She gave up trying to get him to touch her, react in any way she could control, and shifted to flop onto the ground with a sigh. "You're _boring."_

"No, I'm not stupid," he retorted, tugging his shirt back down. He sat up again, looking around, and then frowned at something he should have noticed a while ago- a platter cover a few feet away, presumably covering a platter. "What's that..." he muttered, rolling towards it.

"Not a bomb, hopefully," she muttered unhelpfully.

"Mmm..." he muttered absently, picking the cover up slowly. Underneath were two sealed MREs, two bottles of water, and between the two, a single bullet.

"What is it?" she sighed, remaining where she was. She could feel a sinking in her chest, one she remembered well. One she was not excited for. "Any heroin?"

"No," he said quietly, tossing her an MRE and a bottle of water and pulling out the pistol (which he'd just realized had been left in his trousers) to put the bullet in place.

She rolled over and took them, unwrapping the MRE before she felt too terrible. Coming down from the high... _god,_ what a miserable feeling.

He was feeling it as well, taking slow breaths as his stomach tightened. He took a long sip of the water, then opened the MRE, starting to investigate the contents.

She got it open and managed to sit up before bursting into tears, her chest clenching painfully. _Not again, not again._

He looked over at her, and gave a long-suffering sigh. "Harrison," he said, his voice cold. "Pull yourself together. We're surviving right now. I don't have time for you to be hysterical."

"I'm _fine,"_ she snarled, not making much of an effort to turn towards him, fingers fisting in the MRE with a crunch. "Don't fuck with someone coming down, Jim, _first_ fucking rule in the junkie handbook."

"Sorry, haven't read it," he said calmly, but his voice was clipped. He could feel emotions struggling to break out, and kept everything firmly in check, ripping open the applesauce packet and starting to eat.

She didn't know what she was eating, and she didn't particularly care, just ate in strained silence, battling the pain coursing through her system.

He closed his eyes as he ate, cutting himself off from the complaints of his body and forcing himself to focus on what he knew about where they were.

She finished the food and the bottle of water on autopilot, then flicked away the trash and sat with her head in her hands, trying to keep herself from falling apart.

He set his trash aside as well, keeping the plastic spork enclosed, just in case, tucking it into his pocket. He hadn't drunk much of his water, either. So far they'd been lucky, but who knew when they'd get clean water again?

"Let's get moving," he said quietly. He started walking, despite the slight tremors and aches in his body. He felt absolutely dreadful, knew she must feel worse. But he imagined the creature would return, who knew when, and they needed to understand their layout.

She got up and followed even though she had absolutely no desire to, feeling like every step she took was just one closer to falling to literal pieces, her bones feeling like they needed a bucketload of grease if they were going to continue working for any amount of time. She didn't bother to pay attention to her surroundings, deciding that Jim could have the dubious pleasure of keeping the two of them alive.

He focused on what was around them.

The trees, like the lamps and the carpet of their previous locale, were meant to look identical in every respect. There was a pattern, he found, to the roots and rocks in the earth. He also found that none of them could be moved, and there was a distinct lack of twigs, fallen leaves... anything that might give them something to mark their way with. The earth was hard packed like cement.

It was maybe an hour before she said anything, too busy wallowing in her own misery to say anything before. "This is a pretty shitty rendition of a forest, Holmes. Never been in a forest before that didn't have a speck of mud in it. Look how bloody clean my feet are. Ridiculous."

"Mmm. Agreed," Jim said, eyes still on their surroundings. "Very shitty. Worst forest I've ever been in." There was, as per usual, no response.

At least not immediately.

It was a little over a half hour later by his best judgment that they first heard the rumbling. He couldn't figure out what it was, at first, until he looked to what he had entitled 'east' and saw, down between the trees, a wall of water.

"Well, shit," she said calmly, eyes glued to the advancing wall of water. "Plan?"

"Given that I haven't seen any particular indications of shelter below, I'd say our best bet might be to climb," he said, considering the trees carefully. They had few branches near the ground, but their 'bark' was cragged and solid, and would hold their weight. Whether or not they could hold their own weight was a different matter- one they didn't have time to consider. He grabbed onto the trunk, wishing, not for the first time, that Moran were here, and started pulling himself up.

She turned and picked the next closest tree, steeling herself for the painful climb and then scaling the tree with more skill than someone might have expected from looking at her. She'd had to hide up trees enough as a smuggler to know her way around them. It didn't hurt that she was so light.

He managed to get himself about ten feet up before the water hit, grabbing onto the lowest branch just as the flood plowed into the base and hanging on tight.

The tree trembled under her as the water hit in a way that trees really were not supposed to tremble. She highly suspected that there was a metal core somewhere beneath the bark she clung to, and it was the only thing keeping her mind off the fact that tsunami-worthy waters were several inches from swallowing her up.

For a few moments he thought he was safe. Then, the whole tree shuddered and clanged as something large below the water slammed into it. The tree gave a squeal like a failing iron girder, and bent forward precariously, bringing Jim backwards. He tried to shift onto the high side, but his legs were suddenly being ripped at by the current and it was all he could do to hang on, the rough bark shredding his suit.

She swore under her breath as Jim's tree started to go, staring at the gap between them and wondering if she could make it across. Sebastian would _kill_ her if she let Jim die. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath, and started to edge around to the branch that hung above his quickly-declining perch.

Something in the water scraped into his side and he swore at the pain, heaving himself up higher as best he could as the tree dropped another few inches. He glanced up at Harrison as she worked her way over to him. "Hurry up!"

"No offense, but shut up!" She shouted, her heart jumping as her feet slipped on the slippery bark, wet from the spray. A few seconds later and she was was in a position to reach for him, clinging to the branch beneath her. _Please don't break, please don't break..._ She leaned down as far as she could without risking tumbling in herself, hand reaching for him. "C'mon, then!"

He levered himself up, reaching for her hand and managing to swing himself up just enough to get a grip on it.

She had Sebastian's insistence on training to thank for pulling him up, hauling him up with little regard to his personal comfort, just on getting him _out,_ and a few moments later he was on the branch beside her, and her hair was _drenched._

He gripped onto the branch tightly, catching his breath. "Right," he said quietly. "Let's move back toward the main trunk before this branch gives out."

She nodded, shifting back over. "What I want to know is where the hell all this water is draining into."

He nodded in agreement. "Something tells me they'd have thought of that. I can think of plenty of unpleasant ways to prevent us from escaping, the least creative of which is a grate. Or spikes."

"I knew we weren't going to escape that way. But grates, spikes... it's something _different,_ at least," she shook her head a little. "Break up the monotony."

"We'll investigate after the flow dies down. I don't fancy investigating by being hurled at the unknown at a hundred kilometers per hour by a wave of water. If that interests you, by all means." He shifted along the branch behind her carefully.

"No, thank you," she murmured, staring down at the raging torrent. Before she had Sebastian, she would have jumped in, in this post-high flunk, but now? She'd fight off addiction, again, for his sake.

* * *

It was another twenty minutes before the water slowed, and dropped. By then his arms and hands were screaming at him angrily for hanging on to the tree for so long. He gingerly worked his way down, trying not to slip on the wet bark.

She went about halfway down before she looked down and judged it an acceptable distance to fall, and dropped to the damp ground, just a little painfully, skinning a knee. She didn't care at all. "Well. What now?"

He didn't respond for a few moments, leaning against the tree to catch his breath. He could feel a beautiful bruise forming where his side had been hit earlier.

"We keep moving," he said quietly. "Go investigate where that water went."

"Fantastic," she replied tonelessly, picking herself up off the ground and moving to do just that, trusting that he would keep up.

He started after her quietly, his mind wandering. How were they going to escape?

By now there was no real way of telling how long they'd been in captivity for, not now that they'd been unconscious. And time passed oddly in a high. But all that was left to them now was to walk, so that was what she did.

He took his time, aiming them carefully toward the west side of whatever arena they were in.

"What I want to know is how _they_ get around this place," she sighed, after a long silence. "Aircraft?"

"Not that I've seen," he said quietly. "I'd say tunnels beneath us. Or they don't, and it's all run remotely."

"What do they have this place for, if not training?" She shook her head, kicking at the packed earth.

"I don't know. While we're here it's for torture. Otherwise..." he nodded a little. "Yes, probably training."

"So there has to be tunnels. Something to bail out of in emergencies. We just have to _find_ one," she muttered, glaring at a passing tree as if it were to blame for their condition.

"The issue is that this place was created by a reader," he said, his voice edged with frustration. "Holmes. Perhaps both of them. I would guess with the explicit intent of making this place impossible to read properly."

"Fine. I'll do it. No one can account for blind luck," she replied stubbornly, now making a small point of stepping on every knot in the roots she came across, pulling every leaf, every branch in her way. "Fuck readers, honestly."

He snorted. "You would say that. It's amazing how arrogant you all are for being utter idiots," he muttered. "You honestly think there will be a trigger in here somewhere? The tunnels are probably opened by a remote possessed by training teams, or by whoever is monitoring them. What use is a prison with a way out that could be stumbled upon accidentally?"

"That sounds like something a reader would say," she said offhandedly. "I'd make a prison that couldn't be predicted by smart assholes."

The gun was out of his pocket and against the back of her head in a millisecond.

"Now now, Harrison... it sounded as though you'd just called me a 'smart asshole'. I'm sure that was a slip of the tongue." His tone was cheerful.

She whipped around, going to grab the gun out of his hand and instead just batting it away, coordination still fucked till Sunday from the drugs. She was seething with anger. " _You're_ the smart arsehole who walked us _away_ from your _FUCKING BODYGUARD,"_ she snarled, advancing on him, not caring if he shot her anymore. "Go ahead, _idiot,_ shoot me! Waste your bullet on your only ally! That's not _short bus_ or anything!"

Time slowed.

His finger was on the trigger. He was pulling it, pressure increasing as he swung the gun up to level between her eyes.

His pulse was sounding, thunderous, in his ears, and he felt the mechanisms in the gun responding, knew that in one more heartbeat she'd be dead at his feet, finally out of the way. Moran would be _his_...

The snarl interrupted his hopes, and he immediately swung around, finger relaxing just a touch on the trigger as he scanned the trees for the creature.

She knew that she would have been dead just then if not for the snarl, and at the moment, she really didn't care - dying from a gunshot to the head was her preferred method to go, if she had to go. Instead, she froze, eyes on Jim, waiting for him to make a move in any direction.

He turned in the opposite direction then, and started to run. He needed to draw the creature out, get it into a place where he could take the shot...

Harrison was beside him, behind them growls and the sound of clawed paws on earth. The chase was on.

She ran beside him, mind shutting off, all her focus on just running, keeping up, avoiding tripping on whatever crossed her path. There was nowhere to hide anymore.

He wasn't going to be able to run long, and he knew it. His ribs were bruised, and they complained angrily with every step, restricting his lungs. He shot a glance over his shoulder, saw a flash of shaggy grey-brown fur. How to do this...

She followed his glance, grit her teeth, kept running, then gathered a breath and shouted. "Bait! I'll be it!"

He didn't argue, just shouted "Fine!" and peeled off to the left, hiding behind a tree.

She ran a few more paces, then turned on her heel and braced herself. The next thing she registered was a wall of gray, and then _pain._

He took the shot as soon as he had it. There was a squeal, and then the creature stilled. He moved forward slowly, gun still in hand in case he needed to bludgeon something, but the thing seemed well and truly dead. He pushed it off of Harrison with a grunt. There was a lot of blood. "How much is yours?"

"Too much," she got out through a clenched jaw, her hand pressed against her abdomen, trying to staunch the blood gushing out of the claw marks in her now-crimson dress. She wasn't going to make it very long without some sort of medical attention, that was certain. "Doesn't hurt- as much as it should. Shock- I think."

He considered her for a long moment, and seriously considered leaving her there. He could walk away, leave her to die. But she had been useful, earlier. And he still hadn't figured her out. Figured out why Moran gave her a second glance. He bent down, and after a moment's consideration, started tearing into her dress, folding up a wad and pressing it against her abdomen to stop the bleeding.

She fell into a labored silence, breath coming unsteadily, clear thoughts exiting stage left for the time being. She wasn't going anywhere, not for a while. Vaguely, she wondered where Sebastian was. Did he know they were missing, yet? Or did he think it was another one of Jim's stupid, elaborate plans? That wasn't a good thought.

He wrapped more strips of her dress over the wound, bandaging it as best he could given the circumstances and without damaging his own clothing- not that it had survived too well so far anyway. He pulled the bottle of water out of his pocket, offering it to her. The blood had slowed, though not stopped, and she looked pale, but he was fairly confident she'd at least last the night.

She took a painful sip just because she knew she should, then handed it back to him, head thumping back against the ground, letting her eyes shut, ignoring the slight trembling in her hands. A gut wound. _This_ was how she was going to go. Fucking _great._ She cleared her throat a little, eyes still shut. "What is that thing- anyway?"

He settled back on his heels, closing the bottle and setting it aside before shifting over to have a closer look at the creature. "I was right. Some sort of wolverine. Definitely modified, however. This thing is far larger than a wolverine has any right to be."

"Great, I've been killed by an over-sized.. _weasel,"_ she groaned, a twinge of pain shooting through her as she shifted. "I don't suppose Holmes will send some heroin so I could die with some dignity. D'you hear me, you pompous bastard? Heroin. _Nooooooooow."_

"Don't write yourself off yet," he snorted, reaching over to pick up the water bottle and taking a conservative sip.

She didn't have the will to argue, falling back into silence, feeling a little bit like she was going to pass out. And then she actually passed out.

He sat a few feet away, unbuttoning his shirt and examining the beginnings of deep bruising on his ribs before buttoning up again and laying down. He was determined to stay awake for a while, but he drifted. Then he smelled something bitter, and he was unconscious.

* * *

Playlist: Robert DeLong - Long Way Down

If you haven't checked out the playlist but want to, the link is on my profile!


	89. Gut Wounds

When he woke, it was dark.

Not pitch black, persay, but dark like the far corner of a room with only one lamp. Everything was faded, shadowy. The ground underneath him was smooth and cold. Stone. The walls, reflecting dimly a distant, yellow light, were the same.

His ribs didn't hurt. He frowned, pressing a hand to them for a moment. They were a little tender, but nothing like the breath-stopping pain he'd been expecting. Healed.

How long had he been out?

He looked around for a few moments, but Harrison wasn't in sight. Dead, then? Or just separated? He stood, slowly. The gun was still in his trousers, and a few feet away was a covered tray, identical to the one that had been there last time. He walked over, opening it. An MRE, and a bottle of water. No bullet.

He ate the MRE, and drank about half the water, before tucking the bottle into his pocket and evaluating his options. He took a few steps forward, and saw that whatever passage he was in turned, and then split off into two, the two-meter ceiling and jet black, smooth stone walls never changing. He took a breath. Right... some sort of maze, then?

He started mapping. Walking carefully and slowly through the featureless tunnels, committing each turn to memory, creating a mental picture of the labyrinth he was in.

* * *

She came to feeling remarkably good for someone with a potentially fatal gut wound. She shifted, out of habit, and braced for agony, which didn't come. Pain, yes, but not the paralyzing kind she was expecting. She managed to peel her eyes open, her hands shuddering into motion, feeling gingerly for her stomach. Gauze. Gauze?

She lifted her head a little to see, and there was the telltale lump of it under her shredded dress. Carefully, she peeled up the edge, brushed a finger over the wound with a hiss. Stitches. A lot of them, in fact. And not nearly as much raw skin or inflammation as there should have been. What had happened? Why couldn't she remember this being done? Where _was_ she?

It took her a long time to get up the courage to move, and when she did, it hurt, but there was nothing to do but press on. That was when she discovered the platter to her left. A little bit of shifting and wriggling and she had it in her grasp. Opening it, she discovered a bottle of water, an MRE, and a bullet. This was about when she looked around for Jim, then instead took in her strange surroundings. Was she in a cave?

She just ate for a little bit, discomforted by the feeling of the food hitting her obviously completely empty stomach, as in _days_ empty, and she was careful not to overdo it. Even when she was done, though, she stayed put. She would get in a few good sleeps before she moved.

It wasn't long before she passed into a fitful sleep, plagued with nightmares of giant wolverines, and an awful lack of Sebastian.

* * *

It was a few hours before he took a break, sitting against the wall. He was exhausted. Two MREs in Christ knew how many days was not enough. He took a few sips of water, tucking it away. He fully intended to keep moving, but the cool stone was far more comfortable than it had any right to be, and he drifted...

There was pain in his arm, for a moment, and... footsteps? But then that all faded into a haze as warmth- familiar and terrifying- spread up his arm.

Then he didn't have a care in the world. Life was fucking wonderful.

* * *

She woke up in a lot of pain, which was telling in and of itself. That meant she'd been on some painkillers the last time she'd woken. She opened her eyes, and flinched. The man crouching in front of her also flinched, then frowned and pinned her arm down. She felt the familiar stab of a needle, then her worries were gone.

* * *

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, blissfully content. But he was aware of every second the moment the high started dwindling away.

He took a few slow breaths, trying to master himself. How could feeling normal be so... utterly agonizing? Then he dipped past normal, his body urgently informing him of every discomfort, shouting loudly for him to do something about it.

He sat up, closing his eyes tight for a moment. His head ached, but his body was almost as sore. He felt like he had the flu. He took a few more breaths through his nose, grabbed the bottle of water and took a couple of sips. It didn't help. Finally, however, he shoved everything aside, forced himself to ignore the pain as he stood, slow but determined.

Mapping. He needed to get back to mapping.

* * *

The first time she'd ever had heroin was after she'd met DeWitt. She'd smuggled it before then, yes, but she was too young, and timid, and too smart to try sampling the product. But Ryan, when he put his mind to something, had been very persuasive. The months after, she lived hit to hit, starved for it, clung to his side in the hopes that he'd give her another free dose, free as long as she stayed with him.

She'd always wondered if he would have ever become a criminal, had he not met her. But he'd taken to it like a fish to water. Maybe it was meant for him. She knew, though, that she wouldn't be in this situation now if he hadn't hooked her so many years ago. The inspiration might have never struck Holmes. She wouldn't be lying here, feeling like she was falling apart with every breath.

* * *

Eight thousand, nine hundred and seven seconds since he'd come off his high.

Eight thousand, nine hundred and ten.

He did his best to ignore the counter in his mind that he certainly hadn't _asked_ for, and instead concentrate on the map he was creating. It had large gaps, but he was slowly expanding it. There was no telling how large this maze was. He'd found no obvious limits yet.

Eight thousand, nine hundred and twenty four.

* * *

Eventually she remembered to drink something, and dragged herself up, shifting and grabbing the bottle, taking a sip. Then she heard a distant sound, and she looked towards one of the tunnels that led out of her little cave. "Jim?"

He looked up at the voice. After hours of nothing but his own footsteps, it was oddly... nice. To hear another voice. She wasn't dead, then. Encouraging, he supposed. Her voice sounded stronger than it had been. So they'd healed her up. Also interesting. Mycroft wasn't interested in them dying. At least not yet.

"Harrison?" he called back, walking towards the voice.

"Oh, good," she muttered, then raised her voice again. "Yeah, it's me. How long you been awake?"

"Going on eight hours, I believe, but I took a... nap in the middle." He rounded a corner and there she was, sitting on the floor, silver platter and half-eaten MRE to the side.

She gave him a half-hearted wave, too tired to do much else. Too dragged down. "They stitched me up. And I'm way less inflamed than I should be."

He nodded. "The bruising on my ribs is healed. I'd say we were under for five, six days at least."

"How many staff members do you think have bit it since we were wiped off the face of the earth?" she snorted, rubbing her eyes. "Oh my god, can you imagine? _Both_ of us gone? Christ, we'll be lucky if he hasn't gone through two a day."

"He'd better not have," he muttered. "In the event of my absence he has clear instructions. He should be here soon, hopefully." He didn't mention the tracking unit aloud, in case their captors overheard him. Even if it was offline now, it would have given Moran at least a general area to search.

She rubbed her eyes, nodding. She really didn't want to be stuck in an enclosed space with Jim any longer than she had to be. "They drug you again?"

He nodded quietly. "What about you?" he asked, sitting down as well and leaning back against the cool black stone.

"Yeah. Woke up just in time for it," she sighed. "At the very least heroin makes for an amazing pain relief medication."

He nods just a little. "I don't suppose you got a bullet," he asked, studying her expression.

She cocked a thumb to the platter. "Yeah," she replied quietly, and then carefully lowered herself back down onto the ground, feeling as if her core strength really wasn't up to snuff at the moment. "Really hope the next thing is _slower."_

"Agreed," he said quietly, loading the gun. He glanced at her. "Are you up to walking, or are we staying here for the time being?"

"Do I have a choice?" she asked, raising her eyebrows a little at the ceiling. She didn't see what good it would do, anyway. Maybe it was the shitty feeling from after the heroin that was saying it, but she didn't think they were going to accomplish much. They just had to stay alive until Moran came for them.

"I'd rather stay here than have to drag you around. But if you're capable of walking then I'd rather explore."

"I might be able to manage it, in short bursts," she groaned, letting out a huff of a sigh, mostly to brace herself, then pulled herself into sitting position. Then dragged herself to her feet, with a very strained swear.

He observed her carefully as she stood. She was unsteady on her feet, and he was well aware that between her injury and the drugs this was going to be slow going. He pocketed the gun and a few unopened packets from her MRE.

"Let's get moving."

She followed him, sluggishly, very near to the walls. _Moran, please, airlift us the fuck out of here._

* * *

They walked on and off for a few more hours, but eventually he knew she was hitting her limit and stopped. "Sit," he ordered quietly.

She did so immediately, sliding down against the smooth wall, a grunt of pain escaping her. She leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes sliding shut. "I never got captured or tortured when I worked for Vince, you know. Plus, the boss being madly in love with you has its perks."

He sat a few feet away. "Here you have the boss's lieutenant. Almost as nice. As for the kidnappings, take it as a bloody compliment," he muttered, pulling out the bottle of water and taking a sip before passing it to her. "Armetti is small time. Here you're bigger fish."

"Small time, yeah," she sighed, taking a small sip like him, then giving it to him. "But I had a lot less disappointing sex with strangers. And I got to torture and kill more people. Did it for fun, those days."

"What made you stop, anyway?" he asked, tucking it away. "I've seen your work. You're good."

She gave a bit of a shrug. "He got carried away. Kids started getting hurt. I didn't love him anymore; not sure if I ever did. I left New York, came back to the Isles. I wanted to start over. I still had grifting skills. I slipped up, of course."

"Oh?" He closed his eyes, only half listening.

"Some old bloke was rude to me on the Tube. I followed him back to his place. He knew, I think, but I guess he thought he could take me. He was wrong. I garroted him with a length of wire he had in his shed and then I made a Menorah out of him. I'm not Jewish, but I thought it was more creative than making a Christmas tree."

He blinked.

And again.

Just stared at the ceiling for a few moments before turning to look at her. "Describe him."

She gave him an odd look, but decided to fulfill his request without questioning. "Uh, I think he was in his early sixties. Graying hair, but it looked like it had been dark beforehand. He was short. Barely taller than me. Green eyes. Had blackout curtains over his windows, which I thought was weird."

He sat up more fully, studying her with intent eyes. "Walk me through everything you did," he ordered quietly. "From the first time you saw him."

"The first time I saw him was earlier that day," she snorted, looking at him a little cautiously. "It was a random selection. He walked into me, then snapped at me like it was my fault. I didn't say a word to him, just kinda... faded back into the crowd a little and started following him. There's no way he couldn't have noticed, but I didn't care. Even if he called the police, what would they do? A pretty young thing allegedly following a grimy old man home. What kind of a threat is that?

"I climbed over the fence in his backyard once he went inside. The shed was a nice surprise. Always a tool to be used in sheds. Found the length of wire. I didn't bother with the doors; went in through an open window. He was reading the newspaper on a sofa from the late 1970s. Dropped it when he saw me. I ran at him. I couldn't believe how easily I got the wire around him. He struggled until I cut into his windpipe. Then I got a meat tenderizer, a baseball bat, and a butcher's knife from around the house and started to work on bending him into shape."

He nodded just a little, settling back against the wall, eyes on the dark tunnel almost directly across from him.

 _How had Harrison succeeded where he had failed?_

"Why, it mean something to you?" she asked, looking at him, eyebrows raised skeptically.

It did. He had lied to Moran years ago when he had told him that his bastard of a father had been dealt with. In reality, he'd only seen it on the news. And through all the odds, somehow the person responsible had ended up in his network, attached to his bodyguard, and hadn't even been recruited because of the murder. "Not particularly," he said, shrugging. "Just had seen it on the news. Wondered who was responsible..."

She got the feeling that he wasn't being particularly truthful, but at the moment, it was the least of her concerns. She hurt, and she was exhausted, and if he let her sit in silence, fantastic.

* * *

The next few... days? Weeks? Passed much the same. Every day they woke up in one of the three levels with a bullet, food, and water. By the end of the day they had fought off a variable number of creatures with as much ingenuity as they could. If they saved their bullet, the number of creatures increased significantly the next day, so they stopped saving and lived in the moment.

They were dosed just often enough to drive them absolutely mad, although the days they were there was never more than one creature. They were meant to be kept alive, apparently. What they were being saved for, she didn't know. Entertainment, maybe? Either way, this latest dose was late. Her body was telling her so, loudly and obnoxiously. She fell asleep that night uncomfortable, wishing desperately that she'd wake up feeling high.

He had difficulty falling asleep.

He and Harrison had developed an odd sort of camaraderie. He still kept her in line as best he could, but it was difficult when they spent a lot of the time trying to save each other.

He fell asleep with his hands shaking slightly, dying for a dose.

She wasn't sure why she woke up, but she had a few guesses. She rolled over, groaned, a hand going to the stitches in her abdomen. She was healing as well as could be expected with such a shitty situation, though there times that it hurt like nobody's business. She cracked an eye, looking across the floor. Her eyes caught something silver.

He woke up to her groan, looking over at her before sitting up slowly and rubbing his eyes. He had stitches across his shoulder where one of the creatures had sliced into him, but it wasn't as bad as Harrison by any means. He looked around, caught sight of the tray, and leaned over to pull it open.

"What's in it?" she mumbled, pushing herself into sitting position with her arms. She was careful not to overuse her abdominal muscles these days.

"The usual," he said quietly, taking the bullet and tossing her one of the MREs. Then his eyes lit on a syringe, sitting dead center on the platter, with a tiny bit of liquid in it.

He knew immediately what it was.

"Christ, can't they ever mix it up a bit?" she sighed, tearing open the MRE with a practiced movement. Not for the first time, she missed Sebastian. He'd have something derisive to say, here.

He shrugged just a little, taking the MRE and doing his best to palm the syringe out of sight.

He moved different, and it caught her eye. She looked over at him, frowning. "What is it?"

"Nothing,'' he said calmly, though his hands shook slightly. There was barely enough for a proper high, just enough to take the edge off. Split between two it would be hardly anything.

She sighed and let it go, eating ravenously. One meal a day wasn't a lot to be running around on, but that wasn't going to stop the creatures from having a go at them. She was losing weight again, and fast.

He considered for a moment just sticking the thing in his arm and pushing the plunger before she could get to him, but that wouldn't be enough time to find a proper vein.

Instead, he tucked it into a pocket when she wasn't looking, and went about eating his food.

She missed showers. She missed television and bagels and pillows, but most of all she missed Sebastian. Usually when she was captured she was with him. This time, she wasn't even hallucinating him. How close was he to finding them? How long were they going to be stuck in here? She shook the thought out of her head and continued eating in silence.

He stood after a few moments, heading off down the hall with a muttered "Going to go piss." He rarely had the energy or patience for niceties anymore. He turned a few corners of the dark stone halls- their prison for the day- and as soon as he was out of sight he was ripping the syringe out of his pocket and pulling the cap off. He flicked his arm a few times to find a vein before pushing the needle onto his arm, closing his eyes as he depressed the plunger and the familiar warmth spread through him. He slumped against the wall happily, pulling the syringe out and capping it before he was lost in cheerful oblivion.

Jim was usually pretty quick to return to the relative safety in numbers, so when he was conspicuously absent for a few minutes, she got concerned. She stood and headed down the path he'd taken, which was blissfully absent of forks, and nearly jumped when she found him, a relaxed puddle on the floor. "Jim? What the hell happened?" she asked, exasperated, crouching down to shake him. The glint of glass caught her eye, and her fingers tightened on him. The exasperation turned to anger. "You son of a bitch."

He smiled up at her. "Hello, Harrison..." he sighed absently. He flinched just slightly as her fingers dug into his arm. "Eeeeaassyyy..." he grumbled.

"You _fucker,"_ she snarled, fingers curling into his collar, pulling him up off the floor. "You shot up _without me?"_ A moment later and her fist was crashing into his face.

" _Jesus!_ " he half whined, half snarled, his hand going up to grab the wrist of the hand that had his collar. Her fist hadn't caused much pain, more pressure, but it certainly wasn't pleasant. "Yes, I did. I outrank you."

" _Fuck_ rank," she hissed, slamming him back into the floor, furious, the need for a hit swelling up again now that it'd heard that heroin was close by. "How long have we been here? _How long?_ The second fucking day I got my _guts ripped out_ so _you_ could take a _shot. THIS_ is how you repay me?"

"Yes." His voice was casual. Nonchalant. "There wasn't even enough for a full hit. You don't matter to me, Harrison. You're useful. If you think that somewhere in all of this we've gained some sort of... _camaraderie_... well, that's amusing."

"Of _course_ we don't have a camaraderie," she snapped, nails digging into his arm. "You're an _arrogant, annoying, blind_ piece of shit who thinks he's hot shit, even in this godforsaken _pit._ There are two reasons nobody's killed Sebastian yet. They're afraid of him, and at the end of the day, he looks out for his men. They respect that. There's _one_ reason nobody's killed you, and it's him. And he's _not here."_

"I survived a long time before dear Sebby came along," he said, and though his voice was mellow, it was deadly. "People don't kill me because I'm _smart_. I have survived because compared to me, you are moronic. Go ahead, Harrison. Kill me. See how well that sits with _Sebastian._ Do you _really_ want to find out who he values more? Could he forgive you?"

"I don't give a shit, right now," she replied quietly, glaring down at him, hating the dilation in his pupils, the slight unsteadiness to his small movements. The clear signs of his high. "I care that I feel like _shit."_

"You'll live," he said quietly, settling himself back against the wall. "You shouldn't be using this stuff anyway."

She hit him again, as hard as she could, and then once more, just because she could, and then got off him with a frustrated shout. She hated him. _Hated_ him. But she couldn't kill him.

He took the blows listlessly, letting himself melt against the wall in quiet satisfaction, amused by her outburst (which was probably the only reason he didn't put a bullet in her retreating back.)

She collapsed back by their meager possessions, her body aching, head splitting. God, she wanted a hit. She wanted a hit so bad.

He came back an hour or so later, and picked up their belongings. He didn't speak to her, and she seemed fine with maintaining the silence.

They kept moving.

* * *

It was another day before they passed out under an outside force.

When she woke up again, it felt wrong. This wasn't like the other times. She was too neat, too put together. Someone had picked her up and put her back down again. This was not the form of someone who had fallen from their feet. She stifled a groan, shifted, getting a good look around. Something familiar caught her eye. "Sebastian?..."

He didn't turn. He was talking to Mycroft Holmes quietly on the other side of a window.

She was in some sort of lab. On a cot, straps over her hands and feet.

Mycroft turned, caught her gaze, and suddenly his expression was livid and he was shouting-

Sebastian turned to look at her for just a moment, then a flood of cold ran up her arm, and she was unconscious again.

* * *

She woke up again, and immediately felt a crushing pain in her chest. It wasn't physical, not really - it wasn't _caused_ by any physical symptoms.

 _Sebastian... No.. It can't be. It CAN'T be._

She rolled onto her side, a hitched breath escaping her.

Moriarty woke slowly. He had to think that all these drugs and spending so long unconscious was bad for his mental capacity. It was like he could feel neurons sloughing off every time he woke.

He blinked a few times, rubbing at his eyes before slowly sitting up.

Back in the hotel again. Brilliant. Maybe they could find some toilet tissue.

She heard him shift, but she stayed where she was, paralyzed, hands pressing into her chest, trying to stuff the broken pieces back into her chest, trying to rationalize it, trying to cope. The tears spilled over, a sob wracked her. _Why?_

He looked over at her at the broken sound that made its way out of her throat, curious. He shifted into a crouch. She didn't appear injured. Not more so than usual, anyway.

"What?"

"Seb... Sebastian," she got out in a choked sob, rolling back onto her back again, a hand going into her hair, trying to get a grip on something real. "I _saw_ him."

He studied her, took in her expression.

"Is he dead?"

She took a shuddering breath, shook her head, wondered if it would be better if he had been. She didn't know.

"I- I saw him with- with _Mycroft."_

"Being tortured? More details, less sniveling," he ordered, annoyed.

" _With_ him, Jim, _with him,"_ she snapped, too broken to keep it together. "He's _WITH HIM!"_

He studied her face carefully, looking at the anguish there, and knew that there was only one explanation.

"Don't be ridiculous."

She turned away again, curling into a ball, breaking down into sobs. All this time. All this time, he'd been with Mycroft. That was the only conclusion she could draw. All those times she'd been captured with him, stuffed somewhere with Mycroft's approval, he'd been playing her, earning her trust, her _love._ DeWitt. The time he'd come to her, confided that he couldn't remember whether or not he was a mole for Mycroft. The sleep-deprivation experiment. They'd made such a convincing game of it. He'd convinced her that he loved her.

"Harrison!" he snarled, grabbing her shoulder. "Tell me _exactly_ what you saw."

It took her a minute to get herself together. But she did, shockingly, and turned over to face him again, tears still streaming from her eyes, even if she'd gotten the sobs under control. "I... I woke up strapped to a cot. There was a window. They were talking. Holmes saw me wake up, started to freak out - Sebastian didn't even look at me until I started to pass out. They shot me up with something. I don't know. I saw enough. He wasn't hurt. He looked like he does when he talks to _you."_

He grit his teeth slightly. "Very well." He closed his eyes, trying to think.

There was a tight, sharp pain in his chest, and he realized that it might have been considered betrayal.

He swallowed it back. He was James Moriarty. He didn't _do_ betrayal.

He killed.

She shut her eyes, tried to stop thinking, to forget what she'd just learned, to stop drawing the only conclusions she could. The past three, fuck, maybe four years of her life were suddenly reduced to nothing. Suddenly they were _meaningless._ To have survived so much by his side, to have continued living just because he was there, to have come back in New York for him, to have pulled him out of that root cellar and attempted to nurse him back to health...

That was when the first doubt entered her mind. He'd had amnesia. He'd been blind, and he'd had no idea who she was, had had to remember. If that hadn't been an elaborate scheme... It meant that it hadn't all been for nothing. He'd cared about her, had gone out of his way to save her, to keep her alive. What benefit had that given Mycroft? Her, who had taken away the full usage of his hand? He'd betrayed her, had betrayed the both of them; but at least she could take comfort that he really had looked out for her. Those years weren't meaningless. The future remained to be seen.

He stood after a few minutes. "Well, then, it seems we're on our own," he says calmly. "Let's get moving."

She got up, feeling hollow, and nodded. "Okay," was all she said in response.

He nodded just a little, and started along the familiar, indistinguishable hallways. But something was missing. The surety he had had that he was going to escape... that was...

No. He was going to escape.

He was going to kill Sebastian Moran.

This hurt worse than the betrayal that had first gotten her mother killed. At least he hadn't cared for her during that one. He'd simply been using an employee for his own gains. But this time...

He walked through the next few days in an exterior daze. He ate, drank, walked, fought, all with the minimal engagement required by his brain. The rest was reserved for planning. Plotting.

Escape.

It took her a while to realize she was still wearing her rings. The necklace she'd been wearing to the party had been torn off within a week of their capture, and she'd ditched her earrings when she'd recognized the risk it was keeping them in. But the rings, she'd forgotten, hadn't had a chance to notice in a while. Once she'd realized, of course, there was no going back. The _SM_ carved into the underside of the engagement band felt like it was burning into her skin. Still, she didn't take it off. Just rubbed her thumb against it occasionally, thoughtfully.

* * *

Playlist: Red Hot Chili Peppers - Even You Brutus?


	90. U Thought U Knew What Hell Looks Like

Playlist: Peter Gabriel - Red Rain

* * *

Holmes showed Sebastian the surveillance from when Lorna woke up, and it did things to his gut that he didn't care to acknowledge, especially in front of the sneering eyes of his captor.

He was allowed to keep watching as they fought and struggled for freedom with much less vigor than they had had previously. He tried not to let it bother him, but that wasn't working out very well.

* * *

She slipped up again not that much later, sloppy with grief, got sliced open down the arm, making it all but useless for days. It somehow hurt both more and less, knowing that Sebastian likely knew about it. Her arm was more numb, but her chest... her chest hurt so much more.

That day he had tried his best to kill his guards.

Mycroft had strapped him down, made him watch as they injected Lorna with a depressant before releasing her and Jim into the field.

When she woke she was so... so slow.

The gouge she'd caught in her arm had been luck (she could have died). The one he'd put in his own had been a sharpened bed post (he was beginning to wish he had.)

Things were harder after that. Time was strung out, sounds were off, her reactions skewed; the best she could make of it was that they were keeping her on a steady supply of drugs. That, or she was going crazy. Neither of which she could do a damn thing about. It was all she could do to keep up, to keep fighting, to eat because she had to, to drink what she was given, even though everything felt the same in her mouth now, whether dirt, blood, food, or water. She kept dipping into the edges of withdrawal, too, the hits so far apart it felt like she was turning into glass, hot and brittle. That, and the fact that she hadn't actually laid down to sleep since the nightmare had begun.

* * *

Inasmuch as she was a valuable resource, Jim was... concerned about Harrison's spiral. However there was little he could do while he was struggling to keep himself from tailspinning after her. He felt like he was clawing at a sandy ledge of sanity, barely managing to scrabble a new hold before the old one crumbled away to naught in his fingers.

It was a bit before she realized she would switch sides to be with Sebastian again in an instant. No matter the fact that he'd sold them all out. She would have, before. The only question was whether or not he would want her to.

He'd been doing his best to keep track of the days, but they spent so much time unconscious that by now his best guess was between four and six months. Harrison was nearly skeletal, and he was little better. They were both covered in wounds and bruises and scars, and he had a shaggy beard that he despised and a constant pinched nerve in his back from sleeping on the floor.

He felt less human every day, but he wasn't sure he minded.

She wasn't sure when the last time she'd exchanged more than two words with Jim was. They had nothing to say.

* * *

Months passed by, slowly, painfully.

Moran became docile. Holmes started ignoring him. Started growing lax.

He knew how to manipulate readers, had been doing it for years. And soon, he had plan.

* * *

The dosages were being altered.

She knew this because the high was always the same. It never lessened, it never grew, it remained exactly the same. This was far too much time for them to have not grown a tolerance for the stuff, although, she never asked Jim how he was feeling. She didn't care to know. She had her own pain to worry about.

* * *

He counted days carefully. And he knew the day that Mycroft would come to him, would tell him to make his choice. He also knew he wouldn't be making one.

When that day came, Mycroft was indisposed. Or rather, his brother was. Sherlock, found in a drug den, a block away from some commotion caused by Moriarty, and that was dangerous. So he passed on his directions, and went to collect his brother.

* * *

When he saw them up close for the first time, his gut went tight with anger. They were emaciated, and bruised, and their arms were peppered with needle marks.

He took a slow breath, looking around him slowly.

The scalpel was in his hand in two seconds. The guards were dead in eleven.

He was losing his touch.


	91. How Many Times Have We Killed Eachother?

Lorna couldn't make sense of what was happening, couldn't make the people in front of her _real_ in her eyes. How long had it been since they had seen someone, _anyone?_ Other than the observation room slip-up, she hadn't seen anybody but Jim for months and months. Too much time. And not just people, either. "...Sebastian? Tha' you?"

"Yup," he said, walking over quickly to unstrap her from the table. "Can you walk?"

The sedatives in her system made her slow, but she nodded after a moment, sitting up, moving to stand, trying to call on the _go go go_ instinct that had kept her moving in front of the creatures in the labyrinths. "Wha's happenin'?"

"We're leaving," he said calmly, injecting Jim with more sedatives and scooping the remarkably light man into his arms. "Let's go."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," she mumbled, trailing after him, stumbling over the corpses garbed in white on the floor. Her brain still wasn't quite caught up. Was this another trick? A cruel joke, to raise her hopes up and then dash them to pieces? But she followed him anyway; not because she trusted him, but because it hurt not to.

He headed out into the hall, Jim slung over his shoulder, scalpel in hand. "We have a short window where the hallways should be pretty clear. Guard change."

She did her best to keep up, but her body was sluggish, unresponsive, weighed down by drugs and starvation and injury. Moving this fast hurt. "Where are we? How... how long has it been?"

"A year," he said distractedly. "Been trying to get you out since you disappeared."

She let out a quiet chuckle, hand brushing against the wall of the hallway, a mild effort to keep herself up should she start to list. "Another year of my life _wasted."_

"Yeah, about what it sums up to," he agreed, glancing at her as she stumbled before shoving the scalpel into his pocket and reaching over to scoop her up on his shoulder again.

She huffed as his shoulder forced the air from her lungs, then just fell silent, deciding to engage with the world again when it needed her.

He barreled through a stray guard, plowing his bent elbow into the man's temple before heading for the stairwell.

 _Escape, escape, escape..._

Her mind wandered, touching on and then trying to compute exactly what was happening. She couldn't figure out whether or not he was being serious. Had he really come to rescue them? Then again, he had killed those guards - would Mycroft have signed off on that?

It was six minutes and two more guards before he saw the exit sign.

Then they were outside, and there was a car waiting, and they were in it and gone.

She sat in silence, thumbing the ring on her near-skeletal finger, which had been a struggle to keep on all this time. She'd lost the wedding band somewhere along the way. Her eyes were glued to the window, staring up at the grey, cloudy sky. Something she hadn't seen for a year. A _year._ Spent running through identical landscapes, on the edge of withdrawal, with a person she could barely carry on a conversation with, all the while knowing that Moran had betrayed them. Except, he hadn't. This she'd decided.

He shifted Jim down beside him, and then reached out to pull her into his lap, his arms, crushing her gently but fully to his chest.

It felt like he'd cracked her open down the middle with one movement, and she pressed into him further, fingers clinging to his shirt, forehead pressed into his shoulder. A hitched breath left her. She'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to be in his embrace, to be swallowed up in his arms, warmth radiating into her. "I missed you," she whispered, voice hoarse from dehydration. "Every day."

"I missed you too," he whispered back. "I was trying... but he had me by the balls and he promised to give you to me if I waited..."

"It's okay," she mumbled, almost finding his presence with her here unbelievable. Being held like this by him seemed too good to be true. "I get it. You can save your explanations for Jim. I don't... I don't know if you want to be around when he wakes up."

"There's a reason I gave him more sedatives instead of waking him up," he said quietly. He pushed his face into her hair. He didn't have the energy or will to be reserved right now.

The van jostled as they went over a particularly bumpy road, and she tried to put herself more in his lap, use him as a shock absorber. That was true, of course, but it was also what she would have said if the driver suddenly became suicidal and asked. She also did it because she'd missed him so _much,_ even his most irritating qualities. "You seem healthy enough," she murmured, "that's good."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Holmes was amused by the fact that I had food and you didn't."

"Sadistic bastard," she muttered, letting out a quiet sigh into his collar. "Well, you're really going to get your money's worth when we go to India."

He held her a little tighter.

"I tried," he repeated softly. "He made it worse whenever I fought him."

"It's okay. I know, it's okay," she murmured, shaking her head a little. "It's not your fault. It's Jim's."

He didn't comment, just watched the road carefully.

"As soon as you're healthy we're going to India," he said quietly.

"We might want to leave as soon as possible. I don't think either of us want to be near Jim for the foreseeable future. And I want to be as far away from a city full of heroin as possible," she sighed.

He nodded in quiet agreement. "We'll leave as soon as you're safe to travel."

"Okay, good," she agreed, "thank you. I don't think I can trust myself. It was... really high-quality stuff. Even Jim couldn't resist shooting himself up."

He nodded just a little. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But we'll get you clean."

"I know," she nodded. She was quiet for a few minutes. "What's happened out in the real world? With Keira and your sister?"

"I'm not sure about Keira. Have had minimal contact with the network. My sister is working with Holmes. Never did get that sex tape."

"Damn disappointing," she muttered, snorting a little. "Christ, it's been so long since I've had a proper meal. A shower. An actual night's _sleep."_

"Yeah, well, about ten minutes and all of that and more will be yours for the taking," he said with a small smile.

"God, I hope so," she groaned. She couldn't help feeling like something would pop up in the next ten minutes, a creature ripping open the van like tissue paper to get to them, claws rending into her flesh, _again-_ She made herself stop thinking.

They pulled into the familiar garage of headquarters, and it was so damn _simple_. They were there. They were safe. That was it.

"I need to carry Jim," he said quietly. "Should I have someone bring a stretcher for you, or are you alright?"

"I've been on the run from all sorts of abominations for twelve bloody months, I think I'll survive a short walk to and from a lift," she shrugged, gingerly climbing off him as a peon slid the door open.

He bent to scoop Jim's lifeless form into his arms, checking for a pulse for just a moment. He was so still it was unnerving. He grabbed a blanket from the car and shifted it over his employer's head and torso, to hide his identity, and for a moment he remembered the last time he'd had to do that very thing.

Then, he'd felt a sense of righteous victory.

Now, he felt little but failure and defeat.

The staff didn't look at her as she made her way to the elevator; in fact, they were very careful not to, and for that she was fiercely glad. She couldn't have stood their gazes. When she reached it, she only waited long enough for Sebastian to enter with his package to hit the button for their floor. He could continue up after she'd made it into the flat.

He hit cancel and down almost immediately. "If you think for a second you're going to get out of being checked out at the clinic, you're very wrong," he said quietly. "You don't have to stay, but I'm taking you there and you're getting thoroughly looked over."

She stubbornly hit cancel again, pressing their floor number again forcefully. "Not before I take a shower, you won't. After I wash my hair, take me wherever you want. But I'm going to take that damn shower before anything else."

He took a long breath, then pressed the next floor, stepping out. "I need to bring Jim down. I'll meet you up there, alright?"

"Yeah, see you," she sighed, leaning heavily against the wall as the doors shut. A few minutes later, and she was in the flat. It was fucking bizarre, being back. She headed straight for that shower, though.

He came up a quarter of an hour later. He'd stayed for a few minutes to make sure Jim was settled, given the staff strict instructions for his care, warned them to stay away from opiates. Then he headed up to the flat, stepping inside, he heard the shower still running and walked through, pushing the door open quietly to check on her.

She was sitting on the shower floor under the stream, examining her new scars. She hadn't ever had a good chance to get a look at herself while she was trapped in those mazes with Jim; sure, they'd dispensed of niceties within days, but she hadn't exactly fancied stripping in front of cameras that could be streaming directly to Mycroft. She was too spiteful for that. She saw his shadow in front of her, turned her head a little so she could see him through the glass. "It's weird, having this much water to spare that I can bathe in it."

He nodded just a little, sitting on the floor, watching her silhouette through the steam-fogged glass. "I imagine it must be."

"I don't know how Jim will react to me when he wakes up, either," she said quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the shower. "We had a few... close encounters with each other."

He gave an odd laugh. "Fair turn around, isn't it? He'll be hounding after me, and trusting you."

"That's not what I meant," she snorted, shaking her head. "Yes, we saved each other's lives on a daily basis, but... we almost took each other out a few times. In the beginning."

He nodded a little. "I know," he said quietly. "I watched."

"I don't know how many of those he's willing to forgive, now that he doesn't depend on me for survival," she murmured, standing with a pained grunt and turning off the shower. "Hand me a towel, will you?"

He nodded, standing as well and handing her one hanging on the towel rack. "I'm not sure, either."

"Another reason I think we should leave for India as soon as possible," she huffed, taking it and drying off without much concern for her various wounds. They would just have to wait a few more minutes. "Alright. _Clothes."_

"Clothes," he said with a nod, heading for the next room and pulling open drawers. They smelled overpoweringly of the scent of wood and glue, having been closed for so long. He pulled out a pair of knickers and some pajama trousers, setting them on the bed for her before going to get her one of his undershirts. Larger, gave her wounds more space.

She finished drying off and following him out the bedroom, gratefully changing into them. Oh, Christ, and what a fucking relief it was. She'd worn the tatters of that white dress and the underwear beneath for a fucking _year._ It had gone beyond chafing. And it was always a comfort to be wearing something of his. "Alright. You can drag me down to the infirmary now."

"Thank you," he said with a small nod. "If you behave, I'll cook whatever the hell you want when we get back. No limits. You can make a list." After a moment, and without looking at her, he reached out and took her small, bony hand gently in his own. Then he headed for the door.

She let herself be towed along, grateful to have his hand to warm her own, and they went down to the infirmary in a comfortable silence. When they arrived, she gave a bit of a grimace towards one of the nurses. It wasn't anything personal, but she was already extremely uncomfortable. "Don't let them put me out, please. Not unless they have to."

He nodded just slightly. "They won't," he said quietly, but his eyes were on the nurse. "They will clean and dress your wounds, and ensure that there is nothing incredibly wrong with you. They will hydrate you if necessary. Then we will leave."

She nodded a little. The nurse looked just a shade paler than the moment before. "If you'd, um, come this way," he hedged, motioning towards the closest exam room. She sighed, and moved to follow, pulling Sebastian with her.

He dropped her hand after a moment, however, nodding her forward and walking away to find one of the doctors. He needed to discuss methods for helping both her and Jim through the withdrawal that was soon to be raining hell.

She was displeased to be left alone, but she decided not to throw a fuss over it, and sat through her examination in a vaguely sullen silence, only barely cooperating. The nurse had nothing to say about her condition that she didn't already know. Verge of withdrawal, near-starvation, extreme dehydration, and then the numerous and varying wounds and scrapes she'd gotten. Blessedly, there were no infections. She'd already been on that boat once, and it hadn't been fun.

He reentered to find her bandaged and hooked up to a drip, getting fluids, and he sat next to her, his elbows on his knees.

"Remember the first time you brought me into the infirmary after I got fucked up? That guy who attacked me outside the bar?" she asked quietly, out of the blue. "Think that was the first time you were actually protective of me to one of the staff."

He snorted a little, amused. "He was asking too many questions. Dumb fuck."

"Wonder if he's still around," she chuckled quietly, absently fiddling with the IV bag.

"I think so," he said with a shrug. "I never fired him."

She nodded, looking distracted. Her hand switched from fiddling with the IV to fiddling with the engagement ring on her hand. It was a miracle it hadn't slipped off. Not that it really _meant_ anything; but somehow it was still a comfort. It would be a shame when she'd have to take it off for a job.

"I don't have a list of food I want. Anything with protein, actually, is more my request. I'm craving it like you wouldn't believe."

He nodded a little. "Steak and eggs?" he suggested, watching her mess with the ring. His own was still on as well, but the way his hands were folded hid it.

"Sounds like heaven," she agreed. She gave a glance to the IV stand. "Think we can take this with us?"

He shrugged a little. "Don't see why not," he agreed, standing and offering her a hand up.

She took it, relieved to have a little help, then led the way out the door, one hand pulling the metal, rolling stand after her. "How long are they going to keep Jim under?"

He shrugged. "The goal is to get him bandaged and fixed up before they wake him up, because it's doubtful he'll stay in the clinic once they do."

She fell back against the elevator wall again as they entered, snorting slightly. "Yeah, I can see that being an issue. Ugh, whatever. I don't want to see him for a month, at the least. Not without some pretty fantastic makeup sex. I don't see anything _else_ smoothing that shit over."

He glanced over at her with a slightly amused smirk. "Let's talk about that after India."

"That's fine by me," she muttered, moving out of the elevator as the doors open. "Now let's get inside and stuff me _full_ of food, okay?"

He laughed. "Yeah, sounds good," he said, heading for his flat and scanning in, opening the door so that she could roll through.

"I hope your fridge isn't full of twelve-month-old food," she sighed, heading directly for the sofa so she could sit down. She groaned as she did, leaning into the cushions. "Holy shit, it's so soft."

"No. The network knew I was coming back today. It would have been restocked," he said calmly, heading for the fridge and opening it, starting to rifle around.

"Oh, good," she sighed, sinking back into the cushions with a pleased groan. Oh, the wonders and comforts of modern society.

He put the steak on and walked over to her with a mug of fresh, hot coffee and a glass of orange juice. "Here. Take it slow."

"I'll do my best," she muttered, looking at the beverages with wide eyes. They smelled so _good._

"Here," he said, setting both down in front of her. "You can have the first two inches of each until I say otherwise, so ration," he said, giving her a long look.

"Damn," she sighed, though she shouldn't have been surprised he knew better than to just trust her. "You know, I _have_ been having liquids in my stomach this entire time. It's not like I was on an IV. My stomach's been having to break down those damn MRE's," she pointed out, in a last-ditch effort. She looked at him just a little hopefully.

"One and a half inches," he shot back, heading back into the kitchen with a smirk.

"Fuck that nonsense," she grumbled, reaching for the orange juice and taking a very reserved sip.

He chuckled just a little, flipping the steak and cracking a few eggs onto the griddle next to it.

Even with the fact that it was irritating, it was... nice, to be taken care of again. She'd gone a long time keeping to herself, fending for herself, unable to reach for him when she needed to. She didn't like this new trend of being captured all by her lonesome (without Sebastian.) A second later, she looked up sharply, the smell of eggs and meat filling her nose. "Oh my god, oh my god I'm so excited."

He laughed, plating the food. He'd left the steak medium rare, still juicy and pink, and had added in peppers and onions. He brought the food in, setting her plate in front of her with some bread to sop up juices, and a bottle of brown sauce. "Try to taste it," he said with a small smile as he sat next to her with his own plate.

"Are you kidding? It feels like I already can," she laughed, mouth-watering fiercely, pulling the plate into her lap and starting to chew down, ravenous. "Oh my _god,"_ she groaned through a mouthful of steak, eyes shut. " _Fuck_ this is good."

He smiled, glancing over at her as he took a bite of his own food, taking it slow, savoring it. "Good. I'm glad."

"Shit, thanks," she laughed, going for the eggs next, delighted to find them sunny-side up. She sucked them down a little faster than she really meant to. _Protein. Glorious, wonderful protein._

"Easy," he said, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder with a chuckle. "You'll send it all back up if you aren't careful. It's richer than you're used to."

It was hard to make herself slow down, but she did, mostly by leaning back a little and making it harder to reach her food by setting it on the coffee table. "God, I missed food so much. Almost more than if I hadn't had the MRE's, you know? Just having that pale imitation of food..."

He nodded. "I understand. MREs suck," he said in agreement, smirking just a little. "We used to call them 'Moldy and Ready to be Ejected.'"

"That sounds about right," she snorted, chewing on a chunk of steak, a piece of onion in her hand. She didn't care much about utensils at the moment.

He nodded, taking a sip of coffee. "One time we were out in the field for about a month, and we had MREs with us, but some roaches got into the packets. Bastards. Wasn't much for it, that was what we had to eat. There ended up being two schools of thought. Pick 'em out, or get some extra protein."

She nearly gagged. "Aw, Christ, don't make me barf with nothing but the power of suggestion, okay?" she protested, giving him a pleading look.

He snickered, but raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. No more protein stories. Go back to your steak."

She shot him one last resentful look and then did as he said, a few peppers disappearing into her mouth. A few more minutes of careful eating and drinking passed before she said anything else. "You know, I'm looking forward to sleeping properly."

He hummed in agreement. "I'm sure. Not like you've been sleeping on anything comfortable lately."

"I haven't been sleeping, period," she said bitterly, cupping the coffee mug in her thin hands to help warm them up a little. "I never dreamed, not once. Sedation isn't sleep."

He nodded just a little. "Well, then, this should be nice. Get some proper sleep in a real bed."

"With my own personal space heater, back at my side," she added, officially polishing off the steak and moving for the remainders of egg on her plate. She was studiously trying to ignore the building ache in her skull, the miserable feeling building in her chest. She wanted a hit.

He nodded in agreement, smiling just a little. He'd missed her. Not that he'd say that. "What do you want to do now?"

"Honestly?" She sighed, finishing off the coffee in the hopes it would make her feel better. "Take a hit. Other than that, I don't know."

"Would distraction help?" he asked, looking over at her.

"Yeah," she nodded, running a finger around the edge of the mug. It was chipped in one place, but otherwise in good condition. She wondered how long he'd had it. "I don't know what would do it, though."

He nodded a little, looking over at her before reaching out to gently but firmly pull her over, kissing her firmly, and for a moment, letting how much he'd actually missed her flicker through. "I know you're not in any state for things to go anywhere," he said quietly. "Just... " he shrugged and kissed her again.

She was more than happy to be kissed, whether or not he was willing to take it any farther when she was such a wreck, moving more fully into his lap as he kissed her again, arms winding around his neck, hands sliding into his hair. God, intimacy felt good.

He pulled her into his lap happily, eyes closed in content as he relaxed in the fact that she was here, in his arms, and not in Mycroft's fucking labyrinth.

They never did this. Never kissed just to kiss, without the promise of more urgent things driving them, unhurried and relaxed and gentle. It was a wonderful distraction.

He slipped his arms around her waist (trying to ignore how thin it was, how her hip bones dug into his wrists.) Muscles along his back that had remained twisted for months finally started to relax.

They continued like that for a few more minutes before she hit the wall of exhaustion, and she pulled away a little to rest her forehead on his shoulder. "Carry me to bed?"

He didn't comment, just scooped his arms beneath her and stood, walking through to the bed that neither of them had touched in months. It was neatly made, and he reached out with one hand to turn down the covers on her side before laying her gently down.

She curled up where he put her, reaching down to pull the covers over her, and left her fingers curled in the soft fabric, which felt like such a luxury. All of this felt like pure opulence at this point. She reached out for him after a moment, looking to pull him in.

He dodged her grasp, reaching down gently to find her arm and carefully remove the IV he'd pulled along with his foot. Then he pushed the empty bag and stand off to the side and walked around to the other side of the bed, pulling off his shirt and trousers and shoes and climbing in on his side, shifting over immediately next to her and pulling her into his arms.

"Thanks," she murmured, curled up against his chest, relieved that she was back into his warmth radius. "You always have, in one way or another. Even when I thought you'd betrayed us..." she shook her head a little. "You've done too much for me for it all to have been a lie."

"Always have what?" he asked, not commenting on the rest. It was reassuring that she didn't think he'd betrayed them.

"Taken care of me. Sorry," she snorted, shaking her head a little. "I'm fucking exhausted. Not even entirely sure this is _real."_

"Go to sleep," was all he said, brushing fingers through her hair. "Wake me up if you need anything."

"Okay," she whispered, burrowing into his chest a little more. She fell asleep after a few moments. That was all the prodding she needed on that front.

He stayed awake for a long time that night, just keeping an eye on her. Making sure her breathing stayed regular, her muscles relaxed. It had nothing to do with missing her. Nothing.

* * *

She woke that next morning feeling better than she had in months, discounting the withdrawal. She shifted a little, turned more into his arms. Hopefully Jim would remain asleep today, and they wouldn't have to answer to him. But that was asking a lot from lady luck.

He shifted tensely into awareness, grip on her tightening just slightly before he remembered where he was and who was with him. Then he relaxed. "Morning."

"Morning," she murmured contentedly, cracking her eyes open. She immediately regretted that. The sun was coming in through the window, and the headache that had made itself known last night roared back into life. "Oh, god, I feel like shit."

"Yeah, I thought that might be the case," he said quietly. "Painkillers and water?"

"Yeah, please," she mumbled, turning her face into the pillows in preparation for him getting up. God, what a sucky thing withdrawal was.

He shifted out of the bed and headed for the bathroom, getting a large cup of water and the aspirin and coming back in. "Try to get hydrated. That's going to help."

"Yeah, I certainly hope so," she muttered, sitting up and squinting her eyes open so she could take what he offered. "Don't know how much good it will do me in the long run, though."

"We'll see," he said calmly. "You'll get through this. Just take pleasure knowing Jim is going through the same thing."

"There really isn't that much pleasure in that, unfortunately," she sighed, voice quiet. She leaned back against the headboard, lifting a hand to rub her forehead. "Even if he is a bloody cunt and got us into that mess."

"Well, then, just let me know what I can do to help." He sat next to her.

She shifted over to rest her cheek on his shoulder, a quiet sigh leaving her. "Remember when they captured us just for information?"

"Ah, the good old days," he snorted, smiling just a little. "When sadism stayed in the workplace and out of the captivity."

"I don't regret nailing his hand to the wall, though. Never," she muttered bitterly. "Fuck his hand. Fuck his coordination. Fuck him in general."

"Please don't. Jesus Christ, that image is in my head now," he scowled, looking vaguely nauseated.

She made a face. "Eugh, I wasn't even going there. Now _I've_ got that image in my head. And it's your fault. Fix it."

He rolled his eyes. "You're the one who phrased it that way. Be more careful with your obscenity."

She whined, shifting until she was on her stomach, and buried her face in it. "Be nice," she mumbled, her voice muffled.

He reached down to push his hands through her limp hair, massaging her scalp gently. "Fine. But only because you're pathetic at the moment."

Well she wasn't about to argue that. She was a ruined mess at the moment, with the only benefit of not having any severe emotional trauma to complement the physical wretchedness and the heroin addiction. She just fell silent for a while, comforted by his company.

He moved his hands down her neck and along her shoulders, loosening tense muscles as he found them, trying his best to help her relax.

She turned her face to the side after a while, though her eyes were shut, too relaxed to keep them open. "When we go to India - its gotta be a proper vacation. No jobs, none of that shit. I just want to pretend I've got a normal life for a week. Then I'll be ready to kill whoever I need to again."

He laughed. "Sounds good. No jobs for at least a week. Then maybe some casual murders, just for fun for a bit."

"I like that idea. Might as well plan them, right? They'll happen anyway."

"You're so optimistic," he smirked, his hands moving to massage her back. "But yeah, might as well."

"I had a shitty few months, I have a lot of optimism stored up to use for my quota," she chuckled, then groaned a little as he hit a particularly tender muscle. "God, I'm tense."

"Yeah, you are," he sighed quietly, working his fingers carefully into the muscle. "That's why you've got me."

"Not the only reason, but certainly a good benefit," she murmured, just as quiet. It didn't seem worth breaking the relative silence of the flat. A silence that she could trust. Nothing was going to jump out of the shadows.

* * *

The next few days were slow and quiet, but something in his mind never quite relaxed. He knew Jim was still under, knew he would wake up at some point soon, and he wasn't looking forward to that in the slightest.

Jim woke up in the dead of night. He got up, removed the various things they'd stuck on him or in him, and walked out, completely ignoring the nurse who hovered a few feet away, too afraid to come any closer. He got into the elevator, rode it up to the floor beneath his, and keyed into Moran's flat. He pushed open the door. That would be enough to wake him, were he home.

He woke to the door opening.

There were three people in the world who could scan into Moran's flat besides himself.

The first was asleep next to him. The second was the single member of the cleaning staff he allowed access for when he was away for long periods. They didn't use it unless they were directly ordered by him to do so, on pain of death.

The third was James Moriarty.

He knew instinctively which of the three was at his door, but picked up the knife under his pillow anyways. Or perhaps as a result.

She shifted as Sebastian did, a small, tired noise escaping her. "Wha' is it?"

"Nothing," he said quietly. "Go back to sleep." He stood, tucking the blankets back around her before he headed quietly into the next room.

Jim was there, standing by the open door.

"Come with me."

He didn't argue, just kept the knife in hand but in a casual stance as he nodded, walking forward. "Lead the way, boss."

He turned and exited out the door again, leading the way back down the hall to the elevator. He needed to find out once and for all whether or not he had Sebastian's loyalty.

He followed behind quietly, and for the briefest second he considered leaping forward and plunging the knife into his employer's back. It wasn't a real thought, just the same stray voice that whispered _jump_ at the edge of a cliff, at the top of a building, just to see if you could fly if you wished hard enough.

He entered the elevator, turning the knife over in his fingers in a relaxed sort of way, not threatening, more to pass the quiet time.

The doors opened onto the basement, and he stepped out without a word, leading the way past the holding cells, to the rooms that were of a more concerning nature. He walked into the first empty one, and pointed at the table. "Get on it."

He looked at Jim for a long moment, trying to judge his mood. He got nothing. The man was a blank slate, everything carefully below the surface. More so than usual. He took a slow breath, eyes meeting his employer's. "Are you serious?" he asked quietly, to stall for time as he considered the situation.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" He asked coldly, staring at him. His hand dropped. "Get on the table, Moran. Now."

Moran considered him for a long moment. He could kill him, right now, where he stood. He could end this man and take the network, say he'd succumbed to the heroin addiction and disappeared. He could end him.

He set down his knife on the floor, straightened, and nodded just slightly, walking over to the table.

He would always give his life for this man. He'd decided that a long time ago. He'd had some conflicts before, but this was clear-cut and very transparent. Jim needed to know if he was loyal.

He was.

That was the first test, passed. A hopeful sign. But he had to make sure, had to be certain he was loyal. He turned for the cabinets. Time to get started.


	92. Sinner's Baptism

He fingered the leather straps on the table, and stretched a few times knowing they'd probably be over him soon and movement would become a luxury. He decided silence was best for now, chatter tended to indicate nervousness. He wasn't nervous. He'd been under the knife before, and he knew Jim and his work intimately. He might not know what exactly to expect, but one thing was clear. Jim was torturing him, not killing him. The Boss had hope still that he was loyal. That would be enough to get him through this.

He got out a water tank on rollers, moving to position it by Sebastian's head, then started to strap him down. Physically damaging him would get him nowhere. Psychological torture would be more effective. It was only slightly ironic that Moran had done this same thing to Harrison while testing her loyalty. "You will not be alone," Jim broke the silence as he turned the drip on and made sure it worked before rolling it over his head. "My goal is to break you, not make you insane. You may talk to me."

"I appreciate that, sir," he said quietly, blinking as a drop hit him in the forehead, and taking a slow breath. He actually did. It was a consideration Jim didn't have to make. But he was acknowledging and accommodating for Moran's weak spot rather than exploiting it.

Even if Moran turned out to be the mole, had betrayed him and his trust, it would be a shame to put him down. He'd been a good bodyguard, when he'd had the opportunity to be, and he'd been instrumental to Jim's recovery after the brain surgery. But if it had to be done, it had to be done.

Jim walked over and sat on the folding chair in the corner.

He closed his eyes, did his best to ignore the constant dripping on his forehead.

"Glad to see you seem well, sir," he said casually, in no particular struggle yet.

"I've had better days. I think I have about twelve minutes before the lingering pain medication in my system will keep back the cravings, then I'll have had a few more better days," he replied, his soft voice even. Mostly emotionless.

He would have nodded if he could move his head. His brow furrowed as the next drop hit him, and instead he opened his eyes, not sure if it was better to see the drop coming or not.

It was interesting, being on this side of the technique. Part of him wanted to ask what it was going to take to prove his loyalty, but he knew that was a pointless question. He was going to have to break. He was going to have to hold out for as long as he could stand- days? A week? And only when he truly broke, truly lost everything he had to hold onto, only then would Jim be able to see through to what he was at his core. Anything less could still be a farce. He had to give his best, and he couldn't fake a break.

He understood completely. That didn't make it any easier.

"It's interesting, being on this side of it. I know the science, but that won't make it any less effective," he murmured.

"I've never sat through this. But I haven't been under the knife very often," he commented, shrugging a little, even though he couldn't be seen. He knew that this was a long process, and it would require patience, which wasn't his strong suit. But some things weren't optional, and this was one of them.

"Let's keep it that way," he agreed, taking a slow breath as the next drop fell. "How long do you think I'll last?"

"Harrison lasted about two days, if my memory serves. But then, she had fury to fuel her. Maybe you'll make it to your third day. It doesn't matter, though."

"No?" he asked quietly, drumming his fingers just for something to do. "Why not?" He didn't particularly care, it was just something to talk about.

"When you break, you break. What does the time matter?" He snorted.

"I don't know," he muttered, rolling his eyes and then blinking a few times as a drop of water slid into the left one. "Just curiosity. Going to be here a while, might as well make it interesting. I think I'll last until day four, personally."

"That'd be inconvenient. I'd rather not be stuck in this shithole longer than necessary," he sighed, dragging a hand over his face. "Even if it is _my_ shithole."

"Well, I suppose we'll see," he sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "But this whole thing is useless if I do less than my best, and we both know it. Maybe you can take shifts with Harrison or something." Sarcasm.

"Somehow I'll survive without her," he replied, just as sarcastically.

"What are you going to do about her, anyway?" he pressed, closing his eyes again, deciding that knowing when the drop was going to hit made it no better. He tried to shift his head enough to get the drop to fall on a different spot. It didn't work. "She saved your life quite a few times in there. And you saved hers."

"What do you mean, 'do about?'" He shook his head. "What are you on about?"

He shrugged as best he could. "I mean you two had a hell of a thing going in there and she's worried you're going to end her, so I'm curious."

He snorted. "That's idiotic. At the most I'd torture her."

"Not everyone takes that as casually as we do, sir." Another drop fell, and his voice tensed for just a moment, more annoyed than anything.

"She'd simply do best to stay out of my sight for a while," was all he said in response, sounding just a little bit irritated.

"On that note, I'd like to request a couple week's vacation if this all goes well," he said calmly, changing the subject as smoothly as he could. "For both of us, whenever is convenient for you."

"Vacation? You? I didn't know you knew the word, Moran," Jim muttered, then let out a breath. "I'll make a note of it."

"I save it for special occasions," he quipped, before falling into silence, trying to drift away into distraction. It was oddly difficult with a drip of water hitting his forehead every half a minute or so.

He was silent for a moment too, then, "What do you mean, special occasion?"

He had the sudden feeling that he'd slipped up, though he wasn't sure why. "I don't know. Getting out after eleven months of captivity- twelve for you and Harrison- and proving my loyalty via torture seems occasion enough. Don't you think?"

"You've been captive before, the both of you have. What makes this time different?" he frowned, not sure whether he was being suspicious or just ignorant.

"I was being sarcastic, Jim. Hell. I don't know. It's just been a long time. And the other times I didn't have to watch day in, day out. I've worked for you tirelessly for how many years? I just need a couple weeks. Harrison too."

This didn't sit right with him, and he couldn't exactly say why. He ran a hand through his bedraggled hair. "Alright, I suppose I can't _argue."_

"I suppose not, sir." He didn't know why they'd been arguing in the first place. He'd obviously said _something_ to upset Jim, but what was anyone's guess.

He fell silent, analyzing why he'd just reacted the way he did. God, was he still _jealous?_

* * *

The next few hours were rather boring, but he did his best to enjoy them, because he knew he would be longing for them later. And sure enough, as the day dragged on, he started to feel it- the nerve-induced anticipation of each drop, the general irritability, the need to fucking _move_...It made no difference whether his eyes were open or closed. He couldn't see Jim, so unless he spoke it was as if he were alone, which didn't help. But speaking took precious energy and moisture, a fact he remembered when he realized how hungry and thirsty he was. He tried to tilt his head enough to get the water into his mouth. Seeing as he couldn't move it at all, that was a rather futile effort.

About six hours in, Jim stood (with a grunt of effort) and moved towards the door. "I have to take care of myself. I will be back within the hour. Don't go insane."

"Don't shoot up," he retorted, his voice a bit tense as a drop hit him square in the same spot it had been hitting for the past... fuck, how long had it been?

"I wasn't going to," he muttered, and left the room, closing the door behind him with a definitive click.

He stared up at the drop, watching as it formed. Somewhere, he wondered where Lorna was. He hoped someone was keeping an eye on her, keeping her clean. Hopefully Jim had thought of that.

The next drip wavered on the pipette, fell slowly, hit... it felt as though it bruised his forehead, and tickled as it rolled over his temple. The next drop was already forming.

Jim returned within the hour, as promised, having fed and watered himself, and this time brought with him a soft plastic water bottle. When he shut the door and went over to the table, he pulled the tab up on the bottle so water could leave the nozzle. "Open up, and don't choke."

He saw the water and did as he was told immediately, swallowing carefully as Jim drizzled the much-needed liquid into his mouth.

When he judged Moran needed a break, he set the water bottle down by Moran's shoulder and leaned against the wall, even though exhaustion was urging him to move to the chair. "Harrison thought about harassing me in the hall. Probably because I forbade she come in here."

"Does she know what's happening? And is someon-" _drip_ "-someone keeping her from getting high?" He took a few dry swallows, trying to see where the water bottle had gone before relaxing. If he was going to get more, he- _drip-_ was going to get more. Nothing he said or did could change that.

"Yes, and yes; Johnson, from your department, is babysitting her. He seemed to be the only candidate with the willpower and the strength to keep a junkie from taking flight," he rolled his eyes, waiting another moment before stepping again and picking up the water bottle. "Alright, baby bird, open _uupp."_

He did his best not to roll his eyes, not in the mood to lose his only source of water because he- _drip_ \- couldn't take being patronized. He waited until the bottle disappeared again to speak. "Is she cooperating at least?"

"She bit Johnson when he tried to stop her from storming off because he said something or another that pissed her off," he shook his head, flicking his hand dismissively. "But otherwise, yes, she hasn't been too difficult."

He smiled proudly at that. "Yeah, well, Johnson isn't known for his tact, so..."

He rolled his eyes at Moran's expression, and moved to sit down, bored of the conversation.

He sighed as Jim left, returning his attention to the nozzle just as another drop fell, gut twisting as it hit. He was certain there was a bruise there now, a slight indent in his skin as the water dripped on and on...

* * *

Time wore on dramatically slow. He knew that the longer it wore on, the closer he was to reaching some sort of end with Moran, and that was the only thing that kept him on edge. He had no idea which way it would go.

The bruise became an indent, and then - _drip-_ a little pit. He knew- _knew_ \- it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but he also knew that there was a gradually increasing cavern in his forehead, an - _drip_ \- ache and pain he couldn't reach, and he couldn't move, and the fucking dripping, the water sliding down his temples and pooling in his ears like it was waiting to crawl into his brain...

It was hard to remind - _drip-_ himself that Jim was there. He had to fight for that. He wasn't alone. He spoke sometimes, just to hear Jim's voice, to solidify that. He couldn't see him.

It - _drip_ \- became hard to breathe, and he wanted to rip the strap off of his chest. It was squeezing him, preventing him from getting the oxygen he so ba- _drip-_ dly needed in the face of all this fucking water. _Drip_.

The noise the water made hitting his skin seemed to echo off the walls, combining with the pain of it boring through his skull...

Eventually the adre- _drip-_ naline wore off and he just wanted to - _drip-_ sleep...

 _Drip._

 _Drip._

_Drip._

He would not break. He would _not-_

 _Drip._

* * *

The next day, Jim did the same thing he had he previous; announcing that he needed to care for himself for a little while before he would return to the room, and left again, bringing back more water. "What's your status?" he asked when he returned, water bottle in hand. He didn't expect Sebastian to lie, at this stage.

"Could really use somethin' to-" _drip_. He faltered, cleared his throat, and then said, a bit more rushed, "Could use somethin' to eat, boss." He kept his eyes on the drop above him, tensing just slightly as it fell again, one hand tightening into a fist. "As for this... startin' to affect me, I can feel it, but I've got a ways..."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a peanut butter granola bar, unwrapping it entirely and holding it above his mouth for him to take. He didn't say anything.

He closed his teeth around it eagerly, chewing carefully. For a moment he considered choking, which would mean that Jim would be forced to remove him, but it also meant they'd have to start all over again with a much angrier Jim, and that sounded entirely unpleasant.

"You ready for water?" He asked, after he judged Sebastian had swallowed the rest of his food.

He nodded a little, though part of him wanted to say no, no he wasn't ready for water, he hated water, _fuck_ water-

He opened his mouth obediently, eyes on the drop.

He watered him the same as he had the day before, being careful not to spill any, or choke him.

He drank gratefully, but didn't complain as it was pulled away.

"How long has it been?" he asked quietly, returning his attention fully to the drip.

"Two days, two days and a half," he shrugged, leaning back against the wall.

He nodded a little, swallowing tightly as another drop hit his forehead. Harrison had broken by now, and he could feel the nervous energy threatening to tear along his spine, but he had a while in him yet.

He would give Jim his best. Everything he had.

The drop came, and he couldn't help the intake of breath.

"Harrison is about ready to blow her cork, cooped up in the building like she is. I'm fairly certain she's about ready to kill Johnson, and I can't say I particularly blame her. His tact is failing rapidly," Jim said quietly, in an effort to distract Moran for just a minute.

He laughed just slightly, though it was strained. "I'll help get her sorted once we're done here," he said, like they were at a meeting. "She'll be alright til then. And it's not like Johnson is indispensable."

"No, but I rather not find his dead body in the elevator."

"She's more creative than that, give her credit," he sighed, smirking a little at the memory. "Tell me you would have reacted any differently if you had Malcolm invading your office to moon after you."

"He never would have gotten that far. _You_ would have killed him," he pointed out, voice vaguely amused.

"Yes, but imagine you didn't have me around," he said, latching onto the imaginary world that wasn't this _drip_ like a lifeline. "You would have done a lot worse than stabbed him."

"Depends how busy I was," he snorted, smirking. "If I had nothing going on, then maybe it would be spectacular."

He smirked a little, though it fell away as another drop hit and he almost gagged, taking a slow breath to try and calm himself. Throwing up now would be less than ideal.

Jim moved to sit again, falling back into silence. That was as much of a break as he could really afford to give.

He closed his eyes as silence fell, and then it was just him and the water again.

He swallowed back a very un-Moran-like whimper of panic.

* * *

On the third day, Jim was getting tired. He was weak, and the cravings were coming to a head. He was irritable and weary.

Sebastian Moran was shattering. He could feel himself fracturing slowly, each drop splintering him further apart. He didn't speak any more, didn't trust himself. He shook, sometimes, from exhaustion, from panic, waiting for the next drop to fall... that was the one thing that never changed, the dripping. His skull screamed at him, his whole body wanted to tear at the table until it broke under his thrashing...

His eyes were bloodshot, his body exhausted, and he knew he was losing his grasp. The time between drips seemed to lengthen, each time an infinity in which he thought- perhaps this time- he would be free, but the fear was always present, the knowledge that at any time the next drop could come-

and then it did, and the little world of hope he had built would be swept away, and he would start scrambling to build again, more and more exhausted, but maybe this time-

This time-

This time-

 _Drip._

Jim knew that Moran's four day prediction would not be coming true, and this day he didn't leave the room to take care of himself, didn't feed or water Moran. It would happen soon.

He started muttering, talking to himself, not caring what Jim heard. He needed to hear it.

"Just one more, Moran," he whispered. "Just one more, then it's over."

"Get up, Moran. You can do better than that. One more, one more than we're done."

"One more. One more. Just... just one more."

He was losing it. Jim got up, went over to stand by the table. "How long were you working for Holmes, Moran?"

"I wasn't," he said, his voice breaking slightly as another drop hit him. "Fuck, Jim... I-" He tried to move his head away as another drop formed, arms straining at the leather, muscles bulging. "I never would have done that, you know that..."

"I don't know that. If you're lying, I'll leave you here to rot, and I'll find something similarly creative to do to Harrison. Tell the truth, and I'll put you out of your misery."

"What do you want me to-" _drip_ \- " _Fuck!_ What do you want me to say?! How the hell can I convince you?" He arched his back as best he could- which was to say, not at all- hands curling as he tried to break his restraints. "Help me help you, Jim, please..." His voice was strained, and he was scrambling desperately for decorum in front of the boss, but he was so fucking tired...

Jim stared down at him, looked at the desperation in his body, the look in his eyes. There was nothing left in the man in front of him that could be capable of lying. He was a raw exposed nerve, in agony. Jim reached out and started undoing the latches.

He was off the table and across the room in an instant. He didn't really remember moving, but the tank was in small pieces on the floor and his hands were bloodied. He made sure it was his blood, not Jim's, then sat on the floor and scrubbed at his forehead, trying to get every last bit of water off of it.

Jim left without another word, relieved but drained.


	93. Emasculation Reflection

Playlist: Saint Motel - Move

* * *

Lorna burst into the room two minutes later, her face pale, and was by his side in seconds. "Seb, are you okay?"

He looked up at her, his face bloody from his hands, eyes tense, and it took him a moment to shake off the anticipation, waiting for the next drop to fall. He kept one hand pressed over his forehead, scrubbing at the skin there, reminding himself.

"Lorna..."

She grasped his wrist, his free one, and gently tugged, trying to get him to his feet. "C'mon, let's get you home, okay? Get you all cleaned up."

He nodded a little, straightened, held himself tall. He was a soldier. He was free, he did not show weakness, especially not in front of his subordinates. "Let's go," he agreed quietly.

She ducked in to kiss his forehead before helping him back out the door. _Thank god. Thank god he's okay._

He was about as steady on his feet as could be expected, given that he'd been strapped down, unmoving, for days. He was stiff everywhere, and felt filthy, and despite his throat being dry as a desert, he needed to piss something awful.

She led him into the elevator, where she basically propped him up against the wall. "I'm sorry I couldn't get you out of it. There was nothing to do."

He shook his head a little. "I agreed to it," he said quietly. "He didn't force me. It was necessary."

"I know, I know, I just... fuck, knowing you were down there in the basement," she muttered, pressing the button for their floor. "Barely slept. Didn't help that Johnson was breathing down my neck."

He decided not to mention that that had been at his request. "Well, I'm back, and you're still clean, and Johnson is presumably still alive, so all's well that ends well, I suppose."

"Except I'm going to cut off his balls the next time he even fucking looks at me, the lecherous shithead," she snapped, gritting her teeth. "I'm too exhausted and strung out for that fucking shit."

He frowned, looking at her closely. "What did he do?" he asked calmly, though there was a dangerous- if tired- edge to his ragged voice.

"Propositioned me about a hundred times. A lot about how he could take care of me a lot better than you. Didn't know he was so into half-starved junkies."

He immediately reached out and canceled the floor selection on the elevator, suddenly standing like he'd never been tortured, adrenaline running him. "Slight pit stop," he said calmly as he punched a new button and the elevator headed back down.

She ran a hand through her hair, making a weary sigh. This was about to get messy.

They stepped out into his department, and he walked along without falter or hesitation directly for Johnson's desk. His steps were quiet, measured, and Johnson didn't even look up until Moran's hand closed around his throat, hoisting him out of his chair to dangle a few feet off the ground.

"Everyone. Here. Now."

He didn't yell, but his voice carried.

Lorna trailed behind him, poised but removed from the surrounding crowd, which congregated at the commotion. Hits was a crowded department.

He was calm, as well. He'd found, over the years, that that was the most terrifying form of anger. He ignored Johnson's struggle for air, legs kicking, and walked over to the cubicle wall and casually broke off part of the metal frame that held it together. It would be sharp enough. He walked back over to the center of the group and dropped Johnson unceremoniously to the floor, giving him a second to catch his breath, before driving the piece of metal through his hamstring.

About half the assembly flinched or winced, a few hisses of sympathy let loose into the air. A few gave glances to her direction, but most of them just looked scared, shocked. Probably had no idea why Moran had just maimed one of their coworkers.

The howl that Johnson let into the air was very satisfying.

"I haven't decided whether I'm going to kill you yet, Johnson," he said calmly, bending down to take the whimpering man's chin into his hand almost gently. "But, as an attempt to get on my good side, why don't you let the class know why exactly there's a piece of metal grating against your fibula?"

Lorna watched Johnson's eyes struggle to meet Sebastian's, big and wide and panicky, skittering around the room. "I just- fuckin hell, Moran, I just heard she was a good fuck! What the fuck's the big _deal?"_

Ah, Johnson. Always pushing the boundaries.

He reached down a casual hand to grip the metal, twisting it slowly. "Maybe I'll torture you first. Have you ever wondered what your internal organs look like, Johnson? I always think it's odd that most people's organs never see the light of day. Wouldn't you like to be one of the lucky few?'

He screamed, a hand clenched into a fist in Moran's shirt. " _FUCK!"_ he shouted, " _FINE, OKAY!_ I won't try to fuck your fucking rent girl! _JESUS, MORAN!"_

Lorna rubbed her eyes. Always had to try and keep his dignity, didn't they?

The crowd around them was starting to murmur, expressions varying from fearful to unsurprised, and Moran nodded. "Okay, well that's a start," he decided, standing and bending downward. A moment later he hoisted Johnson up by the spar through his leg until it broke in half and slid out of him, Johnson's screams echoing down the hall. He knelt again, putting a knee on the heaving man's chest.

"For anyone who's interested, Johnson here made a series of unwanted advances at Harrison. Normally I'd just let her deal with it- and she's more than welcome to join in if she'd like-" he added as a side note, offering her a half of the piece of metal- "but Johnson also implied that he would be a better partner for her than I would. I took that as a personal challenge. I feel like Johnson might be losing that challenge, but that's obviously a matter of opinion."

She waved it off. "He didn't touch me. I've been assaulted too many times to draw blood over harassment," she snorted, not very loudly. She heard a few whispers as people in the back who didn't hear were told what she'd said. Well, this would have an interesting effect on the staff. A public declaration that he thought of her as a partner? The rings alone would have been bad enough.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it won't happen again," Johnson was babbling on the floor, frantic, tears streaming out of his eyes.

"You're right, it won't," he said, nodding. "But the question is will it be because you're afraid, or because you're dead? Do you want to live, Johnson?"

"Yes! Yes, I want to live!" he cried, desperately, trying to find some way out of this.

"Okay," he agreed, far too easily, turning with his knee still on Johnson's chest, blocking his view of what Moran was doing. Then he unzipped Johnson's fly, grabbed in roughly and brandished the razor sharp piece of metal. Johnson let out an agonized scream, back arching, and then Moran stood, dropping the man's cock onto the floor next to him and leaving him there, walking over to Lorna. "Shall we?"

She simply took his hand and led him back to the lift, a good five feet of buffer space between them and the staff. Once they were inside and the doors had closed, she leaned against him a little, closing tired eyes. "Well, that'll send a message."

"Which message exactly, I'm not sure yet, but that was the most fun I've had in a very long time," he said cheerfully.

She chuckled, head thunking back against the metal wall. "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself at least."

"You didn't?" he asked, grinning at her. "You know, I think Johnson will be much more respectful once he can walk again."

"I enjoyed watching them shrink away from us like frightened sheep," she admitted, smirking, "And I have to say, I'm enjoying the whole 'public possession' thing. Very attractive."

"Yeah, figured it was about time to take a stance one way or the other on that," he said with a shrug. "Glad you don't mind. Jim's going to have something snide to say, I'm sure."

"Jim always has something snide to say," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "At this point I couldn't care less what he had to say."

He shrugged but nodded. "He said he won't kill you, so that's something," he pointed out as the elevator stopped on their floor.

"It's something, yeah," she snorted, stepping out of the lift and heading for his flat. She'd been sleeping on the couch in his absence. She found she couldn't manage it on the bed.

He entered and immediately noted the sheets and blanket on the couch, but didn't comment, heading immediately for the kitchen, ignoring the blood all over his clothes.

She trailed after him, brushing a hand through her hair. "Do you want me to make you something?"

He shook his head a little, grabbing a box of mac and cheese out of a seldom-used cabinet. "You want some?" he asked, raising it in her direction.

"Yeah, okay," she nodded, rubbing her eyes. "Do you want to shower, and I'll make it?"

He nodded a little. "Probably a good idea, yeah," he decided quietly, handing her the box before heading out of the kitchen and towards the bathroom. It wasn't until he was reaching for the handle to turn the shower on that the routine faltered, and he felt his stomach drop out. He stood there, hand an inch from the handle, for almost a solid minute, warring with himself, before he shook it off and turned it on.

He stripped, got into the shower, and immediately dry heaved, his empty stomach giving it everything it was worth.

He turned it off a few seconds later, and grabbed a washcloth, deciding a navy shower would be his best bet. He ignored the shaking of his hands.

She could hear the shower turn on and off, but she stayed where she was, boiling the pasta. She'd had to deal with the fallout of water torture before. He would clean up however he was comfortable.

He cleaned up and dried off as quickly as he could, shaving as well before getting dressed in clean clothes and heading back for the kitchen. He walked up behind her as she was stirring the pasta and put his chin on the top of her head.

She made a content noise, leaning back into him just a little - not enough to interfere with the simple task of making the pasta. "You want it a little firmer or a little softer? Can never remember which one you prefer."

"A touch al dente," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist, eyes closed. "Thanks."

"No problem," she murmured, then fell into silence, deciding that he was probably a little tired for conversation. It was so good to have him close again. Not even a full day together, not even twelve hours, and he'd been taken to the basement by Jim. She'd woken up alone, and she'd hated it.

He stayed like that for a while, until the food was ready, and then he grabbed two bowls and forks and waited for her to fill them. Then he headed for the table, eating as he went.

She sat across from him and dug in. She was halfway through her bowl before she spoke. "Really hope Jim's going to take it easy on the jobs for a while."

"I asked him for a vacation. I think he agreed. It was nuanced. He seemed put off," he said through a mouthful of noodles.

"Fucking fantastic," she sighed, frowning a little. "What's his issue? You know what, never mind, I don't want to know."

He shrugged. "I don't know. Wasn't at my best to read 'im..." he mumbled, swallowing and immediately taking another few bites.

"Do you want eggs or something? A protein bar, maybe?" She asked, eyebrows raised a little. "Toast, even. Any form of nutrients."

"This has nutrients," he snorted as he finished off his bowl. "I'll find something else, just... lemme relax a bit."

"Okay," she agreed quietly, finishing off her own macaroni. She could understand where he was coming from.

He was quiet for a few tired moments, watching her finish eating. "Want to go sleep?" he asked finally. "I'll do the dishes later."

"Yeah, sounds good to me," she nodded, getting up and setting her dishes in the sink, then held out her hand for him.

He took her hand quietly, reflecting for just a moment on how simple _they_ had become. How easy it was to be next to her, hold her hand, how readily he'd publicly displayed, at the very least, his possessiveness over her. The ring on his left finger was comfortable there, now. He was used to it, there was a small divot in his finger when he took it off. Like a piece of his finger was missing until he put it back on.

It wasn't as terrifying a reflection as it should have been.

They walked through to the bedroom and he immediately lay down, completely and utterly exhausted.

She curled up with him in silence, an ache in her chest soothed. It gave her too much satisfaction that he'd reacted so viscerally to Johnson's suggestion that he'd be a better caretaker than Sebastian, that he'd cared enough to make such a scene about it. She burrowed into his chest and fell asleep.

Despite his exhaustion, he had difficulty falling asleep. Every time he started to relax, his brain started to disengage, he thought he felt a drop on his forehead and started back awake.

He actually considered apologizing to Lorna for when he'd had to do this to her. The aftereffects were more intense than he'd realized.

Exhaustion eventually dragged him into an uneasy sleep. He woke frequently, unable to move, the drip- he was certain- back on his forehead.

She shifted in the early morning, and moved a little to wrap her arms around him before she could fall back asleep.

She held him for once, and the next time he woke it pulled him to the surface a bit faster than usual. He slept better after that.

* * *

When morning broke, she'd made a good start on making up on her sleep. She stayed still, however, afraid to wake Sebastian.

He woke not long after she did, still tired, but her breathing had changed at that tugged him further into awareness.

"Morning..." he murmured, voice hoarse with sleep.

"Morning, Seb," she breathed, shifting and pressing a kiss under his jaw.

He tucked her under his chin, just resting quietly for a bit.

"For the first time in a long time, I'm actually looking forward to a break," he said quietly.

"Besides my worrying about you and the withdrawal and all that shit, the last few days have been a break for me. I haven't been chased once," she mumbled, shrugging a little.

He held her a little tighter at that, taking a slow breath. "Yeah, well, they won't ever do it again."

She nodded a little, but they both knew they'd said such things in the past. It wasn't worth arguing about. He knew it was an empty promise, but that was all he had.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" She asked after a while in silence, voice still soft. "You must still be hungry."

He nodded just a little. "Yeah, I'll get there," he said quietly, taking a slow breath and then disentangling and sitting up, rubbing at his eyes.

She stayed where she was for the moment, since at her current level of weight any unnecessary expenditure of energy was a minus. "Did you sleep alright?"

He shrugged. "Had worse nights," he said, finally standing and stretching fully. "What do you want to eat?"

"Anything you feel like," she murmured, sitting up, running a hand through her hair.

He nodded, pulling on trousers and heading for the kitchen to start digging through the refrigerator.

She got up after a moment, her joints creaking, a headache flaring up again behind her forehead. She pressed a hand to her eyes, letting out a long, quiet breath. _You're fine._

He started making french toast, looking up as she came in. She looked like hell, and he knew she felt just as bad, if not worse. He remembered with cutting clarity what withdrawal had felt like. It was hard to imagine living in that state for a fucking year.

She sank into the closest chair at the kitchen table and rested her face in her hands, deciding that silence was fine by her for the moment. Mornings had been difficult for her even before she'd been starved and hooked on heroin again. The several aging wounds on her weren't helping, either.

He came over a few minutes later with a plate of french toast and fruit, setting the syrup next to her. "What do you want to drink?" he asked, heading for the fridge l.

"Whatever you're having is fine," she shrugged, "I'm not picky after MRE's."

He shrugged and grabbed a bottle of tomato juice, pouring two tall glasses and setting one next to her.

"Thanks," she said, lifting her head from her hands to pick up a glass and take a sip. "God am I glad you're back."

"So am I," he said with a nod and an attempt at a smile. He stopped trying after a moment and headed to grab his own food off the skillet.

She didn't think anything of his failed smile. It was hard after an event like that to pretend to be happy. She understood.

He sat across from her and started to eat quietly, just content to be getting food. He knew it was probably going to make him vaguely sick, or at least give him the shits after a few days of not eating, but he didn't particularly care.

"I should report to Jim soon," he said quietly.

"Why?" She snorted, popping a piece of french toast into her mouth. "What's he going to have that's so important? He's probably passed out so he doesn't have to deal with the withdrawal. Take a day off, please."

He shrugged, sitting back and taking a sip of tomato juice and deciding it was decidedly better with Tabasco and vodka. "I'm not exactly on solid footing right now," he said quietly. "And technically I'm on duty. Have been for the past twelve months, not that that did jack shit. The network's in the bloody shitter. Someone needs to make sure it doesn't fall apart completely, and right now that isn't you or Jim. That leaves me."

She rubbed her eyes, letting out a strained sigh. "I can keep it together for a day, Sebastian."

He gave her a long look. "I was a wee bit hungry for a few days. You're starved half to death and strung out. I'm going to go around pulling things out of the gutter, and you're going to rest. That's an order."

"Well if you're going to pull rank about it," she muttered into her tomato juice, then polished off her french toast before leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes again.

He finished his own food, clearing the plates and starting to wash up. "How are you feeling?" he asked finally.

"Awful," she replied simply. "I want to be high. I'm not. It's killing me."

He nodded just a little at that, drying off a pan and hanging it up before turning to look at her, drying his hands. "How do I help?"

"Just... keep me in the building," she shook her head, letting out a strained sigh. "Away from it."

He nodded just slightly. "That, I can do," he said with a small nod. "Should I lock you in here when I leave?"

"Now that Johnson isn't here to breathe down my neck, that might be for the best," she nodded a little. She didn't look at him.

He didn't allow his expression to alter, just nodded once more and headed for the bedroom to shower and dress. "I won't be gone too long," he said calmly. "I can do most of it remotely."

"Okay. Good," she muttered, mostly to herself. The last thing she needed was to go on an alcoholic bender while cooped up in the place because she couldn't take the combination of being alone and starving for a hit.

He came back ten minutes later, showered, shaved and in his usual suit. It felt odd.

"I won't be gone long. An hour at the most. Watch TV or something, okay? Keep yourself distracted."

"Yeah, alright," she agreed, pushing out her chair from the kitchen table and standing to move to the living room. "Come back quickly, please."

He nodded just a little, taking one more look at her before stepping outside and closing the door behind him, engaging the lock and deadbolting the door.

She could escape from here, with time and a lot of effort, but probably not before he came back. She rubbed her eyes and sank further into the couch, the flat in silence.

He headed almost immediately for Jim's office to see if his employer was awake. He'd check in and then go see how his department was handling yesterday's emasculation.

Jim _was_ awake. Miserable, but awake. He'd pulled over his office chair to the large window that took up most of the back wall, and sat looking out, a mug of coffee in his hand. He'd taken about six aspirin not that long ago to keep himself numb to the headache and the shaking. He would admit to having four.

He knocked very softly, just enough to let his employer know he was there if he chose to admit him.

"Come in," he called, voice just a little hoarse. He took another sip of coffee to soothe his throat.

He entered, shutting the door quietly behind him. "Good morning, sir," he said calmly, voice softer than usual so as not to aggravate what he was sure were frayed nerves.

"Moran," was all he said in response, wearily. He didn't bother turning his chair around, just continued looking down at the street below. "Hear what Johnson was saying, did you?"

He shrugged. Jim obviously already knew the answer. "I don't tolerate insubordination, sir. Never have."

"No, you never have," he agreed, finally turning his chair to face Moran, revealing that he was wearing pajamas. "I'm sure you got his attention."

He shrugged. "I should hope so," he said, not blinking at the pajamas, though the only other time he'd seen his employer dressed that way was when he'd been battling the scar tissue. "I think I sent the right message. My plan for the day is to try and get everything organized and evaluated from our absence. Do you need me to do anything else?"

"No, that will be enough," he shook his head, finishing off the last of his coffee and then dropping the mug on the carpet.

He nodded slightly. "Alright. Text me if you need anything," he said calmly. He turned to go, before adding one last thing. "I'm going to adjust security protocols so that you and Harrison need to check in with me in order to leave the building, per the authority given in my contract. That stands until further notice."

"Understood," he agreed, lifting a hand and rubbing his forehead. He really did need to be watched right now. He'd never wanted anything as much as a hit.

He nodded, then exited the office, closing the door behind him quietly. Seven minutes down. His goal was to be back to Harrison within thirty. Forty-five on the long end. He headed down to his department.

His department was quiet. There was still blood on the floor where Johnson had lain. Apparently the cleaners had been too afraid to clean it up. He was remarkably cheerful about that, but his expression didn't change. "Someone get cleaners on that," he said calmly, walking through to his office. "And send someone in here to get me updated." He didn't specify who. It would be amusing to see who drew the short straw.

They sent in the intern, of course. Freshly arrived from the culling grounds, she'd only been sent Hits two days before, just in time for the drama to unfold. Keira stood at attention in front of his desk, eyes straight ahead of her. "Hello, sir."

Oh, this was a delightful turn of events.

"Hello. Your name?" he asked casually, eyeing her up and down. There was a fresh scar along her neck, just barely peeking out from under her collar, but all in all she looked no worse for wear. Good. She'd done well, then.

Just the slightest bit of amusement entered her eyes, but otherwise her expression didn't change. "Keira Malone, sir."

He nodded, jotting her name down on his tablet. "Very well, Malone. How long have you been with the department?"

"Technically I'm not, sir. I'm an intern. They sent me up two days ago," she replied, after a quick glance at the clock on the wall.

He nodded slightly. "And you've been sent in to update me on the situation here, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir, that is correct," she nodded in agreement. She still didn't look at him. She didn't want to react to any changes that may have happened to him.

He smirked slightly. "Pleasure to meet you, Malone. Now go out and inform the department that I'm not in the mood to have my time wasted."

"Yes, sir," she nodded, turning around after a moment's pause to make sure there was nothing else, and heading for the door.

He watched her go, and nodded just a little to himself, oddly proud.

She'd survived.

 _Well done, Keira._

* * *

Lorna had finally turned on the television, but it wasn't helping. She just kept looking at the clock, scratching the back of her hand for something to keep herself grounded.

He made it back thirty-eight minutes after he left, unlocking the door and opening it, stepping inside and closing the door again, looking over at Harrison. "Hey."

"Hey," she replied, over the soothing tones of a _How It's Made._ She turned her reddened hand over, palm up, so he wouldn't see it.

He walked into the next room to grab his laptop, then returned to the living room and sat next to her on the couch, setting the computer on the table and pulling her into his arms.

She leaned into him gratefully, relieved he was back. He was the only good distraction she had.

He started massaging her arms carefully, trying to relieve what he knew would be tense, sore limbs. "Saw Keira. Seems she survived the culling."

"Good. I'm not at all surprised, but good," she murmured, eyes falling shut.

He let his fingers work slowly over her muscles for a few moments, relaxing what he could and watching as the show made its way through a breath mint factory.

"Is the tele helping at all?"

"It's better than silence," she said softly, eyes still closed. "Fills my head with something else."

He nodded just a little, bending to kiss the top of her head gently. "What about taking a hot bath?" he asked quietly. "Would that help you?"

She was quiet for a minute, then shifted with a small sigh, nodding a little. "Yeah, maybe."

He nodded, too, standing and offering her a hand up. "Come on. I'll join you."

"That sounds good," she murmured, taking his hand and following him to towards the bedroom. She hadn't had a bath with him in a long time.

He entered the bathroom and turned the water on, testing the temperature for a few moments before sitting back to watch it fill, one hand still holding hers. He then turned as an idea struck him, opening the cabinet under the sink and digging around for a bottle that had remained untouched since Harrison had moved in. At the moment he didn't give much of a shit, however. He popped the top open and poured a liberal amount of the liquid under the faucet, watching as bubbles started to form along the surface of the water. He didn't look at Harrison, just put the bottle back, and returned his attention to watching the tub fill.

She was stunned for a moment, standing still and staring down at the bath. "Sebastian? How long have you had that bottle?"

"Shut up," was all he said, dropping her hand and heading out of the room on the premise of finding towels.

She just chuckled, shook her head, and started to strip down. When he came back, she was sitting in the tub with her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked tired.

He set the towels down on the counter and stripped out of his uniform as well, climbing in carefully to make sure the water he displaced didn't cause the tub to overflow.

"Hey."

"Hey," she murmured, moving to slip back into his arms, the bubbles shifting with her.

He pulled her against his chest, feeling every turn and angle of her body against his. He'd missed her more than he liked to think about. Having her pressed to his chest, held close, it was a balm.

She sighed and relaxed, her eyes closing again, exhaustion overcoming her. "I love you."

His grip on her didn't change, but he nodded just slightly. "I love you, too," he whispered, voice low.

After that she dozed for a while, the combined warmth of him and the water making her drowsy. She didn't mind. Sleep was an escape.


	94. Intimacy Issues Breed Regret

He let her, still massaging her muscles gently with the goal of making her feel at least physically better when she woke. With any luck, she was near the worst of the withdrawal, and the next few days should see both her and Jim on the slow road to improvement. With luck.

She experienced the sort of dreams that happen when one is half asleep - the daydreams of reality shifted just slightly on its axis, of melting walls and improbable physics. When she woke, again, the water was cooler, the bubbles flatter.

He noticed her stirring as he drained the bath. The water had gone cold and he was ready to move. It didn't particularly matter to him whether she woke or not, he could easily dry her off and get her to the bed.

"Hey," she mumbled as she strayed into consciousness, stifling a yawn. "Mm. How long we been in here?"

"Just under an hour," he said, pulling the drain on the tub as he stood, grabbing their towels and passing her one.

"Damn, sorry for making you prune up," she sighed, getting up and taking the towel he handed her, beginning to dry off.

He just shrugged, drying off, his scars standing out in pale relief against his water-reddened skin. It was odd that the bath hadn't bothered him, but the lack of dripping had worked well. He'd have to keep that in mind for the next while. "You seemed relaxed."

"I was," she sighed, drying off her hair. She needed to have it cut soon. "But bed sounds better."

He nodded, walking back out into the next room to hunt down a clean pair of boxers. "Alright. You can sleep and I'll get some work done."

"Okay," she agreed, tossing the towel onto the counter and following him into the bedroom to collapse naked on the bed, eventually crawling between the covers with a sigh.

He headed for the living room to grab his laptop before walking back over to flop onto the bed next to her.

She was relieved she didn't have to ask him to stay with her. Would she have? Yeah, but she wouldn't have enjoyed it. She curled up and closed her eyes.

He booted up his computer, glancing over at her as she curled up. They had an unspoken understanding on a lot of things, which suited his taciturn nature just fine.

She fell asleep with relief, the stress his absence had been cultivating relieved. She hated it when the bed was empty.

He started getting to work, trying not to get frustrated by the state the network was in. Things had fallen through the cracks. They were under investigation on several corners, and they were baring their throats in a few others.

When she woke up again, he was pretty much in the same position as he had been. She shifted a little to rest her cheek on his hip, looking at the screen. "How's it going?"

"Fucking terribly," he muttered under his breath. "God forbid we ever die."

"Please. Fuck em if we die. I don't care, I'm dead," she snorted, letting her eyes drift shut, just resting them. "How was Jim, anyways?"

"He was fine," he said with a small shrug. "I guess readers don't struggle as much. Mind over matter." No matter how much he trusted her, he still had a duty to Jim, and image was part of it.

"That's bullshit, don't feed that to me," she scoffed, sitting up, suddenly inexplicably angry. "Mind over matter? _Fuck_ that. It's lack of opportunity, doesn't matter what your fucking IQ is. Fucking hell, _mind over matter,"_ she growled snarkily sliding off the bed in a huff and stalking towards the living room.

 _Shit_. "Don't fucking run off," he snorted, standing up. "It's _Jim_. What the hell do you expect? Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to and then get pissed about the answer."

"I _LIVED_ with that junkie for twelve months, Sebastian," she spat, whipping around in the doorway, "I saw him descend to the _same_ damn levels every other addict does. Jim or not, he's _just_ as bad as I am, if not worse. _I've_ dealt with this before. He hasn't."

"And even _were_ that the case, would you expect me to be able to say that? Jesus Christ, Harrison, think for a fucking second! Don't ask fucking moronic questions."

"I'm tired! I'd just woken up! You know what's a good evasive answer, Moran? _Fine._ He's _fine._ Or 'what do you think?' But don't feed me bullshit. Don't do _that."_

"That's my _job_ ," he snarled. "Just like it was my job to get you out, and it will be my job to keep you both sober and pull this company up by its bootstraps. So grow the fuck up and let me do it."

She let out an angry laugh, raking a hand through her still-damp hair. "I'm not asking you not to lie to me, Sebastian. Lie to me all you fucking want. But don't treat me like a child." She turned and left the room.

He stared after her, and then walked over and opened the door wide between them so that he could see her as he went back to work.

She sank down onto the couch and curled back up, in a sullen silence. She was not happy. The lack of drugs had a lot to do with it.

He returned to work, at this point just trying to catalog the damage and get an idea of how best to handle the situation.

She fell asleep again, deciding that it was for the best just to sleep the irritability off. Fuck Jim and his fantasy control.

He worked until long after night fell. Harrison woke occasionally, but didn't speak to him, and he let her be, just kept an eye on her.

She could feel herself getting progressively worse each time she woke, cold and sweaty and shaking, and keeping herself from going into the other room and clinging on to him was getting harder and harder.

He finally put the laptop away, eyes red and head pounding from the bright screen. He stood, heading through into the kitchen to find something to eat. He made himself a sandwich, and after a moment's thought, made one for Harrison as well, leaving it on the coffee table next to her as he walked past, back into the bedroom.

When she strayed back into an unhappy consciousness for the millionth time, she opened her eyes to the sandwich. Grateful that she had something to occupy herself with, she reached out and started inhaling it.

He looked up from where he was slogging through paperwork, noticed she was getting food into her, and nodded just a little at that, taking a breath and returning his attention to the files. He wasn't the one who was going to break first in the silence game. It was his forte.

She finished it and then turned the television on, looking for something easy on the eyes and ears. She didn't look towards the bedroom.

He finally walked out into the main room to put his dish in the sink. He dead bolted the door with his thumbprint, which could only be overridden by medical personnel, and then headed into the bedroom, shutting the door most- but not all- of the way as he changed into pajamas. He was exhausted.

She stayed on the sofa for a few minutes and then couldn't take it anymore, getting up and slinking into the bedroom. She crawled into bed without a word, and curled up next to him.

He put an arm around her waist without a word, pulling her against his chest and tucking the blankets up around them both. He was asleep almost instantly.

She passed out soon after he did, and had pleasant, carefree dreams. A pleasant surprise.

When he woke the next morning, it was to a text from Jim.

 _Vacation approved. One month, beginning one month from today. -JM_

* * *

A month later and they were stepping off the plane into the humid Indian air. Lorna put her sunglasses on, squinting against the light, and took Sebastian's hand. At least the private jet hadn't been commandeered. "I've never been to India before. I look forward to the food. Let's go get some, I'm starved."

He gripped her hand, nodding as he put his own sunglasses in place, starting to walk towards the car that was waiting for them. "Sounds good to me. I've been once or twice, but it was always on business. In and out, no relaxation time." He kept his eyes on the air field surrounding them. It was a large open space- one of his least favorite types of spaces, and in unfamiliar territory. As much as this would be a vacation, it was also going to tax him slightly. There would be a lot of crowded streets. He was going to be constantly on alert. "I'm looking forward to the pickpockets, though. Breaking fingers was one of my favorite pass-times the last time I was here."

"I guess I'll make sure to keep my hands to myself," she chuckled, glancing at the driver waiting by the car, just cataloging his face. It was a habit these days to make note of potential threats. She was still a little twitchy, and still very thin. "Christ, we're actually taking a vacation. _Us._ It's surreal."

"I know," he snorted, rolling his eyes. The driver opened the door, and after a quick but thorough glance at the man's credentials and a look at the car, he climbed inside. "It's going to be an interesting month."

"I'm sure I'll be spending a lot of it in our hotel room, eating mango and complaining about my scrubbed-raw skin," she shrugged, settling into the car next to him and closing the door. "So you can worry about a smaller secure perimeter."

It was strange how well she knew him. "Well, hopefully you won't be too sore," he said with a smirk, dropping her hand and sliding it around her waist instead. "Because I intend to take advantage of your sensitive skin."

"You better not leave any new scars on me," she chuckled, shifting closer to him. "And we _probably_ shouldn't disgust the driver."

"What else am I paying him for? Driving? I can drive," he snorted, leaning over to kiss her neck.

"Not drive _and_ kiss me," she smirked, sliding a hand down his thigh. "You know, we _were_ just on a private airplane."

"I know I can't drive _and_ kiss you, _that_ is why I'm paying _him,_ " he muttered, lips brushing her neck. "And your point being?"

"That we could have fucked on an airplane, and instead you want to make out with me in the back of a car," she laughed, jerking a thumb towards the plane retreating in the rear view menu.

"On the contrary," he smiled, leaning back. "I want to fuck you in the hotel. This is just a means to an end."

"Ah, well, this is entirely different, then," she grinned, pulling him back in by the front of his shirt until they were inches apart.

"Now you're seeing things my way," he agreed, the hand around her waist dipping to squeeze her arse playfully.

She smirked, shifting across the seat and moving to straddle him. "You're lucky I'm this conveniently sized, or this wouldn't work."

"True. I am definitely _not_ conveniently sized," he smirked, arms wrapping around her waist, one hand lifting the back of her skirt and sliding beneath. "You're not wearing a seat belt..."

"Guess you should keep a tight grip on me then," she murmured, brushing her lips over his.

"I think I can handle that," he smirked, sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh, kissing her slowly.

She hummed contentedly, willing to take it slow for once while in the cab. For once, the job was far away. A month to themselves. There was no rush.

He wasn't in any rush either, enjoying her lazily, if just a touch distractedly, part of him still keeping mind of the turns their driver was taking, and the goings-on outside.

"Any particular places you wanted to fuck me? Any landmarks?" she murmured, smirking a little, fingers brushing along his collarbone.

"You know, I've always liked the idea of fucking someone in the Ganges..." he murmured, lips quirking. "Something about disrupting the purity amuses me."

She groaned, digging her fingers into his chest. "Now you _have_ to fuck me in the Ganges, you know."

He put his hands over hers on his chest, pushing her nails into him more firmly until he felt them break skin, smiling more fully. "I look forward to it."

"We should do that before I get my skin rubbed raw, I don't want an infection from the water," she chuckled, smoothing down his shirt.

"How does tomorrow sound?" he asked into her collarbone, still exploring it lazily down the dip of her shirt line.

"Tomorrow sounds excellent, in fact," she murmured, glancing out the window as they stopped outside a hotel.

"Brilliant," he murmured, kissing her clavicle slowly before sitting back and pushing her gently off of his lap. "Come on, we've got a room to break in."

"Yes we do," she grinned, and exited the car. This was the first time they'd had a hotel room together since Italy, years ago. It was astonishing, how far they'd come since then.

He grabbed their bags, slinging them over his shoulder, and smiled at her, reaching out to take her hand as they walked towards the hotel. He was looking forward to the next month. He had little doubt that by the end he'd be stir-crazy, chomping at the bit to get back to work, but that was exactly what was needed.

Her heart did a funny little jump in her chest as he took her hand. It was a rare occurrence when he reached out and initiated PDA while off-duty. "How _is_ this hotel, by the way? Room service? Oooh, do we have a _suite?_ I've always wanted a suite. You know, not to fuck a stranger in."

"Harrison, I'm a man with a ridiculously unreasonable salary, who hasn't taken a vacation in almost a decade, bringing his-" he paused momentarily, unsure of what to call her, her ring clipping into his hand slightly and reminding him of his own, and the oddity of the situation. He slid past it smoothly. "Bringing you on a trip as a christmas present. How do you _think_ the hotel is?"

She chuckled, squeezing his hand a little as they reached the hotel doors. "I don't know, I wouldn't put it past you to be willing to rough it for a month. Then again, considering your interior decorating skills..."

"Being able and willing to rough it and _wanting_ to rough it are very different animals," he pointed out with a small smirk. He nodded to the doorman, ignoring the valets offer to take their bags, and walked her inside.

The atrium was a large, multi-story circular space, stretching high to a glass ceiling overhead. The walls were actually a long ramp, spiraling around and around itself, beautifully constructed of stone and bronze, along which were floor-to-ceiling windows leading into the hotel rooms, some with drapes drawn, others open to reveal beautiful rooms. The atrium itself was an indoor garden, with jungle trees and flowers flowing everywhere in a natural-feeling arrangement. The main pathway through followed an indoor river, bubbling along lazily over a bed of colorful stones and broken bits of intricate mosaics.

She whistled, eyebrows raised. "Impressive. If the food is anything like the architecture I don't know if I'm ever going to want to _leave."_

He laughed. "We'll both be bored after a month. But for the time being, it should be excellent." He headed for the front desk, checking them in with a few quiet words and passing her one of their room keys.

She slid the key into her pocket without looking, eyes still on the atrium. "I'm almost surprised they don't have any _birds_ in here, honestly. Some have got to get in, don't they?"

"I think they do," he said, pointing to a tree where a small parakeet was considering them out of one eye curiously.

"Alright, Hawkeye," she chuckled, "I see I've immediately been proven blind. Let's go take in our room."

He grinned, heading for the elevator, which ran up a glass shaft near one edge of the room, meeting with each floor as the ramp passed.

"This is a _very_ well thought out building," she mused absently, letting him tow her along by the hand.

He nodded in agreement. "It is at that. Let's hope our room is as impressive."

"Although maybe without the birds," she added in a murmur, watching the floor drop away.

He laughed, then quieted, part of him absently noting that this place was a virtual playground for a sniper.

They exited on their floor, which was only a few from the top, and he walked over to the balcony, looking out for a moment over the garden. It extended even this far up, creeping vines roaming occasionally over railings, blooming colorfully. Then he turned and started walking along the carved wooden doors alternating with the windows, looking for their room.

"This place hardly seems real, does it?" She mused, trailing along after him like a balloon being tugged the other way by a breeze. "Very fantastical."

He nodded a little. "Like a video game or some shit," he agreed, finally stopping in front of their room and swiping the keycard, opening the door and stepping inside.

The suite was beyond impressive, even considering his refined taste, and he let out a low whistle at the large central room, tastefully designed with an open interior. A set of double doors opened onto a bedroom with a king-sized bed, and on the balcony that could be seen through the large windows there was a jacuzzi and deck chairs. A few other doors led to a kitchen and an office area.

"Well holy shit," she laughed, closing the door behind her and putting her hands on her hips, surveying the room. " _So_ many places to fuck."

He nodded in agreement, walking into the bedroom and setting their bags on the bed. "And only thirty days in which to do it. We'll have to be persistent," he said with a laugh.

"Oh, I know us, we won't even break a sweat," she snickered, following him into the bedroom and flopping onto the bed.

He nodded, walking around to where she was lying and reaching out to slide a hand from her ankle up along her leg. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong," he said, hand slipping under her skirt; fingers pushing her knickers aside and brushing over her slick folds. "But I believe I was working you up."

She bit her lip, looking up at him through half-closed eyes. "No, I believe you're right."

He smiled slowly, his free hand planting next to her on the bed as he stood over her, eyes on hers as he slid his fingers into her, curling slowly. "Well good, I'm glad I didn't lose my place."

She audibly inhaled, reaching her hand to grasp his wrist, fingers tight on him. "You're good at keeping up."

He leaned over her further, face a few inches from hers as he moved his fingers slowly, just edging her on. He watched her expression tense and melt with his fingers, the sensations rippling visibly along her muscles even under her clothes. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathed.

She reached up to drag him down by the collar, kissing him solidly, her breath coming harder. She loved it when he called her that. Every compliment from him was worth millions.

He kissed her back, his tongue following the rhythm of his fingers as it tangled with hers. The grip she had on his collar sent shivers down his spine, and he smiled into the kiss.

"You know," she breathed, her thumb brushing against his neck, "this is the first time we've had a hotel room together since Italy?"

"Is that so?" he asked, his thumb seeking out her clit and brushing against it. "Well, then, it seems we're long overdue to be doing this again."

"Way to state the obvious," she smirked, although she wasn't being extremely cool, considering she was practically trembling under his hand.

"Well, if I'm being too obvious," he said, withdrawing his hand from her knickers with a smirk.

"No, no, that's absolutely not what I meant," she backtracked, grabbing his wrist, shaking her head. "Don't be _unreasonable."_

"Oh, now I'm obvious _and_ unreasonable," he sighed. "You know, I'm just not feeling very appreciated..." The hand on the bed shifted over to close over her throat, getting a sturdy grip to direct her jaw with his thumb and fingers. He forced her to look at him, tilting her head back a little, movements taking a darker turn though they were still playful. "You know what I mean?" His fingers played with the edge of her panties along her thigh.

She scowled at him, deciding not to cave so easily, especially when she _really_ wouldn't mind if he squeezed a little harder. "No, I don't think I do..."

His eyes glinted at that, glad she'd taken his invitation to take this up a notch. He saw the way she almost pressed her throat into his hand, and tightened his grip a little, hand drifting down her thigh. "I see. Well, if you don't understand then perhaps I'll have to teach you."

"I guess you'll have to," she agreed stubbornly, eyes locked onto his, clear with her challenge. "If you _can,_ that is."

He shrugged. "You make a fair point. You might just be a terrible student. I suppose we'll find out," he said, his grip on her neck actually compressing her airway for just a moment, a threat, before he hauled her up towards the head of the bed, dropping her neck in favor of grabbing her hands, and after looking around for a moment, grabbing a length of tassel-rope from the bed curtain and using it to tie her wrists to the bedpost.

She didn't resist, just let herself be bound with a small smirk on her face. "After all these years of threatening to tie me up, and you finally get around to it - I'm proud of you."

The corner of his mouth twitched up slightly in response, though the majority of his expression remained stony. "I've tied you up before," he said, almost certain that he had. Hadn't he? He left her hands once they were secured tightly (though he'd left himself a way to untie her almost instantaneously if he needed to) and moved to her dress, which was still very much in his way. "How much do you like this one?" he asked, fingering the material.

"As if my answer matters?" She raised an eyebrow, remembering that in the old days he'd destroyed what clothes he'd felt like destroying, and never bothered to apologize. She liked this more.

He smirked a little, hands on the hem tightening and pulling until the skirt ripped upward. It stopped at the waist of the dress for a second, but another tug started it up again. He grabbed a knife from his pocket and cut the sleeves open, pulling the dress off of her with a grin. "I'll buy you a new one," he said as he tossed it aside.

"Mm, you _do_ have that outrageous salary you mentioned earlier. Has it ever occurred to you I'm just in it for the money? Maybe I'm a gold digger," she smirked, eyes appreciatively taking in the way his arms flexed as he tore the fabric open.

"You're terrible at it, if you are," he smirked, bending down to brush his lips over her breast. "Look at me, young and healthy. Aren't gold diggers supposed to marry the elderly and soon-to-keel-over?" He slid his tongue over her skin slowly, hot and rough against soft and cool.

"I guess you're just my sugar daddy," she amended, grinning, subtly testing the bindings, wondering if she could break out of it later, when she wanted to.

"I guess I am," he conceded, hand slipping down between her legs again, giving her minimal contact, just brushes here and there, just enough to keep her wanting more. "But you've been quite confrontational. I'm not sure if I should keep giving you what you want..."

"Except you want the same thing that I do," she murmured, eyes dark on his. She wanted to touch him, too, but that was a side desire.

"You make an awful lot of assumptions," he muttered, dipping to scrape his teeth over her collarbone, fingers dipping into her entrance. His free hand, however, found the buckle of his belt, starting to undo it.

She made a quiet, pleased noise, shifting her hips impatiently. "You wouldn't like me so much if I was quiet, would you?"

He pushed his fingers further into her, pushing off his trousers and stepping out of them, followed by his boxers. "No, I suppose not," he agreed, softly. "But you're not making a very good case for yourself at the moment."

"Case? What _case_ would that be?" She snorted, though it was clear by the width of her pupils and the color in her cheeks that she was very much not as cool as she was pretending to be.

"The case for why I shouldn't just torment you for an hour or two," he said cheerfully. "I mean, I enjoy it either way. Fucking you is nice, but watching you writhe under my fingers... Now that is art."

"I'm still weak and malnourished, and that would be a frivolous waste of my energy," she pointed out, eyes running down his form in appreciation. He looked good from every angle, she swore it.

"And if I feel like frivolity?" he asked, though he pushed his fingers deeper into her, curling and pressing at all the right places.

"There's no way I'll have the energy to fuck you in the Ganges tomorrow," she got out, though a lot breathier than usual, wrists pulling at her bonds a little.

He sighed dramatically. "See, _there_ 's your case," he muttered, leaning forward to kiss her firmly again and removing his fingers, kneeling up onto the bed next to her.

She bit back a displeased noise as he withdrew, immediately seeing that it was in favor of getting far closer to her, which she immensely approved of, and kissed him back hard, using her tied hands as leverage to lean closer to him.

He leaned into her, grinding his hips against hers as they arched up to meet his and smiling as he pushed her legs up towards her chest.

She let him manipulate her as he pleased, impatient for him to get on with it, touch her like she wanted again, and she bit his lip to let him know.

He didn't mess around any longer, even he was growing impatient. He nipped back playfully before finally pushing into her, letting out a shaky breath of relief as she surrounded him.

"Finally," she groaned, head falling back in relief, shifting her hips to try and hurry him along.

"So impatient," he chided, pushing her legs a little closer to her chest and groaning as she tightened further around him, starting to rock his hips slowly.

"You'd be too if I'd gotten a chance to tease you like that," she breathed, moving up to kiss him.

"Should try that some time," he commented against her lips, finding a fluid rhythm of movement.

"I have, you just usually beat me to the punch," she murmured, biting her lip as he got a rhythm going.

"I'm just too quick for you, is that it?" he teased, tongue tracing along her jawline.

"Quicker than anyone else I've ever met, that's for sure," she chuckled, tilting her jaw for him.

"I think I may just have been insulted," he snorted, releasing her legs after a moment and shifting them around his hips so that he could support his weight with both arms.

"You wanted me to tease you, I'm teasing you," she smirked, rolling her hips under him.

"Oh, very clever," he muttered into the crook of her neck, resettling his weight before reaching up to trace a finger along the inside of her arm.

"I know I am," she hummed, goosebumps breaking out in the wake of his finger. A few years ago, having a lazy conversation like this during a fuck where he wasn't trying to bruise her would have been impossible.

He slid his hand back up her arm, absently undoing the tasseled rope and letting her hands free. "Well, then," he said, pulling back to look at her. "Aren't I lucky to have such a clever woman in my bed?"

"I don't think luck has anything to do with it," she murmured, shaking the rope off and sliding her hands along his arms, fingers tracing along the lines of his musculature. " _Lots_ of patience, maybe."

"Mmm... _Lots_ of patience," he agreed, shifting his knees under him to gain a bit more leverage.

She groaned as the angle changed, arching up beneath him a little bit, her hands running down his sides. "I'd.. I'd say it's worth it, though."

He shivered slightly under her touch, smiling as she arched up into him. He bent to kiss the side of her neck as he sped up his movements a little, still taking his time in a way he didn't usually.

She grabbed him a little harder as she started to get closer, breaths coming faster. "Have I.. told you how in love with you I am lately?"

He raised his head just enough to meet her gaze, his breath short, pupils blown wide. "Not that I recall, but I think it's assumed at this point."

"Don't get cocky," she breathed, fingers gripping hard on his skin. " _Fuck,_ I'm close."

He was, too, leaning forward to press his lips against her ear as he finally began to move with a bit more energy, eager to find the edge and bring her with him. He was suddenly almost overwhelmed with how much she meant to him, in so many ways. It was an odd moment- piercing, disarming- and perhaps that was why he whispered "I love you, too," breathlessly into her ear.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as he pushed her over the edge, muffling a soft cry into his shoulder, her chest clenching at his words. What would she do if something ever happened to him?

He came shortly after, not in the usual fiery onslaught but rather quietly, a growing warmth that flooded over him in waves. He gradually stilled, catching his breath, forehead pressed against her temple.

She shut her eyes as she caught her breath, to hide the fact they were prickling with tears. She wasn't sure why she was suddenly so emotional, but she wasn't about to show it when she couldn't explain it.

He eventually shifted off to the side just enough to clear his weight from her, still on his stomach, an arm thrown over her and his face brushing the side of her head, eyes closed as well.

She curled into him, taking a deep breath. She wasn't going to take her ring off, and the fact that he hadn't taken his off either was telling. She was happy with this, with them, and that wasn't something she could never have said before in her life.

They lay in silence for a while, before he smiled and said, "I declare this bed christened."

"That's not the word I'd use, but I suppose it's good enough," she chuckled, getting control of herself again.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he smirked. "It's the perfect word."

"We are the least holy people I know," she laughed, moving to rest her head on his broad shoulder, fingers tracing idly over the scars on his abdomen.

He twitched just slightly as she hit a ticklish spot. "To the mainstream religions, maybe. But there has to be someone out there worshiping sex, murder, and deception."

"Who, Satanists?" She laughed, subtly pursuing that spot on his stomach that had made him twitch.

"Oi!" he snorted, grabbing her hand. "And no, they're all about peace and human equality or something boring like that."

"Agh, whatever," she sighed, entwining her fingers with his. "I'll take your word that _someone_ worships it."

"If not, we'll make our own," he decided. "We can call it Fuckillism."

"Alright, sure," she chuckled, shrugging just a little. "I don't know if we really have the time for religion, though."

He laughed at that. "I suppose we'll just have to keep being heathens, then. But if we die and the great demon lord of Fuckill Valhalla is pissed, I blame you."

"Please, we're basically holy idols in this fake religion," she scoffed, "Nobody in that valhalla would be pissed at us."

"A valhalla of murders," he sighed. "Sounds like a decent horror movie plot."

"Mm, I think it'd be better done as a drama," she chuckled, smirking to herself. "I mean, there's got to be some shenanigans happening up in evil Valhalla."

He nodded a little at that, lapsing into silence, his fingers playing absently with her much smaller hand. He toyed with the ring on her finger for a while before registering what it was, and snorted. "You still got this damn thing on?" he asked, amused.

She shrugged, smiling a little. "Nobody keeps track of the rings in the ring box. I like it, I'm keeping it. And it amuses me that half the staff thinks we secretly got married in Fiji. And you still have yours on, or didn't you notice?"

"Bugger off," he snorted. "You've got dozens of rings, at least, and I've got one I like. I get to keep mine, you can find your own."

"I do _not_ have dozens of rings, I'm very picky about what rings I wear," she protested, shifting a little so she could frown at him. "Why _can't_ I wear this one?"

He mulled that over for a moment, before he shrugged with the shoulder that wasn't under her head. "No reason you can't. I'm just keeping mine."

"Mmhm, that's what I thought," she snorted, rolling her eyes a little.

He smirked, tickling her side slightly with the hand that was around her. "Don't you sass me."

She squeaked, wriggling away from him. "Don't tickle me, and maybe we can work something out."

"Oh, you're a ruthless negotiator," he muttered, rolling his eyes and tickling her side once more for good measure before subsiding.

She grumbled, looking mildly sullen at him. "You're way bigger than me, it's not fair."

"You aren't looking for an apology, right? Because that might be concerning," he said, smirking.

"God, no," she chuckled, smirking and nestling into him a little. "I'm quite fond of feeling like you could crush me."

"Oh, good. Odd, but I'll take it," he smirked.

"You never dislike people calling you threatening," she laughed.

"I know, but normally they don't like feeling threatened," he retorted, smiling.

"I didn't used to like it so much; I suppose it was just kind of thrilling at first," she chuckled, "The danger, and all that. Christ, it was like flirting with death."

"Flatterer," he muttered, though he was grinning contentedly.

She snorted. "Considering how often you threatened to kill me or drew a weapon on me, I don't think I'm stretching the truth, do you?"

He thought on that for a moment, before nodding slowly, his hand raising absently to trace over the now-familiar scar on her neck. "I suppose you aren't."

She'd almost forgotten about that particular scar. She'd gotten so many cuts and burns since then it didn't seem like so much of big deal. She shoved the thought of the beasts in the labyrinth out of her head.

He saw her eyebrows furrow, and was quietly caught up in the way he hated when that happened. "You're beautiful," he said quietly.

She blushed before she could catch herself, and buried her face in his chest. She was nowhere close to recovered from that eternity in the mazes, not after a damn month and a quarter, and yet he still thought that. "Thank you."

He shrugged a bit, holding her close, safe. He closed his eyes, grip on her firm, unwilling to let her go.

There wasn't anyone else in the world she would rather have a month, a week, even a day with without any worries or cares. "I think there was a time when you wouldn't have let me keep this ring. And you wouldn't have kept yours."

That toed a line he had kept distance from, and he stiffened just slightly. "I told you, I just like it. Besides, when have I ever cared what you wear?"

She snorted a little. "You know exactly what I meant, Sebastian. But if you don't want to talk about it, I won't push it. Forget it."

He sighed. "I just don't see why we need to. It's problematic enough without actually discussing the situation."

"I said forget it, didn't I?" She sighed, mentally noting the new placement of the boundary line.

"Which means you're annoyed," he pointed out, though he didn't push it further.

She smirked a little. "I'm malnourished, it's easy to do," she pointed out.

"Alright, well, let me present my cunning plan," he suggested, matching her smirk. "You and I get cleaned up and go hunt down some mom-and-pop place with amazing authentic Indian food and gorge ourselves."

She chuckled and nodded, sitting up and sliding to the edge of the bed. "Alright, let's go then," she agreed. "Let's see if we can make me cry from spice."

* * *

Playlist: Arctic Monkeys - I Wanna Be Yours

Hozier - Movement

Remember, the playlist is on my profile if you want to experience the whole thing!


	95. Poor Customer Service

The next few days were a blur of relaxation, good food, and fucking. The Ganges was just as entertaining as they'd hoped it would be, and India in general was vibrant and rejuvenating.

The beginning of the next week was when he had scheduled the first appointment at the scar removal clinic.

When the day arrived, they woke up early in the day and headed on over. She sat in the waiting room while he signed in, where she twiddled her thumbs nervously. She wasn't sure how much of the scarring they could completely remove, but it was definitely worth trying. It had been so long since she'd been able to run her fingers over a smooth patch of her own skin.

He walked back to sit down next to her, and put his hand over her fidgeting ones. "Relax," he ordered, his voice quiet and mellow. "Things are going to be fine."

"I know," she sighed, shrugging just a little, "I can't help it. What if it doesn't work? What if it gets _worse?"_

"It won't," he said calmly, gripping her two hands in one of his own. "These people are the best there is."

"Yeah, I know," she murmured, in a tone that suggested she was trying to convince herself. "I'm just being paranoid."

"Yes, you are," he agreed, standing when their false name was called. "Come on," he urged, tugging her hands a little. "It will be great."

"That's a strong word for getting a load of my skin blasted off so it will heal better," she snorted, letting him pull her up, "But yeah, okay, let's fucking do this."

He grinned, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Tell you what, I will dote. You will have me- _me_ of all people, doting on you while you are a sore, recovering, tired, grumpy asshole. Alright?" His smile was teasing.

"I honestly can't even imagine that," she laughed, following the... nurse(? What was she supposed to call these people - were they doctors?) happily tucked under his arm. "Even at my worst, I don't think you've even made me _tea."_

"You bloody liar!" he laughed. "How many times have I made you breakfast, or dinner, or cleaned you up after you've gotten yourself stabbed?"

"That is _not_ doting. Tea and soup is doting, and plumping pillows - anything less is a small kindness," she protested through her amusement.

"Did you just call my cooking a small kindness? I think I may have just been insulted."

The doctor let them bicker as they walked down the hall, but cleared her throat slightly as she escorted them into an office, and he let the topic drop for the moment.

Lorna dropped into the nearest chair, deciding she would do less nervous fidgeting if she wasn't standing. "Okay," she cleared her throat, "What do we have to do?"

Sebastian continued standing, and after a moment of waiting for him, the doctor sat down, turning her attention to Lorna.

"I've only spoken to your husband, so I'm not certain how much he's told you. Stop me if you know something. I need to do a more thorough evaluation, but just from what I've seen of your medical files and what I can see now, I believe dermabrasion would be an appropriate solution to many of your scars. We can combine that with some steroid injections for more aggressive scarring."

She nodded, twisting the ring on her finger for something to do with her hands. "Alright. Are there any side effects to any of this that I should know about?"

The woman nodded slightly. "There can be some. Skin discoloration is possible, but that's very unlikely for you, since you're fair-skinned. There's also the chance that dermabrasion will itself result in scarring. That happens rarely, but it does happen. Given how extensive your scarring is, I would still recommend it, as even if it does scar in a few places, on the whole you would be better off." Her expression and tone were calm and soothing.

"Alright then," she shrugged, "Where do I sign? Let's start."

She nodded, pushing a few documents across the table. "Look over these and sign. I'll start preparations and we can begin treatment today. Today we'll just do a small area and give you a few days to understand how it's going to affect you and what it will feel like. Then you can decide at what rate you'd like to continue."

She gave a small snort. "As fast as you can do it will be fine. Look at me. I didn't get here painlessly. It can't be anywhere close to as bad as the shit I've been through," she said, briefly wondering what they looked like to this woman. Two heavily scarred people, one looking like they'd been attacked by an Irish professor Umbridge, the other the apparent mauling victim of a bear with a branding iron. Did they look like professional criminals, or like unlucky victims?

She nodded slightly. "Alright. We'll see what we can do. It will depend on how your body reacts. I still want to start small today, in case there are any complications, but I'll develop a treatment plan based on what happens today."

"Alright, sounds fine to me," she agreed, pulling the documents closer to her and scanning them over. She wouldn't sign until Sebastian had read them over, as she was sure he would want to do. She pushed them his way a little.

He sat to read through them carefully, making sure they still had total control and weren't surrendering any rights or information. He handed them back to her with a small nod. The doctor glanced at him. "As I mentioned, Mr. Hallifax, we would certainly be glad to treat you, as well... I'm sure we could work out some sort of..."

She trailed off under Sebastian's glare.

"Best not to bring that up," Lorna smiled at the woman, patting Sebastian's hand soothingly and taking the documents to sign.

He stood down slowly. His words were still a touchier subject than he would like, and the idea of losing them...

He still had days when he thought about carving into them again. The idea of losing them was absolutely intolerable.

She handed the signed documents over and stood in order to move the process along, figuring that the sooner she got his mind off the words, the better. She smiled at the now somewhat nervous woman. "Shall we go, then?"

He stood as well, and the doctor stood quickly. "Of course," she said, straightening her jacket in a way that suggested it was a nervous tick. "Right this way." She swept out of the room.

"Try not to kill the nice doctor who's going to make me able to work again," Lorna hummed under her breath as she led Sebastian after her, "This _is_ your money."

"I know, I know," he sighed, nose wrinkled. "But there are other doctors."

"But they won't be at peak efficiency with a member of their staff violently slaughtered, and then we'd have to find a _new_ place, and god knows how long that would take. Maybe more than a month. Our Jim-allotted month," she pointed out, raising her eyebrows at him to make sure he got the point.

He sighed. "I know, I know," he muttered. "I'll behave."

"Alright, good," she nodded, squeezing his hand once and letting go again as the doctor led them into another room, which was much less scary than she had imagined. The machine was much, much smaller than she'd expected it to be, and very non-threatening. For someone used to torture, it was quite a nice surprise.

He watched her take a seat, standing near the door, which he left open just a crack. He was uneasy here, but Lorna seemed to be relaxing, so that was promising.

"Is there anywhere in particular you'd like to start?"

She gave a little bit of a shrug, not really sure herself. "Wherever you think is best. Back, maybe?"

She shook her head a little. "I'd rather do an area you have a clear view of in case anything seems wrong. What about a spot on your arm?"

"Sure, alright," she shrugged, rolling up her short sleeve and sitting down on the vaguely person-shaped table. Sebastian looked like he was tense as hell, and she wondered what it was about this place that was setting him off. She hated medical settings with a deep conviction, and this place was setting her at ease.

The woman nodded, walking Lorna through each step verbally as she applied topical anesthetic and picked up the dermabrasion tool. "You shouldn't feel anything more than a mild buzzing. Let me know if there's any discomfort."

She wouldn't, but she nodded, tapping her fingers against her thigh absently. "Sure. How long should this take?"

"About twenty minutes this time, but if you do want to do this as quickly as possible, later sessions will be a few hours. Most people bring music, or we have a wide variety of movies that we have available."

"Alright, cool, thank you," she nodded, and gestured for the woman to start. "You don't have to come every time if you don't want to," she offered to Sebastian, even though she knew he wouldn't take it. Too dangerous, in his eyes.

"Maybe," he said, though there was no doubt in his mind that he would be here every time.

The doctor got to work, the small buzzing machine in her hand slowly stripping away at the pattern of scars over Lorna's right forearm.

It was mildly uncomfortable, but it was by no means painful, not with her pain tolerance, so she simply took the treatment in silence, her mind wandering to and fro with no real agenda.

He was relieved when the doctor finally leaned back, and set her tool aside. Lorna's skin was raw, red, like it had been badly scraped, and the doctor bandaged it carefully.

"I'll prescribe a mild painkiller, but aspirin is a no-go for the next few weeks. It thins the blood too much. Motrin is fine, or other non-ibuprofen painkillers."

"Got it," she nodded, letting the doctor finish up the bandage before she slid off the table. She could sense Moran's tension. He wouldn't want to be in here any longer than he had to be. "When should I come back, tomorrow?"

She nodded. "That should be fine. We'll be able to tell by then if there's any immediate adverse reaction. Why don't you schedule something with reception?"

"Alright," she agreed, reaching out a hand for Sebastian. "C'mon, let's go sign out and get something to eat."

He nodded a little, exiting first and scanning the hall out of habit before heading for reception.

She waited until they'd scheduled their visit for tomorrow and were outside to speak to him again. "Wanna tell me what's setting you on edge about this place?"

He shrugged a little, reaching up to push a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Nothing that I could... Nothing in particular," he said after a moment. "It's very... nice. It's excellent there. They seem like good people."

"Good people aren't really your cup of tea," she pointed out, squinting under the bright sun. "But your instincts aren't something that I'd ignore willingly."

He shrugged a little. "We'll be careful," he said calmly, trying to shake off the tension. He knew exactly why the place bothered him. The elder Holmes containment facilities that he had experienced had been very similar, down to the friendly hospitality and white, sterile walls, contrasting so starkly with the blood on Lorna's skin...

But he wouldn't mention that place. Wouldn't make that connection for her. She seemed happy there and she needed to feel safe. That was paramount.

"Alright," she agreed, deciding that she wouldn't pry much further if it bothered him. If she noticed it affecting him, she'd intervene, but otherwise she wasn't too keen on forcing him to open up, which would likely only result in a fight. If something was actually wrong here, he would speak up about it.

He reached out, then, putting his arm around her shoulders. "How's your arm?" he asked, playing with the edge of her short sleeve.

"Stings a little, with the anesthetic wearing off," she shrugged a little, though careful not to disrupt his arm from her. She liked the contact too much. "But I've had so much worse, it's easy to ignore. I don't think the more recent wounds will like that treatment so much, though."

He nodded in agreement. "I mentioned that, but they seem to think as long as a scar has formed the treatment will work fine. Still, we may need to do another session later on."

"If you want to bankroll it, I absolutely will not complain," she shrugged, absentmindedly scratching the freshest of her cuts, which was a glassy-looking scab running across her hip. She'd been lucky that she'd moved when she had - those claws were wicked hooks that could have easily gutted her, had she been a little closer. She leaned a little more into Sebastian.

"What the fuck else am I supposed to do with my money?" he teased, smiling and tightening his grip on her. "Got to keep my lovely 'wife' lovely."

"I am shocked you haven't actually bought yourself a Jag, actually," she smirked, basking in the warmth from the sun and from his attention. "But hey, feel free to continue being my sugar daddy, I'm not complaining."

"I can drive Jim's whenever I want, and I don't have to deal with maintenance or parking," he retorted, snorting. "That's the problem with this job. Everything's provided."

"Have to keep the criminals happy or they'll start to kill each other," she replied easily, mostly serious. "I pay for a lot of my own clothes, but that's because I don't want to share them. Or put them in harm's way."

"They have become _slightly_ better at not setting things on fire," he sighed, shaking his head. "Honestly. It's just amazing."

"I feel responsible! How did I teach them this? Was I a bad role model?" she groaned, rubbing at her eyes.

"They're just trying to be as hot as you," he said sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes, making an exasperated noise. "Christ. What a strangely competent mob of fools. It's hard to believe they get done the work I give them. God forbid I ever die; no one will be around to clean up their messes."

"They'll figure it out on their own," he sighed. "We've been gone a year and the building is still standing. The babes are grown up."

"They don't have _nearly_ the efficiency rate that they used to have, though," she retorted stubbornly. "And I will not accept sub-par."

He just shook his head a little, a small smile on his face as he approached the car door, opening it for her. "Come on. Let's go find something interesting to do."

"Yeah, alright," she chuckled, getting in without another word about work. She didn't want to taint their vacation time with the job. It would only bring up very recent and painful memories, some of which still polluted her mind when something moved just right in the corner of her eye.

He was careful around her in ways he had never been before. He had always been more protective of her after something had happened, but this was different. He was calculating, careful. Kept her distracted, entertained, busy, kept her mind occupied. Every sentence was filtered around her, like it had been when they first met, but now for entirely different reasons. He had spent too long in luxury while she was in hell.

It was his duty to protect her. That was how they'd begun and he'd never let it drop when he could help it. She would be safe.

* * *

It was a couple of days later, sitting on the patio out back of a fairly average restaurant, that anything notable really happened. Their waiter, who Lorna assumed also owned the restaurant, was a fat, balding man who had never heard a word on the subject of manners in his entire life. He _stared_ at her, eyes lingering on the old, rough scars and the smoother, pinker skin, which covered both her arms now. India was far too warm during this time of year to allow for long sleeves, so she was stuck looking like the burn victim she sort of was. But the staring was making her uncomfortable. Already she'd been put on edge by the big dog curled up under the table of a nearby couple - anything above the size of a sheepdog raised her hackles now, despite her former love of big, furry creatures.

Moran had known the man was going to be a problem almost immediately. He kept watching Lorna, and not for the reasons men had used to stare. It gave him an odd pang for when jealousy was the worst of his worries.

The fourth time the man gave Lorna a long, sweeping gaze, Moran stood, his hulking excess of two meters easily dwarfing the other man.

"Stop staring at her," he said calmly, eyes deadly. "Or I will make you pay for the show you apparently think this is, and you will not like the price."

Both the man and Lorna jumped, though the former more than the latter, and a few tables looked over to see what the commotion was. Their waiter obviously considered talking back for a moment, then processed exactly just how much of a threat Moran was, spat on the ground with a muttered " _Tourist freaks,_ " and left. Considering that a young woman in an apron ran over a few minutes later, looking very apologetic and polite, it appeared they'd just undergone a waiter change.

"I sincerely apologize for my colleague's behavior, he is not so good with... anyone different than himself," the woman gave a strained smile, hastily pulling out a notepad from her apron. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"No," Moran said calmly. He had regained his seat and was meeting her gaze politely, enjoying the way she was struggling to keep her eyes off the words engraved into his skin. "I want our waiter back, please. I want him to come apologize."

"I'm sorry, sir, he's gone on break-"

"Fascinating. Perhaps you should get him."

The woman looked flustered. "Sir, I ca-"

" _Now_ ," he growled, in a voice that did not broker argument. She scurried off, looking pale, and he made a mental note to leave her an excellent tip.

"Why did you bring him _back?"_ Lorna sighed, glancing towards the doors anxiously. Sending him away had been great. Seeing him again? Eh.

"Because I want him to apologize," he said calmly. He stood as the man reentered, walking over. The restaurant was watching, but he didn't care.

The man looked a mix of indignant and nervous, uncertain of how to handle the situation. It was clear he was mostly bluster, certain of himself until he actually encountered a confrontation. Moran gave him a cold smile. "I've realized that I never gave you time to apologize, which I know you must be _eager_ to do, given what an ass you just made of yourself."

The man paled with anger and fear simultaneously, scrambling for a moment before sizing Moran up again and giving a slight, jerky nod. Moran smiled, reaching out and wrapping a tight arm around the man's shoulder, forcibly guiding him toward the table.

The man absolutely refused to look at her as he approached, which she was glad about; the last thing she wanted was another long stare. When Moran stopped, effectively braking the shorter man, he cleared his throat a little.

"I.. I'm sorry," he forced out, through what looked like his teeth.

"Excellent," Moran said, smiling and patting the man on the shoulder, instantly cheerful in a way that suggested he was moments away from lethality. His voice dropped then to just above a murmur. "Now get lost. And inform whoever is in charge- I'm assuming an idiot like yourself isn't running this establishment- that you will be paying for whatever we decide to order out of your paycheck. _Go._ " He dropped his arm from around the man's shoulder, hands going to the pockets of his trousers cheerfully as he watched the man scurry off.

She took a sip from her water as the scene died down, most people returning to their food with only a few more glances their way. "Well, now everybody in this restaurant can describe our highly-memorable faces."

"True," he admitted, shrugging a little. "Shouldn't be too much of an issue though, they side with us," he said, glancing around at the general atmosphere. "And... all tourists. Not a locally popular restaurant. Wonder why?" he asked sarcastically.

The man's wallet dug into his thigh slightly and he smirked. He almost surely had an address, now it was just a matter of biding his time.

She gave a dry chuckle. "Alright, as long as the security chief doesn't think it's a problem, I'll relax. Now, let's order a shitload of food for leftovers, yeah?"

He grinned at her, and started scanning for the most expensive thing on the menu.

* * *

He didn't dare make his move for a few days. A few days of careful planning, and setting the man up. He orchestrated confrontation after confrontation for his victim, blurring his own dispute in a web of cross words and near-brawls, and one fist-fight with a homeless man.

When the man came home the evening of the third day, Moran was waiting.

The man didn't notice the hulking Brit for a second in the dim light, but as soon as he fully saw him, he jumped, backpedaling towards the door.

Moran cut him off easily, letting out a quiet laugh. "Hello, Adeo," he said, turning on the light near the door. "Remember me?"

"Yes," he said fearfully, a flop sweat appearing as a shine on his forehead. "What do you want? Money? I can get you money!"

He rolled his eyes. "Please. I have more money than I know what to do with." He started walking forward.

He grew more afraid, backing up into the nearest wall, eyes wide. "What- What do you want, then!?"

"Simple," he said, smiling and reaching into his pocket with his gloved hand. The man flinched, but he simply held out a pen he'd picked up from the man's desk. "I want you to write a letter."

He looked less afraid now, but still very wary. "Okay," he hedged nervously. "What do you want me to write?"

"An apology," he said casually, leaning against the only door out. "Not for the restaurant, no. No, I want you to write this for being a shitty human being in general. Don't mention anything specifically. Just lament your own miserable existence for a few lines. I'll proof-read." He gave a toothy smile.

"Alright, alright, whatever you want!" He shook his head, turning to brace the paper against the wall and start to scribble down a few sentences.

He smiled, watching the man write, checking that nothing in any way hinted to his situation. "Good," he said, nodding in approval and slipping the other item out of his pocket- a knife, sharp, fresh from the man's kitchenette. He stepped forward as the man finished, grabbing him from behind gently but firmly, the knife shifting to his throat. "Now, don't struggle, and this will be easier," he soothed gently.

He did struggle, of course, as they all inevitably did, and he tried flailing behind him with the pen, obviously going for Moran's eyes, grunting with effort.

He slit the man's throat at a careful angle with very limited force, as if the waiter were killing himself. The man slumped, and he carefully placed the knife in his now-slackened hand. He took a few minutes to scan for any sign of his interference, and then left without a trace.

* * *

It was by coincidence that she happened to turn the television to the news later that night after a vigorous round of sex on the balcony, and was greeted by the face of their dead waiter, accompanied by a headline declaring suicide. Must have been a slow news night to be running this. "Sebastian?" She called curiously, turning towards the bathroom, where she could hear the sink running. "When have you had the time to fake someone's suicide?"

He looked over his shoulder through the bathroom door, toothbrush in his mouth. "Uh ah ou alkin' a'out?"

"Our ex-waiter is dead. The rude one, who stared at me in the not fun way," she clarified, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Oh 'eally?" he asked, feigning surprise. He spat into the sink, rinsing his toothbrush. "Serves him right. Suicide, you said?"

She rolled her eyes. "Four days after that incident and he dies? No way, that's not a coincidence. I'm not _mad,_ you know. Irritated I wasn't clued in, maybe."

He shrugged a little, putting his toothbrush back in his travel bag. "I just... It's been a while," he said finally, pushing a hand through his short hair. "And he got on my nerves. I didn't figure you would want to be doing much in the way of violence at the moment. You've had a hell of a few months."

"Yeah, no, I've had my fill of fighting for a while," she sighed in agreement, rubbing her eyes, "Just let me know these things, yeah? What's the point of a romantic murder if you don't tell anyone about it?"

He rolled his eyes, walking over to kiss her forehead. "Sentences like that are why I keep you around," he snorted with a smirk.

"I'm a _delight,_ and you know it," she grinned, settling back down in bed and reaching for the remote so she could turn the tv off.

He walked over to lay back next to her. "How're you feeling?" he asked, glancing at the leg that was wrapped carefully in bandages.

"It hurts, but so do three other things, so it's not a big deal," she shrugged, shifting a little to get under the covers. "I spent a couple months in constant pain; a little abrasion isn't something I'll cry about."

He nodded, though his eyes tightened slightly. "Do you need anything?"

"Sake," she said after a slight pause, smiling slightly. "I have a hankering for it. I don't know if they even sell it here."

He laughed, leaning down to press a surprisingly gentle kiss to her forehead before straightening. "I'll go find some. Back in a bit."

She laughed too, out of surprise that he was even taking her seriously. "Alright. Don't worry if you can't find it, I'll survive on something else."

He nodded, grabbing his jacket to cover his shoulder holster. "Okay. I might just see if the hotel bar has something, or that package store down the block. Anything else that would suit your fancy?"

"Gummy bears," she chuckled, giving him a warm smile. "Just bury me in junk food."

He rolled his eyes but grinned. "I'll be back."

* * *

He was, twenty minutes later, carrying three full grocery bags and flopping them down on the bed next to her. "Alright. I've got cheesy puffs, reeses, various crisps," he said absently, tossing them on top of her playfully but carefully. " _Curry_ crisps, thought those might be interesting, a strange hat-" he stuck the miniature sombrero on top of her head- "Don't ask me why, it was a very strange pound store. I could not find sake, but I did get the requested gummy bears, and vodka, to make said gummy bears more interesting."

"I'll take it," she laughed, shaking off the tiny hat and picking up the gummy bears, cheese puffs, and the vodka. This would give her some distraction from the various aches and pains. "C'mon, let's get me just under drunk enough to thin my blood."

He smirked, grabbing a bowl from the kitchenette and dumping some gummy bears in, along with some of the vodka.

"Thank you for getting all this," she said, moving to sit with her back against the headboard. "It's stupid... but it means something."

He scoffed. "You thank me yet you toss my tiny hat gift away," he snorted.

She picked it up from where it was laying beside her and held it up so he could see it. "I didn't toss it away. It's right here, relax."

"Mhm, a likely story," he frowned, but his eyes are amused. "Just eat your fucking vodka bears."

"Yeah, yeah, on it," she rolled her eyes, chuckling and popping a few bears into her mouth. This was nice. Simple, quiet.

"Budge over," he said, shifting into bed beside her, sweeping aside a few packages of crisps and reaching for a bear.

She leaned against his shoulder, reaching to grab the bottle of vodka, taking a swig and then eating a few more gummy bears. "This is a good vacation."

He nodded in agreement, kissing her ear gently. "That it is," he murmured. He reached out to pick up her arm gently, studying the first patch that the doctor had tested the dermabrasion on. It was healing well, smooth, looking like freshly scrubbed skin.

"It's weird having a patch of skin on me that isn't ridged or bumpy or warped," she commented, chewing thoughtfully on her candy as she observed her arm with him. "It's a trip in the shower, let me tell you."

He held her a bit tighter without really meaning to at that. "Well, soon that will be everywhere."

"Thank you for that," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder for the moment.

"Of course," he said, nodding a little. "What else was I going to get you for Christmas? They were out of decent toasters."

"Not that I'd need one, considering you already have a perfectly good toaster," she smirked, her tone teasing.

"That's my toaster," he shot back with a small smirk. "No grifters allowed. You lot set things aflame too often."

She laughed. "Oh, come on, I can't be held responsible for the hot glue incidents. I never set a fire while I was a peon."

"Still, the risk is just too high. If you want to use it you have to buy toaster insurance," he deadpanned.

"There's no such thing," she said incredulously, pulling back from leaning on him to give him a look. "No one needs _that!"_

"Absolutely they do," he snorted. "I need insurance that if you set fire to my toaster that you will make it very much worth my while."

"And what insurance would make that worthwhile for you?" She scoffed, raising her eyebrows at him.

He smirked. "I could think of a few things."

She rolled her eyes, not buying into that. "Yeah? Like what?"

"If you break my toaster, you have to wear jeans of varying assortments for two weeks," he decided.

She laughed, leaning against him again. "Alright, but they're all pretty similar."

"To you, maybe," he smirked, wrapping his arm around her waist again.

"My ass can't look _that_ different in differing pairs of jeans," she argued, without any real effort.

"I intend to experiment," he retorted, nipping her ear gently.

She chuckled, resting her bony cheek on his well-muscled shoulder. She was thankful that only one of them was a physical mess this time.

He pulled the blanket up around her shoulders absently. "Get some sleep."

She nodded a little, only just realizing how tired she was. She shifted a little, and curled up next to him. She fell asleep in a hot minute.

He watched her as she drifted off, and smiled just a little.

 _When did you go soft, Moran?_

He sighed, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

She woke up the next morning, a bag of chips crushed under her shoulder. She sighed, shifting away from it and more into Sebastian, slitting her eyes against the rays of light coming in from the window. Brighter than anything in London, that was for sure.

He pulled her closer a bit absently, waking up halfway but remaining that way for a while before sighing and coming fully into awareness. "Morning," he mumbled.

"Hey," she yawned, then gave a content sigh. Her skin hurt, and her joints ached a little, but otherwise she felt pretty good. It was nice, knowing that he wasn't going to leave to go work. "What time is it? Do we have to get up for our appointment today any time soon?"

He fumbled around for his phone for a moment, glancing at the time blearily. "Not for a few hours," he murmured, dropping it again and burrowing under the covers.

"Good," she muttered, curling up tighter against his side. The previous day's murder was completely forgotten.

They just lay there for a while, relaxing, but eventually the dull headache behind his eyes informed him it was time for caffeine. "What do you want for breakfast?" he asked, disentangling himself groggily.

She grumbled as he withdrew, cracking her eyes open to look at him. "I don't care. _Protein._ Other than that, whatever."

He nodded a little, pulling on trousers and a thin shirt to combat the heat, despite the fact that it was still morning. "I'm going to go to that cafe down the road with the good coffee. Want anything special?"

"Make that coffee as fattening as you possibly can," she mumbled, moving over into his spot, barely fighting back a doze.

"Noted," he said with a small nod, heading out the door.

He acquired the food and coffee without incident, and was on his way back to the hotel when it happened. He was crossing with the light, eyes on a tall man across the street who was blatantly staring at his scars when he heard the screech of tires as something came flying around the corner. There was a louder squeal, brakes this time, as that something did its best to stop. He was mid-turn to see when the moped plowed headlong into him, knocking him several feet down the street. His head cracked into the asphalt, and for the moment, he decided he was just going to stay there.

She heard the commotion outside, and it prevented her from falling asleep any further. She got up, half expecting to see Sebastian already sitting at the small table near the balcony, and shuffled over, stepping outside and leaning over the railing to see what had happened. The moped on its side and the small crowd gathered around it and a person on their back made it clear what had happened. She froze when she realized that the person on their back was Moran.

When he came to a few seconds later, a crowd was gathering. Someone was kneeling next to him, telling him to stay still, but he did a quick evaluation and decided he'd had worse, sitting up slowly despite someone trying to keep him down. His head was pounding, but he ignored it, looking over himself.

His eyes fixed on his left arm.

The entirety of the bottom of his forearm was bloody, evidently where he had caught himself in the fall. The skin was either raw or torn away completely, but that wasn't what made his stomach twist.

His words were obliterated.

* * *

Playlist: LOLO - Hit And Run


	96. Separate But Whole

Lorna threw on whichever clothes she came across first, not bothering to check if they matched or were even hers; once she was out of the room and running as fast as she could manage in her current state down the stairs, she realized that the shirt she'd dragged on was actually Sebastian's. _Oh, Christ, he better be okay._

* * *

He reached out with external calm to touch the wound, ignoring the pain and blood, and the gravel and dirt embedded in his raw flesh.

His _words..._

They stopped at the edge of the wound, a ragged hole ripped through them, incomplete...

His heart was pounding so fast that he was lightheaded. The words had been broken, he was going to fall apart, the darkness was going to find him and he was going to be ripped into pieces-

He dug his finger feverishly into the bloody mess, trying desperately to put his words back into place.

She elbowed her way through the crowd, falling to her knees beside Sebastian - his eyes were desperate, focused on his arm, an empty fear present that she recognized. Her gaze darted to his arm, to his frantic scraping, and she took hold of his good wrist. "Sebastian, look at me. Look at me. You're okay. You've got the words, alright? Look at me, Seb."

His head snapped up to look at her, but it was just a distraction from his work, an obstruction. He pulled his hand away and picked up a stick, deciding that that would work better than his finger.

Members of the crowd were muttering in disgust and fascination. The rider of the moped was a few feet away, watching with wide eyes. "God... what the hell is wrong with him?" he asked in accented English.

She absently yanked the stick out of his hand, the majority of her attention locked onto the driver, fury in her eyes. "What's wrong with _him?_ You have the gall to ask that after _you_ crashed into him?" she snarled, practically bristling. She glanced at the license plate of the scooter for a moment, committing it to memory, mentally shooting him to the top of her shit list. But not now, not in front of these people, not when Sebastian needed her. She returned her attention to him, sliding an arm under his shoulders. "Alright, Seb, c'mon, let's get up. I'm going to need your help here, I can't pick you up."

He stood with her slowly, glancing at her with a touch more comprehension, though he was still confused. "Lorna...?"

"Yeah, Tiger, it's me," she said, her free hand touching his cheek briefly, before she was tugging at him again. "Now c'mon, let's get you off the street. I'll dress your arm inside."

He paused, looking back at the street and walking towards the place where he'd fallen, not bothering to shake her grip. "Hang on, I lost... I need my words..." He sounded confused, frustrated.

She felt tears sting at her eyes, pain welling in her chest as she tried to grasp that this was still a problem for him, that he couldn't be free of it. "No, Seb, they're- they're in the room, okay? You just left them there," she pleaded, tugging him again. It was like pulling at a boulder. "We'll put them back on, I promise."

He glanced at her, and between his warring to get a grasp on reality and his panic about the missing words, there was trust. He nodded just slightly, slowly relenting and following after her, starting to mutter his words under his breath to tide himself over.

The crowd parted in front of them, and she didn't look at anybody as she led him back into the hotel, carefully shielding his arm from the receptionist. Once they were back in the room, she guided him to the nearest chair. "Let me get the medical kit, okay?"

He nodded just a little, looking around and picking up a pen, starting to try to write the words back onto his injury.

She retrieved the kit from the bathroom and knelt in front of him with it, prying the pen back out of his hand and frowning down at the injury. "Alright, we gotta wash this out, okay? God knows what's gotten in there," she sighed, gently getting him back to his feet and guiding him towards the bathroom.

He let her take the pen, and nodded just a little, walking quietly with her. He was taking in their surroundings slowly. He didn't speak as she washed his arm out, just stood there, apparently oblivious to the pain. Then he said quietly "I dropped the coffee."

"It's okay, I can go get more if you want it," she murmured, turning off the water and grabbing a towel to gently pat dry his arm. "Let's get this wrapped up, first, okay?"

He nodded, studying his arm quietly as he followed her. "They'll come back," he said quietly.

"I'm sure they will," she agreed, sitting him down again and resuming the kneeling position in front of him. She took his arm and the roll of linen and carefully began wrapping the bloody mess. "What happened out there?"

He was still until she started the bandaging, and then he pulled his arm away, twisting his body to put it between his arm and her, looking a mix between incensed and betrayed for a half second. Then he closed his eyes, taking a couple of breaths as he evaluated the situation.

 _Pull yourself together, Moran... You're in India. You haven't been in that hole for a long time. Lorna will help._

Slowly, deliberately, he returned his arm to her reach. He focused on her question as she took his arm, trying to distract himself. "Just some idiot on a moped," he said quietly. "Came screaming around the corner. I didn't have time to get out of the way."

She grit her teeth in renewed anger, which she had to stuff down in order to give Sebastian the attention he needed right now. She ignored his moment where he reverted to the man she'd pulled out of that hole; she could see him fighting it, and that was all that mattered right now. "I'm glad you weren't hurt worse," she said quietly, finishing wrapping him up and securing the bandage.

He forced a smile. "Takes more than that to take me out. Christ, can you imagine- The great Sebastian Moran, killed by a moped."

"Your head okay? Did you hit it?" She asked, unable to joke for the moment, absentmindedly shutting the med kit.

He reached up to touch the sore spot on the back of his head. He found a bunch of sand and some gravel embedded in his skin, and brushed it out. There was a hell of a lump forming, though he didn't really feel it at the moment. "I hit it. Blacked out for a few seconds. I think I'll be alright, though."

"I'll call down and ask for some ice, anyways," she said, rising to her feet and stepping around him to pick up the phone by the side of the bed. "And I'm willing to pay them an exorbitant amount of money to get replacement coffee."

He nodded, putting his head in his good hand and rubbing at his eyes a little. What would have happened if she hadn't shown up? He didn't even know how she'd known what had happened. Would he have killed someone?

She finished the phone call in a moment, hanging up the corded phone with a quiet click. Then she walked out of the room to the kitchenette and filled up a glass with water, which she brought back to him. "Here, have something to drink. Hydration always makes you feel better."

"Booze might be better," he said, though he accepted the cup and took a sip. His hands were shaking just slightly. "How did you find me so fast?"

"I heard a crash, and then a little yelling. I'm a sucker for car crashes," she shrugged, sitting next to him. "You were pretty easy to spot amongst all the people who aren't the Aryan dream man."

He nodded, but that made him nauseous and he made a note not to do that again. He took a few more sips of water before he said, "I wasn't expecting that to happen."

"I don't think anyone ever expects to be hit by a moped out of the middle of nowhere," she sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Not what I meant," he said quietly. He realized he was tracing his words over the bandage and pulled his hand away, clenching his fist.

"Oh," she murmured, fingers squeezing his shoulder softly. "Is there anything I can do?"

He laughed a little, leaning back in the chair. "Go back in time and kill my sister before we ever meet her?" he suggested, lifting a hand to put over hers.

She smiled slightly, but that brought up too many scary memories and she was too worried about him to find it very funny. "I wish I could, believe me."

He glanced at her, and caught that he'd poked a sore spot. He sighed, reaching out to pull her into his chest with his good arm. "Sorry. Shouldn't have said that."

She gave another small smile, leaning into him a little. "It's fine. I need to get over it, I shouldn't be so sensitive about it."

"You're right. You're so sensitive. You should be a big strong tough guy like me," he teased, rubbing her shoulder a little. "Then you can completely lose your ability to think rationally when you get a little road burn."

She elbowed him a little, rolling her eyes. "We went through vastly different things, Sebastian. Different shit does different things to us."

"Not what I meant," he muttered, standing out of the chair and heading for the couch so that she didn't have to sit on the floor. "What you went through is just as bad, arguably worse. You have a right to be 'sensitive'."

"And I just spent a year in a labyrinth with rabid animals, heroin, and Jim. I don't know how many times they put my guts back in, Sebastian," she said faintly, her throat closing up. "I was more reckless once I thought you were on their side. What did it matter, right? But they just wouldn't let me _die._ " She paused for a moment, breath hitching a little. "I should be over what happened before that. I _need_ to be."

He pulled her into his arms, taking a deep breath. "You don't _need_ to be anything right now," he said softly. "It's fine to be however you are, alright?" He felt like an idiot. Here he was panicking over something that had happened ages ago, while she was still healing from wounds of a few weeks prior.

She didn't say anything else, just fell silent and shut her eyes, trying to take steady breaths. What a broken couple of people they were.

He held her for a while, keeping her close, eyes closed. He could remember every time he'd seen her be gouged open, clawed apart over the course of those months. He knew exactly how many times they had stitched her back together, had seen her flatline, had screamed at her through the glass to _wake up, come on, get that heart beating, dammit_ -

"You matter," he finally said, voice abnormally soft. "I know that the circumstances were... But you matter. Without me. _Especially_ without me."

"Out here, maybe," she whispered, head resting against his collarbone, the familiar thump of his heart beating under her ear. "In there, I didn't. Nothing did. But I'm not in there anymore. That's all that matters, right?"

"Yes," he said with a nod. "As long as that's all that matters to you, then that's all that matters."

Somewhere in the back of his mind the words were droning on and on, like a song stuck in his head. They made an eerie background for the memories flashing through his mind, and he opened his eyes again, reminding himself that they were in India. Sunny India, where it was warm and the food was good, and his sister and Mycroft Holmes were miles and miles away.

And Lorna was here. Safe. Where she belonged.

He wondered absently when she had started belonging there, but it had been a long time ago, either way.

She shifted a little to slide her hand into his, careful to avoid brushing the bandage. She was grateful to be with him again, that she could trust him after all, and she was relieved that Mycroft hadn't put him through anything more terrible than watching the two of them suffer. His old wounds were bad enough. She didn't want them to get any worse, not if she could do anything about it.

He gripped her hand gently, getting lost in thought staring at the far wall.

"Don't let me give you any bullshit about the arm," he asked quietly. "I wouldn't ask but... I don't trust myself that far."

She nodded a little. "Do you want it to heal up without any... additions?"

He was quiet for a long time, until he wasn't sure whether he was actually going to answer or not. Finally he said, "Yes. It's time I... high time I get over this."

She squeezed his hand a little, supportive. That was a big step for him. Those words had been the only thing to get him through a nightmare-worthy time; beginning to let them go was huge. "Okay," she murmured. "I'll support you as best I can."

He nodded just slightly. He was done with this being a weakness. Done needing a fucking security blanket. He couldn't protect Lorna or Jim like he needed to if he was this... _weak._

"I love you," she murmured, brushing her thumb over the back of his hand, skimming over his knuckles. "Take your time with this. Don't push yourself."

He nodded just a little, then winced again, sighing. "Give me a moment," he said, shifting her gently. "I need painkillers."

"Okay," she nodded, as there was a knock at the door. "You get those, I'll get the replacement food and ice."

He nodded, standing carefully and heading for the bathroom, doing his best to walk a straight line despite the vertigo.

She kept her eyes on him as she passed him, opening the door and taking the things offered before she shut the door again on the receptionist's face. "Seb, do me a favor and sit down. You might have a concussion."

"I'm fine," he muttered, putting a hand on the wall and walking better after that, heading into the bathroom. "Probably do, but not badly."

She followed him into the bathroom, intercepting him and directing him towards the toilet, pressing a cup of coffee into his hand. The other was in her hand, and a bag of ice was tucked under one arm and a bag of breakfast food in the other. "Sit! If you fall and get more concussed I'm going to have to take you to the hospital."

He sighed but didn't argue, leaning against the wall next to the toilet tiredly. "Let's eat breakfast," he suggested, watching as she juggled things and reaching out to take the ice from her.

"Good idea," she agreed, grabbing the bottle of painkillers and crossing back to hand him the bottle. "Knock some of those back first."

He took them in hand, avoiding the urge to nod, and poured five into his hand, putting them down dry.

"You have coffee right there, don't swallow those things dry," she rolled her eyes. "You'll burn a hole through your esophagus. Whatever. Let's get you back into bed and then we can eat like pigs."

He picked up his coffee, taking a chaser sip, and grunted in agreement, standing carefully.

She hovered only a little, one of her hands still occupied with the bag of food. She relaxed as he sat, sinking down beside him and leaning ever so slightly against his shoulder, just for the contact, and started digging through the large bag. "What do you want? I think there's one of everything."

He laughed a little. "Just give me one of those almond pastry things, yeah?" he asked, not feeling up for much beyond that.

"Okay," she chuckled, pulling out what he'd asked for and handing it to him with a crinkle of wax paper, then she retrieved a bagel for herself. Her mind wandered back to the arsehole on the moped. How would she kill him?

He ate quietly, just relaxing. What a mess all of his was... He needed to make sure that Jim never found out about this morning's incident. It would be less than ideal.

"You know, I don't think either of us has gotten an injury so mundane in years," she commented when she was halfway through with her bagel, and took a sip of coffee. "It's _almost_ novel."

He nodded a little. "It's nice for life to fuck me for once, rather than some idiot with a vendetta. Or worse, a genius with one."

"Yeah, I've really had enough of those," she murmured, her head cycling through the various bastards who had hurt them, without being asked.

He nodded just a little, pulling her against his side a bit more. "Your appointment's in an hour..."

"You should probably stay here today. Rest, let your brain recover from being knocked so rudely," she suggested, though there was a sort of edge to her voice that hinted that it was less of a suggestion and more of an order. "I'll text you every ten minutes, if you want."

He glanced at the window. "I might be fine. We'll see how I am, if I'm alright I'll go with you."

She gave a slight nod, glancing at the bandage on his arm. It didn't look like he was bleeding through, but she wasn't sure whether or not that was her chief concern anyway. He had hit his head rather hard, and she didn't want him to hit it again. Concussions could take a long time to heal, and they only had a month to themselves before Jim would demand their services again. This was supposed to be a healing time, not more time to be hurt in. "Alright. Don't push yourself."

That was a fruitless request and they both knew it, but he decided not to bring it up. He didn't want her going to the appointment alone. That was paramount.

She had the feeling that she was going to have to fight to get him to take care of himself a little, but she was used to fighting him about those sort of things, so it wasn't that big of a deal. At least she was fucked up enough that he couldn't possibly take it as a threat.

He finished his pastry and just sat there, drinking his coffee slowly. It was good, but not worth the hassle.

The time went by slowly, but she didn't mind. A half hour before the appointment, she turned her head to look at him. "Can you walk in a straight line?"

He nodded confidently- a move he'd planned, though it sent aches rolling down his neck- And stood. "I'm-" At which point he promptly pitched sideways, managing to catch himself on the bed post. "I'm fine. Just stood up too fast. Give me a moment."

She let out a patient sigh. "Sebastian, I don't want to take you out onto the street just for you to hit your head again. What if it gets worse and you aren't better by the time we get back? Give yourself a few days to heal, okay?"

He sighed. "Then postpone your appointment until tomorrow?" he asked finally.

"It's not going to kill me to go by myself for one day," she said gently, abruptly realizing just how little time they spent apart these days. It didn't really bother her. "I promise I'll come right back. I'll do a short session. But it seems like a waste to reschedule."

He grit his teeth just slightly, but didn't let her see the concern, looking away and nodding just slightly. "Okay. Fine."

She knew that it bothered him, but addressing that too much would just bother him more. So she reached out to squeeze his hand, then got up to get ready to leave.

He watched her get ready to go. "Turn on the GPS on your phone," he said quietly as she headed for the door.

"Alright," she agreed, pulling out her phone as she reached the door and doing as he asked. Anybody who didn't know their situation would have assumed that their relationship was extremely unhealthy, but this was the safest thing for her to do. She opened the door. "Alright, see you soon."

He nodded. "Let me know when you'll be back, so I know," he added, before laying back and closing his eyes. His head was pounding.

She made a noise of confirmation and then stepped out the door, giving him one last look over her shoulder, just to check to see if he looked like he was in pain. On the way to the clinic, she searched the man's license plate.

He wanted to sleep, but found that he couldn't while she was out. It was pathetic, really. But he'd been careful not to let her out of his sight since he'd gotten her back, except when she was somewhere he deemed to be relatively safe.

She and Jim had gone missing in less than ten minutes, at a party. Anything was possible.

 _Doing alright? -SM_

She was just walking into the clinic when she got his text.

 _Yeah, I'm good. You should be resting, though. LH_

 _You're hilarious. Keep checking in. -SM_

He stared at the ceiling in quiet contemplation, waiting.

And she did, every five or so minutes, glad that they weren't doing her arms today so she could text normally. When she was leaving again, stepping out onto the street and pulling out her phone to tell him so, she looked up and came face to face with Irene Adler.

Irene saw the recognition in the other woman's eyes, and gave her a once-over, before her own eyes widened slightly. "Why... Lorna Harrison... Fancy meeting you here..." she hummed, glancing at the building the woman was coming out of and smirking at the sign. "Getting a little spa treatment, I see."

She couldn't help reddening a little, pointless embarrassment seeping into her chest as Irene saw where she'd come from. This was only the second time she'd ever met Adler in the flesh, so she must have made some waves if Irene still knew who she was, after all the time and damage. "Adler," she said, sharply, not willing to play the grifting game with this woman. It would be pointless, trying to out-charm one another. "I thought you were off somewhere in the middle east, getting beheaded for whoring your way across the continent. Did your precious curly-haired boyfriend get you out of that?"

She laughed, letting her attention drift back to Lorna. "And still as blunt as ever. I had the Virgin get me out, yes. No reason not to. Though I'm not certain why you're being so _hostile_... Your boss and I parted on good terms. Something, it seems, that can't be said for you..."

"If by parting on good terms you mean fleeing the country because you leaked a few years' worth of information on a gamble, then yes, you parted on good terms," she snorted, arching a skeptical eyebrow at the woman, who was about an inch shorter than her in flats. "You have a habit of making those gambles. Forgive me if I don't want you to gamble around _me."_

She shrugged. "Nothing to forgive. It isn't like I was trying to work with your network again anyway- I didn't want to in the first place. Networks are too dangerous. You stay in one spot for too long. People get _hurt..._ " She looked pointedly at Lorna's scars.

Her fingers twitched, just a little, her hand aching to form into a fist. Instead she just smiled, the cold, chilled-to-the-bone smile she gave people before she gutted them. "You're _right,_ Irene, they _do_ get hurt. How very _astute_ of you..."

She seemed unphased, eyes still wandering over Lorna's various wounds. "At worst you end up dead, at best... disfigured... Not the life for me." She finally found Lorna's gaze and smiled. "Well, got to run. I've got a client all tied up in knots waiting for me. Do tell that good-looking boy of yours hello, would you? I heard the two of you were together... so _sweet_..." She turned and headed down the street.

Her hand flexed around her phone, the urge to follow and kick the living shit out of the woman overwhelming for a good moment. Stuffing down her rage, she opened up her phone again, her jaw grit.

 _On my way back. Have the booze out. LH_

He had managed to doze off, and started awake at the text, reading over it carefully.

 _You alright? -SM_

He stood carefully, a hand on the wall as he balanced himself and headed for the liquor cabinet.

 _I'm fine. I'll explain when I get there. LH_ was all she sent in return, deciding it was best to walk it off before she explained what she was on about. She wasn't sure he'd understand her fury.

She was back at the room in less than ten minutes, opening the door with the key card and just barely stopping herself from slamming it behind her in case Sebastian was sensitive to sound right now. She zeroed in on the liquor bottle on the small table, and crossed the room to pick it up, quickly unscrewing the cap. "I just ran into Irene Adler."

He frowned, pushing himself into a sitting position. "Where? Did she seem to be working for anyone?" He was immediately running through the various contingency plans he had for exiting the country.

"Right outside the clinic," she sighed, lifting up the bottle and taking a swig. "She didn't even recognize me for a moment. And we both know Irene has her uses, but she's not a real grifter. She doesn't act. She didn't expect to see me."

He nodded just a little. "That's good, at least." He glanced at the bottle. "I take it it wasn't a friendly discussion."

"Neither of us were happy to see the other," she agreed in a mutter, taking another sip of vodka and setting the bottle down.

He sighed, standing very carefully and walking over. "It's just Adler. What's got you so riled?"

"For a while, Adler was the biggest threat to my job security out of everyone in Jim's web. She could have made a good run for her money at my position if she'd had a mind to, and I'm sure she knows that. But she never wanted to surpass the level of contractor, and then she left the web entirely." While Irene hadn't been a grifter, she would have made a decent manager for them. She sighed, shaking her head. "She's a security risk that shouldn't even exist. She knows Jim's name, doesn't she? Why is she alive, if she's loose in the world? And she made a few cracks at my appearance, so that didn't help things..."

He put his hand on her shoulder with a sigh. "She's alive because Jim thinks she'll be useful," he said calmly. "And she was never a threat to your job, not really. She can't grift. Never could."

She sighed, nodding a little. "God knows she can't lie to save her life, not when it counts. I can't imagine what Jim would want her for, honestly. It must have something to do with the younger Holmes."

He nodded. "She's his weakness. Sherlock's, that is. And that's in Jim's interest." He sat down next to her, eyeing the vodka longingly but leaving it along for the sake of his head.

"You don't think she could be with anyone, do you?" She asked after a moment, raising her eyebrows at him just a little. "I don't want any surprises..."

"How am I supposed to know that, exactly?" he asked with a snort. "All I know is what you've told me."

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I'm only asking you for your thoughts on the matter. You know more about her than I do."

He sighed. "She's a drifter. The plankton of the criminal world. Necessary for enough people's peace of mind that she doesn't end up dead."

"Fuck, you're right," she muttered, grimacing a little. "I was thinking about killing her. Forgot that she has the potential to release a _lot_ of sensitive information."

He nodded. "I think, unless she's a threat to us, that we should just leave her be."

She nodded a little back at him, though she didn't look exactly pleased about it. "Yeah, okay. But I can't promise not to pick a fight if she shows up again."

He rolled his eyes. "Please don't make me have to babysit you. We're on vacation. Let's not make problems for ourselves."

"Sebastian, you did kill a man the other day for looking at me wrong," she snorted, capping the vodka again.

"'Looking at you wrong' hardly encompassed his crime," he snorted imperiously.

"And Irene was snide," she retorted, folding her arms over her chest. "But I can't kill _her."_

"We won't get much trouble from the family or effects of a dead waiter," he snorted. "But _Adler_... That's a pile of shit we very much do not want to step in."

"I know," she muttered, "But I'm still going to bitch about it anyway, if you don't mind. I forgot how unpleasant it is to have somebody around you're not allowed to kill."

He chuckled. "Believe me, I understand," he sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

She glanced over at him, concern entering her eyes again. "How are you feeling?"

He waved her off. "Fine. Sore, that's all." He didn't want her worrying over him. She had her own concerns.

"Your vision is fine, and all that? I'm worried you might have a concussion," she said quietly, raising her eyebrows at him just a little.

"Yes, you have expressed that concern once or twice," he said with a touch of sarcasm. "I'm _fine_ , Harrison. Honestly."

"Okay, just checking," she placated, getting up and moving to sit next to him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "Scared the shit out of me, that's all. Plus, it's nice having someone else to worry about other than Jim."

He smirked, wrapping his arm around her. "When do you ever worry about him, anyway?"

She rolled her eyes, giving a tired laugh. "I worried about him for the twelve months I was trapped in hell with him, that's for damn sure. Differing states of worry, but worry nonetheless."

He nodded just a little, sighing and closing his eyes. He just wanted to forget all of that.

That had been a long twelve months, and either one of them bringing it up was never any fun. But it was their most recent memory, at this point. It was hard not to think of it.

He eventually caught himself falling into silence. It was a habit he was working to break- she seemed better when she was distracted. "How was your appointment, aside from Adler?"

"Pretty unremarkable," she shrugged, leaning against him a little more. "The anesthetic is starting to wear off, but you know, it's pretty small fry compared to what I'm used to."

He nodded. Her pain tolerance was higher even than his at the moment. Maybe it would be forever. Those sort of memories were slow to fade, and twelve months of habitual agony could dull a person's senses in that area a touch. "I can get you painkillers if you need them."

She shook her head. "No, I don't need any. It stings, but I barely notice it," she murmured, sighing. "It's just a scrape, honestly."

He nodded a little, reaching for the arm where they had first started the treatment. The skin was beginning to lose the over-pink, sunburnt look it had possessed over the last few weeks. It was almost normal. Here and there there was a divot or a crease, barely visible even in the bright mid-day sun, remnants of scars too deep to remove completely. But much of it was gone, leaving behind nothing but smooth, normal skin. A freckle by her elbow that she always had - or at least had for as long as he'd known her- was gone. It felt strange, like driving through an old neighborhood and noting the absence of a favorite old restaurant. It was a small price to pay to help her feel whole again. Most anything was.

She let him examine her without any resistance, vaguely pondering over the patch of skin with him. It was interesting, seeing it. She didn't recognize it anymore. But it had been so long since it had been unblemished that she wasn't sure whether or not it was the same anyway. It didn't matter. It wasn't bumpy or ragged anymore, and that was all she cared about.

"You're alright with how this is turning out, right?" he said after a few moments, fingers tracing absent patterns on her newly unmarred skin.

"Yeah, I am," she nodded, her voice quiet, focus on his touch. It was odd to be touched without the accompanying feeling of fingers bumping across scars, however light the touch was. "It's just kinda odd, you know?"

He nodded. "I imagine it must be. I'd hate it." His fingers eventually stilled, hand curled loosely around her arm. It was even smaller (thinner, he supposed) than usual, even though she was gaining back weight. If he had wanted to, he could have easily made his fingers touch around her arm without brushing her skin.

"Well, with your circumstances I'd imagine as much," she agreed, nodding a bit. "But I dislike my scars. Getting rid of them is like a dream."

He nodded a little, turning his head and kissing whatever his lips encountered first, which turned out to be her ear. "Good."

"I love you," she murmured, reaching to interlace her fingers through his. "Thank you for this. Really."

"I love you, too," he returned, quietly. The words came easier after the twelve months they had had. He had regretted not saying them more, before.

She fell silent, content not to say anything for a bit, not while she was this content. Very idly, she wondered what Jim was up to. She had spent a year knowing what he was up to at almost all times; it was odd to have her autonomy back. She wondered how he was handling the heroin cravings.

He was quiet, too, grateful for the silence. He was naturally taciturn, and the past few weeks had been, by necessity, full of conversation.

Those twelve months had changed her, she thought. Where she had once been eager to fill up silences with idle chitchat, she now sat silently. She found that she simply didn't find talking as fulfilling as she used to. Silence was the new norm. She wasn't really sure how to get back to how she had used to be.

Eventually he decided he needed more painkillers, or at least a drink, and rubbed her arm a little as a warning before sitting up slowly.

She watched him go, just to make sure what he was doing, then closed her eyes, tired.

He took a swig of vodka, before setting it aside and considering her. "That chair can't be comfortable. I can't carry you to bed right now, so you'd better move before you fall asleep."

She groaned, but got up and dragged herself over to the bed in then next room, flopping back down without taking off her street clothes.

He came in a few minutes later. He gently removed her shoes and trousers, careful of sore skin, and then climbed into bed next to her, intent on sleeping.

Half asleep, she shifted into his side and then fell under completely. Time had not changed the fact that he put her to sleep like two Benedryls and a shot of NyQuil.

He held her close, and drifted off, finally able to relax now that she was back safely.

* * *

It was the next day when she took advantage of Sebastian's brief absence in the shower to look up the license plate of the man who had hit him, and as soon as she knew how to get to the address listed, she closed the tab and cleared her search history. Now all she had to do was find an excuse to leave for a little while, and make a pit stop. That wouldn't be hard.

His headache was slow to fade, but that, other than the occasional vertigo at first, was the only blatantly detrimental effect of the crash he noticed. His words, of course, were a separate matter entirely. As much as he tried to convince himself that the absence was fine, it still gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw the blank absence where the scars had been.

* * *

The day after that, she went for her daily treatment, and on the way home, during the time she promised to be picking up something for them to eat, she made a detour. She didn't knock on the door of the man's apartment, just unlocked the door with the key she'd had made the previous day and stepped inside. He would be home in half an hour. She waited for him on the sofa.

The man came home a few minutes early, singing along quietly with the music in his headphones, humming where he didn't know the lyrics. He fumbled for a few minutes to get the door unlocked, and then came inside, closing it behind him as he absently danced his way through hanging up his jacket and messenger bag.

He didn't notice her at first, but then paused suddenly as he registered her presence, before scrambling to remove his headphones.

"Who are you?"

She smiled, sickly sweet. "I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past. I only have the one sin to bring to your attention, though," she said, still sitting, her posture relaxed. "Do you remember your accident, two days ago?"

His eyes widened in realization. "You're the woman- get out of my flat! I'm going to phone the police!" he said, fumbling for his cell phone.

She stood, walked over to him, and dislocated his wrist. The phone clattered to the floor, and she stomped on it with her heel of the two-sizes too large boots, which she'd worn for the occasion. "Yes, I am the woman. And the man you hit is mine. You _hurt_ him, Rajesh. I don't appreciate that."

He let out a surprised cry of pain when she dislocated his wrist, snatching it back to his body and cradling it carefully, eyeing her with a mix of anger and fear. "I did not intend to hit him, he was in the middle of the road!"

"You were driving recklessly, Rajesh," she said, a scolding tone to her voice, her eyes dark and focused. "If you hadn't come around that corner at full speed, you wouldn't have hit him in the middle of the pedestrian crossing. But you _did._ And now we're here. See the path of events?"

"What are you going to do?" he asked. He tried to demand it, but he seemed to be getting a sense for exactly how much shit he had stepped in, and his voice wavered.

"I'm going to ensure that you never hurt him again, through some wildly improbable cosmic joke. I'm going to exact revenge for something that may not have happened yet," she smiled, stepping closer to him, her gloved fingers curling into the fabric of his collar. "You've made him relapse on a problem that we thought was largely gone, and I'm rather furious about it. It will make us all feel better if you simply... cease to _exist."_

She slid a knife out of her sleeve, gripped it in her hand, and neatly reached around him in a mockery of a hug to stab it into his back, the long blade grinding against his rib and then jumping in her hands as she shoved it into his heart.

He stared at her with wide eyes as his heart attempted a few stuttering beats around the intrusion. His expression was one of surprise. He hadn't planned to die just then. Hadn't accepted it yet. In his eyes were thoughts of love and children and grandchildren, weddings and funerals (not his), and old age under a flowering tree in a beautiful garden.

The thoughts died with him as he slumped forward onto her.

She left the knife buried in his back, locked the door behind her, and ditched the gloves five blocks over in a filthy creek that stank of cattle manure. She picked up the takeout she'd ordered forty-five minutes ago, and made it back to the hotel room while it was still hot.

Sebastian was cleaning his guns when she came in, and smiled eagerly at the sight of the food, standing up to grab the bag from her. "Fuck, this smells good," he muttered, setting the bag on opposite side of the table from his weapons and pulling out cartons. "I'm fucking starving."

"Me too," she grinned, sitting down at the table with a glance towards his weapons. She was glad to see it, it meant that he was in control. It was good to see him happy.

He started digging into his food immediately, one hand on the fork, the other passing her her box with a close-mouthed grin as he chewed. He'd spent the day doing whatever exercises didn't hurt his head, and had burned off a lot of pent-up energy. Now he was eating good food, and looking forward to a good night with Lorna. He was in an unusually cheery mood.

She was glad that the television was off, even though she kinda wanted him to know what she had done. It was akin to the time she'd beaten the hell out of Riordan. She ate her food in silence for a few minutes, then looked up. "So what did you do today?"

"Not much," he said, shrugging. "Worked out, mostly. It's cramped in here if you're stuck here. Had some energy to burn. You?"

"The appointment, got food, you know, boring stuff," she shrugged casually, forking another chunk of food into her mouth.

He nodded a little, falling silent until his phone alert went off. He glanced at it. It was an update from his police scanner app, and he absently read over the details before turning raised eyebrows on Lorna.

She cleared her throat a little, and gave a small shrug, not really looking at him. "Okay, so I made a small detour."

"So it would seem," he said, glancing over her attire. "Did you wear the shoes into the flat?" he asked, sizing up her heels.

"No. Pair of oversized hiking boots I got on the way there. Threw them into a dumpster on the way back here, made sure to get rid of the socks, too," she shook her head, taking a sip of water from the bottle she'd picked up at the takeout place.

He nodded in approval, leaning back. "You didn't have to kill him." But he wasn't complaining. There was a hint of amusement in his gaze.

"And you didn't have to kill the man who stared at me," she pointed out, raising her eyebrows at him. "But you did."

He laughed at that, just quietly. "Fair enough," he muttered absently. "So. Knife to the back, hm? Nasty bit of business... Give me the details?"

"I didn't want to deal with blood on my clothes, so I grabbed him by the collar and stabbed him through the back," she hummed, shrugging a little. "His heart nearly wrenched the knife out of my hand. He didn't want to die."

His eyes darkened just slightly at the thought of her wrestling with the knife in the man's back. "An embrace of death... amusing." He gave her a toothy grin and went back to eating. "I wish I could have seen it."

"We'll do the next one together, then, shall we?" She suggested, smirking a little. "Then fuck each other in an alley?"

His grin widened slowly. "You know me so well."

"That's why you begrudgingly love me," she laughed, giving him an amused wink.

" _Very_ begrudgingly," he groused good-naturedly. "That and you bring Indian food."

"We're in _India,"_ she scoffed, half scoffing. "That one isn't exactly a stretch. You not even considering killing me? That's a stretch."

He smirked, rolling his eyes. "I haven't considered killing you in at _least_ a month," he teased.

"Wow, that's gotta be a record of some kind," she laughed, leaning back in her chair.

"Call Guinness," he deadpanned as he put down the last of his food. He sat back with a content sigh, closing his eyes.

She got up and took care of the takeout containers, taking a whiff of the lingering spices in the air before she let the lid on the trashcan shut. "Indian food smells so good. Why does English food smell like an old fry pan?"

"Mostly because it's made in an old fry pan," he smirked, opening his eyes and standing, walking over to kiss her shoulder, arms sliding around her waist from behind.

She leaned back into him, carefully resting her hands on his wrists, thumb brushing over the skin of his good arm. "Gross," she chuckled, mentally visualizing it. "Our train stations are better, though."

"That is very true. Though we're tête-à-tête on the homeless problems." Her head barely made it to his chest, which never failed to amuse him in some small way. He was quiet for a bit before saying "How many more treatments do you have? Seems like it shouldn't be too many..."

"I'm not sure," she said, lifting her arm in front of her to look down the length of it, at the newly healed skin. It was so _smooth._ It was hard to believe it was hers. "Maybe a week?"

He nodded just a little. "Good. Then you can heal up and I can get back to fucking you properly," he muttered, nipping the shell of her ear with a small smirk.

"Aw, have you been holding back? Poor _you,"_ she smirked, glancing up at him teasingly. "I don't know how you've even managed to survive."

"Neither do I," he muttered. "Restraint is my specialty, but you're the exception." He slid a hand down her thigh, then pulled back. "I should finish cleaning my guns."

"Yeah you should," she chuckled, washing her hands in the sink real quick before stepping back and leaning against the counter. "I wonder how Johnson is doing..."

He laughed as he sat down, picking up the pistol he'd abandoned for dinner. "He might be able to hobble around by now. Probably still talking a few octaves higher than usual."

"I don't know how your department is handling the news that I'm not the building's bicycle anymore," she snorted, rolling her eyes.

"Well, as of when we left, I'd say they're becoming fairly accepting of the idea." His concentration was on the gun, but the corner of his mouth twitched in the barest hint of a smirk.

"Well, they better be," she smirked. "They all got to see the emasculation that ensued. I don't think bitching about it will earn them any favors."

"No, I don't think so either," he agreed, reassembling the gun carefully and setting it back into its case. "You weren't really ever the building's bicycle that I remember."

"Mmmm, I fucked a lot of people in my first couple years," she hedged, sucking air through her teeth, "I don't think I was really on your radar back then."

He nodded a little. "Fair enough. Well, the point remains that that isn't the case any longer." He put his guns in their cases back in their duffel and wiped his hands on a rag.

She wondered if it ever bothered him that she had a history of being promiscuous, but knew better than to ask, at the risk of starting a fight she didn't feel like dealing with. Instead she nodded and just watched him pack up.

He tucked his guns back into the closet where he kept them, and locked the door, tucking the key into his pocket. "So. Who shall we murder, on this spree of ours?"

She shrugged, drumming her fingers against the counter absently. "I don't know. I suppose we should decide whether we're going to go random or personal."

"Random is safer," he said quietly. "We already have two rather clear motivations leading to us... Not really something to repeat."

"That's very true," she agreed, pushing off the counter and turning for the bathroom. "Speaking of which, I ought to shower. Who knows what's hidden itself away in my hair."

He nodded in agreement, smiling a little. "With a knife to the heart I'm surprised you don't have blood up to the wrist, to be honest."

"You should have seen my glove," she called over her shoulder as she entered the bathroom, stripping down the rest of the way and turning on the shower. "Had to turn it inside out so I wouldn't leave a blood trail on the way out. Carried it like a doggy bag."

He smiled, taking a slow breath and leaning back in his chair. He closed his eyes, picturing her like that, the man gasping to death in her arms. "Now if that isn't a wonderful picture."

She smirked, stepping into the shower and letting out a quiet, relieved sigh at the hot water on her now always-sore skin. "Good thing you weren't there. We would have contaminated the crime scene."

"Absolutely worth it, I should think," he said cheerfully. "I can't wait to kill someone with you again. To see you covered in blood, see the look in your eyes when their light goes out..."

She pictured it too, pictured him with his arm forearm deep in her own father's chest, the way his eyes grew dark and focused, though animal-like in intensity. This was where they were truly a match made in heaven. She was distracted enough that she forgot to answer him for a moment, and then just decided to let the moment pass, and be pleasant for both of them.

He relaxed there for a while, just picturing the situation, then turned his mind to other ideas before he needed a cold shower. He stood, walking through to their bedroom and pulling up a map of the city on his computer, starting to study it quietly.

When she was finished with her shower, she walked back out in a towel and sat next to him on the bed, pulling her wet hair over her mostly smoothed shoulder. The next day's appointment was for the jagged scar across her face, and she was impatient to be rid of it, even though it was giving her an odd feeling in her stomach. It was a familiar embarrassment by now, and it would be strange to have it gone. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "What exactly are you up to?"

"I figured if we're going to do this, having a good knowledge of the city would be a good idea. In case anything goes pear-shaped." He shifted the laptop so that she could see the map more clearly.

"Always prepared for the worst, aren't you?" She chuckled, scanning the map. "How do we get back to England if we're barred from the airport?"

"Leave the country by train, boat, car, foot, whatever makes sense at the time," he said, leaning back. "In this country _especially_ , you can get lost in the crowd. Worst case scenario, we go to ground for a few weeks. Wait for things to clear up."

"Jim would not be pleased if it came to that," she pointed out. "And I don't know how steady the ground we stand on with him as is. Let's avoid a manhunt."

"That's always the _plan_ , dearest Lorna," he sneered. "It just doesn't always work out that way. Besides. We've been on shakier ground with him than this." He leaned back against the head of the bed.

"Except we're on nearly the other side of the world while Jim is recovering from a year in a hell labyrinth. He likes to be alone when he licks his wounds, I know that, but we've left a lot of responsibility on him when he actually might need help," she sighed, rubbing her eyes wearily. "I don't know. I only know the version of him that was in there. You know this one far better."

He was quiet for a while at that.

"Is there a _this_ Jim?" he asked after a bit. "You might know him better than I do at this point. But this is a moot issue. We're smart enough to work the system."

Her response was quiet. "It's a moot issue, but still probably worth thinking about, if to just be prepared for when we go back."

He shook his head. "There is no being _prepared_ with Jim. We'll just have to take him wherever he is, and go from there. Any plan we might come up with will go to shit in the first few seconds."

"Yeah, I guess that's true," she muttered in agreement. "Besides how unpredictable he is, he's also full of _spite._ Can you imagine what he would do if he thought he had some sort of plan?"

He shrugged a little. "I think it's the _we_ that would bother him. He's used to each of us scheming individually. Together we present a united front. I think that would threaten him more than he would care to admit."

She nodded. "Yeah, that would bug the hell out of him. Maybe he'd even do something drastic, I don't know. I don't want to find out."

"Likewise. The point is, we shouldn't bother him. Just let him be to heal on his own. Maybe when we get back we can check on him separately. See who he responds to more effectively."

She snorted a little, but nodded. "Yeah, although I'm 100% certain he'll respond better to you. Never in my life have I been stuck with a person so long and we didn't even make out. I don't think he finds me very... hell, interesting."

He shrugged. "To be honest, he very rarely takes women to bed. You just may not be his type." He closed the laptop and set it aside, smirking. "It's a pity though. I think after a week of watching the two of you snog, I would have been jealous enough to just berserk my way through Mycroft's complex and get us all out."

She grumbled a little, adjusting her cheek against his shoulder. "I'm used to being everyone's type, so that's frustrating," she muttered, drumming her fingers against her thigh. "I can't do anything about it, either. He's immune to anything I can throw at him. It's honestly scary, for someone like me."

"You've encountered gay men before, I'm sure. I don't know if I'd say Jim is gay, mainly because I'm not certain Jim is _anything_ , but if he were human, he would be. Or close, anyway. I don't think he scares you because you can't touch him. No one can touch him. I think he scares you because he's _Jim_. Which he should." He closed his eyes, relaxing.

She sighed. "It's not really that. Gay men, straight women, any iteration in between that isn't interested - I can still interest them with _something._ Find someway to make myself irreplaceable to them. But not with Jim," she shook her head.

He _hmph_ ed slightly in understanding at that, a finger tracing patterns on her shoulder, where he knew a healed patch of skin was. "I suppose that makes sense. I can usually intimidate people into never screwing me over again, but not with Jim. But that doesn't scare me as much as it makes things interesting. Your response sounds saner."

"He's never casually considered killing you, though. If he had, you might be a little more cautious. Christ, when we were undercover with Mycroft and I had to sneak away to report to him about you - I saw him _twitch_ towards his gun. You're not inches away from death at all times like I am."

He raised an eyebrow. "No, I suppose not. Though he did throw me in prison for a few months for a lark. Still. His unpredictability with me is less deadly."

She gave a tired chuckle. "True. He's willing to make you suffer. For me, though? I'm not important enough to waste the energy. Better than suffering, I guess."

"I think we can safely say that his threat towards us is equally horrible, just in different ways," he said with a small smirk. "How's that?"

"I suppose I can live with that," she sighed, shifting so she could lay her head in his lap. "He fucks me when you're around," she said, coming back around to that topic again. "But no interest otherwise. Sorry, this just bugs me."

He smiled a little as her head found his lap, his hand moving to her hair, fingers combing through it slowly, absently. "So one person out of seven billion that you can't control. It's not the worst record, Lorna," he pointed out glibly.

She shut her eyes as his fingers slid through her hair. "I don't want to _control_ him. I mean that's part of it, but... What is it about the brilliance of the Holmes brothers or Jim that puts them above it?"

"How would I know?" he asked with a soft laugh. "I'm one of the dumb, malleable ones, remember? I don't know how his brain works any more than you do, I just have an extensive trial-and-error list."

She chuckled, squeezing his leg. She loved that laugh. She rarely heard it. "I like you anyway."

"Well, thank goodness for that," he said dryly, though he was smiling. "What sort of man would I be if I didn't have to put up with a grifter 24/7?"

"One who has _infinitely_ less sex, probably," she quipped, grinning. "Or at least, _way_ less fun sex. What other girl have you fucked that you didn't get tired of?"

"Keira's mother is really the only one I can think of," he said, with considerably more truth and less snark than he realized the question probably deserved. "But she was much less sarcastic and troublesome. You have the best of both," he said dryly by way of recovery.

She was surprised that he'd answered truthfully. That was unusual of him, but appreciated. He must have really been in a good mood. "You should be grateful she wasn't as sarcastic and troublesome as me; could you imagine Keira having _two_ parent's worth of those?"

"No, and I don't want to," he snorted. "She survived, by the way. She's interning in hits. I looked at her culling reports... She's definitely mine, if that was ever in question."

"No, I don't think that was ever in question," she laughed, "But at least you know the murderous gene is dominant. Thank god I have a uterus. No surprise children for me, ever."

"That is true. Though I can't get pregnant, nor does my body remind me on the regular that I haven't gotten knocked up yet," he retorted with a laugh. "I'd say both have downsides, but at least now I have another murder minion."

"You already had plenty of murder minions," she shook her head, still chuckling. "Now you just have one that you may feel a little more compelled to protect."

"I'm wounded that you would think me so susceptible to genetics," he muttered, rolling his eyes and ruffling her hair gently before straightening it out.

"I said _may,"_ she smirked, rolling her eyes at him a little, then letting them close again. "I know you're a ruthless bastard, c'mon."

"Says my one living weak spot," he muttered under his breath, brushing her hair behind her ear and starting to trace the shell of it absently.

She squeezed his leg again, letting that stand without touching it. He could say those things, but he didn't always like it when she did. Right now, she just wanted to enjoy his company. And his soft touch.

He let the conversation lapse into silence, his fingers continuing to trace through her hair and over her skin with no particular pattern, just relaxing. He wondered if they'd ever done this before. Relaxed together in such quiet comfort... He didn't think so. He also didn't mind.

Moments like this in her life were rare. Just lying there, with someone else, not planning or scheming or waiting for them to fall asleep. She wondered if this would have been possible before she'd been stolen away from him for a year.

He eventually drifted off into a relaxed doze, his hands drifting into stillness in the warm sunlight. For once, he felt safe. Completely relaxed. It was weakness, but for the moment he allowed it.

She fell asleep after he did, warm and comfortable and not craving heroin too much. If only she could stay feeling this way.


	97. Separate But Breaking

Playlist: Panic! at the Disco - LA Devotee

Panic! at the Disco - Crazy = Genius

* * *

He woke when morning sun hit his face. He hadn't slept that well for that long in... fuck. Who knew how long.

 _This vacation is making me soft_ , he snorted mentally, extracting himself from Lorna's warm grasp to go take a piss.

Afterwards he set about making them breakfast, while considering the possibilities of their first victim. They didn't have an abundance of time left. He wanted to start soon.

She woke up to the scent of something being fried, and that was always worth getting up for. She rolled over to face the doorway to the kitchenette, eyes blinking open slowly. "Mm. What is that?"

He smiled as her voice filtered in from the bedroom. "Not sure really. Decided to see what would happen if you did curry refried-rice-style, with some yogurt... It's working surprisingly well."

"Mm, sounds good," she said, getting out of bed and shuffling into the other room. She didn't ache too badly today.

He didn't look up from what he was doing, but held out one arm for a hug as he stirred the rice and chicken around.

She happily went into his embrace, tucking herself easily against his side. It was more of a cuddly move than she normally would have used, but normal was still twelve months ago, and she felt like things were different now. How could they not be? A year apart, a good chunk of that time thinking he'd betrayed her? Being reunited softened some of the hard lines between them.

He wrapped his arm around her comfortably, the other hand reaching out to grab a bottle of olive oil and add a little more to the pan. "So. Who should we murder first, do you think?"

"I'm tempted to do someone famous, but that seems risky," she sighed, nestling her cheek into his shoulder. "Not tourists, either. People will notice."

He eventually reclaimed his arm to turn the stove off, scooping the fried curry into two bowls and handing her one. "Let's just pick someone then. Go out shopping for a victim."

She took it with an excited little shuffle of her feet. "Sounds like a plan to me. Should we decide beforehand what we might like to buy?"

He laughed, grabbing a bottle of sriracha and heading for the table. "Do you have any specific features you'd like?"

"I don't know. Full of themselves, maybe," she chuckled, following after him. "I like knocking them down a few pegs. All the pegs."

"You're so Robin Hood," he deadpanned, sitting down and adding a liberal slathering of hot sauce before starting to eat. "But fine. Full of themselves."

"What about you? I know you like to kill indiscriminately, but you must have a preference," she said, sinking into her seat and pulling her plate closer to her without drowning it in hot sauce first. She'd decide in a second how much spice she needed.

He shrugged a little. "Just the feel of the person, generally. Never really had a _type_ , per say. I'd say let's find a red-head, but we're in India, for chrissakes."

* * *

He was washing up dishes when his phone rang, a tone he hadn't heard in almost three weeks. He immediately dried his hands and picked up.

"Boss?"

"Vacation's canceled, Moran. Something's come up. I'll explain when you get here. Your driver will be there in a half hour to take you to the airport. I'm sending her thumbprint to your phone now."

And then he hung up.

He stared at the phone for a moment, and then sighed. "Better pack, Lorna. We're being called in."

"Fuck," she muttered, shoveling a few more forkfuls of food into her mouth before getting up, shoving back her chair and walking swiftly into the bedroom. It was serious, if they were being picked up so fast.

She got the important things of hers packed in fifteen minutes, leaving a good majority where it was. Soon, they would be too small for her anyway, as long as she got back to a normal size. "Did he say what it's about?"

"No, didn't say anything," he said, packing his own clothes. The guns were always packed. "Except that he'd explain when we got there."

"Shit, alright," she nodded, running a hand through her hair. It was still odd to find it soft after so long of it being unhealthy. "Gonna be a long plane ride, then."

"I'm sure we can find _some_ way to entertain ourselves," he snorted, pinching her arse playfully as he walked past to start piling their bags in the foyer. They wouldn't inform the hotel they were checking out for a few days, to throw off any potential watchers.

She laughed, letting him do the heavy lifting, only partially because she was lazy; her skin was still raw. "You don't think we'll get in trouble for fucking on his plane?"

He shrugged a little. "No idea. One way to find out, though," he said with a toothy grin.

* * *

By the time they walked into headquarters eight hours later, they were both exhausted. Still, they only paused to drop their luggage at the flat before proceeding to Jim's office. The familiar smell of the place was a strange contrast to the spices and heat of India, just that morning.

Jim was waiting in his office for their arrival, his door open. No one of insignificance came to this floor, and none except Moran would enter. So when he and Harrison appeared in the doorway, he waved them in. "Shut the door behind you."

They stepped through, and Moran closed the door quietly. He didn't bother asking what this was all about. Jim would explain as soon as he liked, and not before. Instead he walked forward, standing behind one of the chairs in front of the desk at parade rest.

Jim didn't waste any time. "My branch in Belgium has gone silent. It's not a big branch, but they're reliable. I can't contact a single one of them," he said, his teeth grit. This was dire. Someone with the power to wipe out a branch of his overnight? "Moran, you're going there tonight. There's only six who I have on retainer; find out what happened. Deal with it. I don't like being in the dark."

He nodded, resisting the urge to glance at Lorna. It would be odd to be separated after so long together, and after so long _apart_ before that. But he didn't let it eat at him. If he had, he might have just put a bullet in his brain himself to save Jim the trouble. "Understood. I'll be ready to go in half an hour, I just need to adjust my packing. Do I have a cover story, or am I going in stealth?"

"Stealth. I don't know if they're even still alive," Jim snorted, shaking his head. He could tell Moran thought about Harrison as soon as he realized he was going alone, but he'd kept himself under control, and Jim had compromised a while ago to just let that be. She was looking better. In fact, her ability to grift had been restored to her. He returned his attention to the problem at hand. "I want reports every six hours. Past twelve, I'll assume there's been a problem."

He nodded again at that. "Understood, sir," he said calmly. He was evaluating the man in front of him carefully, now that he knew he only had a few minutes. Looking for any signs that he was back on the drugs, or resorting to anything else to keep himself occupied. He seemed healthy, however, if still a bit thin.

"If that will be all?" he asked, patient but eager to be on his way if he was dismissed.

"That's all," he conceded, sitting back in his chair, hand going to the bridge of his nose. His head hurt.

Lorna didn't waste the opportunity to leave, immediately doing so. When Sebastian was back in the hallway with her she had to resist reaching for his hand. She didn't want him to leave.

He waited until he was in the elevator to look at her. "Stiff upper lip, Harrison," he said as he hit the button for the floor down. "I won't be gone long." That was as close to comfort as he was willing to edge at the moment. India seemed like a distant world.

"I know," was all she said, looking at him solemnly. "Anything I can do to help you out the door?"

He shook his head a little. "I don't need much. Basic blacks, and whites, I suppose Belgium might have snow this time of year. Thermals. Rations and weapons. I have most of it in a kit bag anyway."

"I didn't think so, but I thought I would check," she smiled. She wasn't willing to let go of India too quickly. She wasn't willing to go to back to being alone. "Just don't stay there forever."

He rolled his eyes as they got out of the lift and headed for the flat. "I just might to avoid your pestering," he snorted, but he looped an arm around her shoulders as he scanned in.

"Yeah, because I'm the one that pesters," she snorted, rolling her eyes right back at him. "Lorna, don't do drugs. Lorna, don't overdo the drinking. Lorna, don't wander off by yourself. C'mon. The only thing I pester you about is your arm."

"You know, I don't think it counts as pestering if the alternative is death," he snorted, opening the door and stepping inside, immediately grabbing his bags and starting to pull out what he would need. Mostly equipment. Clothing would be a very different set in Belgium than it had been in India.

She stood off to the side, not sure what else to do other than watch him. She would unpack herself once he was gone, but she wanted to spend as much time as possible with him before he was gone. She didn't want to be without him again, even if it was only for a couple of days. How did she live her normal life without him around, watching her, helping her recover? Keeping her sane? She pushed aside those thoughts. They were useless, and unwarranted. She'd survive.

A few minutes later he packed the last of his equipment and clothes, and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder. He would sleep on the plane. "Right. See you in a few days then."

She rolled her eyes, grabbing him by the collar and using it as leverage to pull herself in and plant one on him. "For good luck, since you didn't ask. I'll see you in a few days."

He rolled his eyes right back, but then bent down and kissed her properly, roughly, tongue pressing the attack and teeth nipping her lip on the retreat. "If you're going to kiss me for luck, at least make it the proper sort of luck," he snorted, heading for the door with a smirk and a half-assed salute. He closed it behind him and headed for the lift.

She couldn't help but laugh after the door closed, breathless and so damn in love with him. Already she couldn't wait for when he got back.

He slept almost as soon as the plane took off, and didn't wake fully until the attendant came over a few hours later. He got up, then, slung on a parachute pack and grabbed his bag, waiting for the count. He got the signal, and jumped out into the night, with nothing but forest below him.

* * *

It was only the next day, while she was on her laptop, combing through a list of alerts that came from a complicated series of keywords and filters she had set up, that she saw. It would have been insignificant any other time. But _he_ was there, so it raised every alarm in her body. Clicking on the link, brought her to the article, to his mugshot, and her stomach flipped. She barely waited for the page to print out before she was heading for Jim's office, her heart beating too fast.

She didn't knock on his door, just barged in, tossing the printout onto his desk, Sebastian's face staring up. "What the _fuck,_ Jim? _WHY?"_

He had his hand on his gun the instant the door burst open, and had _barely_ restrained himself from shooting. He had been revving up to give her the lashing of a lifetime- maybe if he felt cheery he would stick to only a verbal one- when he saw the paper, and the gears in his mind shifted. He re-holstered the gun beneath his desk, eyes flicking across the page.

He was furious that he didn't know about this already, that his people hadn't reached out. What the fuck was going _on_ over there? But he didn't let the emotions show on his face. He sat back.

"Good morning to you, too, Harrison," he snorted, expression bored while his mind raced. "Don't blame me for this. Moran's gone and made a dolt of himself. Take a breath, unclench..." he gave an indicative wave to her balled fists. "I have people working to extract him already. He was arrested sometime early this morning." Or at least that was what the article said. How had he not _heard_?

"Don't bullshit me, Jim," she snapped, leaning over and jabbing the paper, pointing out the charges. "You're telling me he actually went and killed three children with a butcher knife before drawing a swastika on the wall in their blood? That wouldn't be him being a _dolt,_ that'd be him losing his goddamn mind!"

"He was arrested for murder," he said sharply. "A guard at a military base. They're trumped-up charges. I can get him out, but maybe I won't if your tone doesn't improve. _Now._ " His voice was ice. He was in no mood for her accusations. "Get out. I have work to do. And if you ever come into my office unannounced again, I will shoot you, no matter the reason. Am I understood?"

"Understood," she confirmed bitterly, turning and leaving without further argument. As long as it wasn't Jim's fault, she wouldn't stand in his way. She just wanted him out. He'd talked about prison in a way that made her feel as if he had really wanted to avoid going back.

* * *

The next day was the most frustrating of Jim's life.

Far from one team going dark- suddenly the whole fecking _country_ had fallen silent. Teams he had contacted just days before for information on the group-gone-mute were suddenly non-responsive. In 36 hours he had lost a country, and his best man in it.

He knew now that it had been a trap. The first team had been the trigger, and he had sent Moran to step on it. That just made him all the angrier. Whoever this was, they had played him for an idiot, and they had _succeeded._ The ridiculous accusations Moran was facing were a taunt. Whoever this was was laughing in his face. He wanted them dead.

He called in the woman in charge of his relations with Belgium that evening, and called the cleaners in a half hour later to deal with the body. He felt better after that, more in control. This was a puzzle. A challenge.

He would get his country back. Get Moran out.

He went back to work.

* * *

Lorna wasn't dealing with Moran's arrest particularly well. She obsessed over any new articles about his arrest, any new tidbit of information, but nothing substantial was getting out of the cell they had him in. She could cope with being on her own when she knew he would be back soon, but this? This was uncertain, unpredictable, it made her scratch too hard at the back of her hands, worrying her bottom lip until it was raw from her anxious biting. _He_ was the anchor keeping her tied down to real life, away from terrible memories and cravings of heroin. He was the thing that kept her sane.

Why wasn't Jim getting him _out?_

* * *

He called her in late on the second day. He hadn't slept, but he took the time to shower and shave before she came, and change into a fresh suit. He glanced himself over in the mirror, and took a breath. This was going to be a complicated conversation.

He returned to his office, and called her in when she knocked. She looked horrible. He could see the raw marks on her freshly-smoothed skin, the cracks in her lip, the bruises under her eyes.

 _I never should have let them get so close. If I lose him, I lose both of them._

He motioned for her to sit, and put his elbows on the table. It was a moment before he spoke. "Belgium has become... complicated."

She tensed a little, her stomach doing something unpleasant. "What does that mean?" She asked, eyes fixed on him, barely taking in anything else. A llama could have been in the room and she wouldn't have noticed.

He held her gaze, expression cool. "It seems whatever ailment took my first team has spread to the rest. All my storytellers are silent, my bards have gone mute. I'm king of a very silent castle in Belgium, it seems. Or I was once king. Something tells me I've been deposed." The word came off of his tongue like bile.

She dug her nails into her knees, staring at him with her wide eyes offset by the sunken bags underneath. "And what does that mean."

"For Christ's sake, do I have to spell it out?!" he nearly shouted, the anger bursting out for just a moment before he blinked, smiled. "I can't get him out, Lorna dear. My hands aren't just tied, they've been lopped cleanly of."

"So what are we going to do? Surely we can bring in an outside force?" She asked, deceptively calm. She wanted to scream.

He nodded. "I already have two units- one from France and one from Germany- entering the country. We have no information on where dear Sebby is shacked up, and no help once we find him... Retrieving him is going to be slow." He examined his fingernails, then looked back up at her. "Find out who's doing this."

"Yes, sir," she said, taking a deep breath. Her body nearly shuddered in response. "Do you want me to go there personally or find out from here?"

"Here," he said, without a second thought. He couldn't afford to lose his next in command. He looked down at his phone, about to motion for her to go, but then he swore blackly and dialed a number.

It rang, and rang, and rang.

The glass statue in the corner of his office shattered as he hurled the phone through it with a roar. He grabbed the letter opener from his desk and slammed it down into the wood, burying it several inches into the grain, both hands gripping it like it was a two-handed sword. He closed his eyes then, breaths slow.

"The French unit I sent in isn't responding," he said softly, his voice almost playful. "Lorna, be a doll and find out who _the FECKING HELL THIS IS."_

She wasn't scared of his display of anger. Not for her own sake. He was only acting how she felt. "You don't have to tell me twice."

"Then what in _Christ's bloodsoaked name_ are you still _doing here?_ " he hissed, looking up at her then with a smile that showed clenched teeth. " _Go._ "

She stood and left without another word, in a hurried movement, driven by her fear for Moran rather than her fear of Jim. It was time to spend the next however many hours it took in the informations department, combing through whatever data they'd received about Belgium before it had gone dark.

* * *

Playlist: Marina and the Diamonds - E.V.O.L.


	98. Death In The Family

Playlist: Oingo Boingo - Private Life

* * *

The first time he had woken up had been disorienting. He remembered his capture- he had been surrounded as soon as his feet had touched the ground in Belgium, the parachute drifting to the frost-covered grass around him. There had been twenty-five or so, all armed with semi-automatic weapons, and he'd had little choice but to drop his bag and put his hands on his head. They'd handcuffed him and then drugged him, and that was that.

Upon waking, he had kept his eyes closed for a while, uncertain about what he would open them to, listening for clues. But when he had finally risked a glance, he'd been surprised to find himself in an army barracks, lying on a regulation cot. He'd sat up slowly, looking around. The place was smaller than standard- only eight cots along each wall- and there were subtle differences. The windows, for one, were not windows but paintings of windows, with a military base from various angles crudely detailed in dollops of green and tan, motionless trucks and soldiers and UK flags.

There were other differences, too. The door out was locked, for one, and made of thick metal under the 90s faux-wood pressboard. The furniture was bolted to the floor, and when he went into the bathroom there was nothing but a prison toilet and a few squares of toilet paper. No mirror, and a simple spout emptying onto the floor for a sink. He supposed it was meant to drain into the small drain in the corner of the room.

He could see some of himself, however. He wasn't in his own clothes, but in standard issue UK marine fatigues. They were not new, but they were clean. He wore socks, but no boots.

Anything that could conceivably be used as a weapon had either been modified until useless, or removed.

It was strange, but easy enough to understand. He was a prisoner.

They left him well enough alone for a few hours. When it seemed reasonably certain that time had become a little harder to keep track of, the door unlocked and a woman came through. She was dressed in the same army fatigues as him, but she had been given the luxury of boots and weaponry. She had a semi-automatic strung across her shoulders, and a knife in a holster at her hip, strapped into place so it couldn't be slid free without serious intent. She held a tray of food in one hand, though it was clearly just MRE's in a vaguely palatable state. A flimsy bottle of water was in the other.

"Hey, Colonel," she smiled, shutting the door behind her with a click of the lock. She had a fairly weak Belgian accent, and she had the typical dark coloring of an Algerian. She was pretty, but nothing particularly striking. "Hungry?"

"I suppose that depends on who the fuck you are," he said calmly, evaluating her quickly. She wore the weapons with the comfort of someone who knew how to use them. They were also well secured. He doubted he would be able to get one, without incapacitating her. He could do that, but then what? He was still locked in this room. Her dark skin was glossy, but not sweaty. She didn't appear remotely nervous.

Next he considered the food. There was little point to poisoning him. They'd drugged him, they had had him at their mercy for hours and he was alive. There was nothing to say they wouldn't drug him again, however.

And then there was what she had called him. _Colonel._ She knew who he was. All in all, the situation was not an appealing one.

"I'm your friendly neighborhood guard, though if you're not careful, I will be significantly _less_ friendly, and I doubt that you'll enjoy that too much," she said cheerfully, setting down the tray of food on the cot over from him and tossing him the water bottle. "I'm the only one of my colleagues who won't spit on you for a good time, so you should probably be a little appreciative."

"Forgive me, I wasn't aware I was speaking to my savior," he said, catching the water bottle and opening it up, taking a sniff suspiciously before offering it in her direction. "Please. Have a drink."

She chuckled, taking a step forward and taking it from him to take a healthy swallow before handing it back. "Relax. If we want to drug you again we'll just put a needle in you. Much less fuss, everyone can trust each other, it's a win-win," she said easily, shrugging a little, her hand resting comfortably on her gun. "If you want more water before we get around to feeding you again, the stuff from the pipes is clean. Just let the water run for a moment before you drink from it."

He took a few swallows of the water. It was warm, but his mouth was dry and parched, and it tasted good enough. He just grunted his acknowledgment of the water commentary, and after considering the food, decided just to eat and be done with it. As she'd said. They could drug him whenever they liked. "Why am I here?" he asked through a mouthful of something attempting to be mashed potatoes.

"Because Moriarty can't have you, but you're too valuable to just bury in the backyard," she said simply, sitting down a cot away from him, keeping some space between them. "Aside from that, I really can't say much. You're pretty, but you're not worth the skin off my back."

He nodded. That was fair. He was prisoner, then. Time to start planning an escape. He ate quietly for a bit, and the horrendous but familiar food was almost a comfort. Good ol' MREs. "Who's in charge here?"

"You really think that I'm going to tell you just like that? No, I think that's asking for a bit much," she snorted, standing up again, tapping out a beatless rhythm on her gun.

"Alright, tell me everything I'm _allowed_ to know, then," he snorted, setting aside the rest of the food and standing. She was tall, but he was taller by a good half a head. Still, he kept his distance. "I don't feel like guessing. Just explain the game. If there wasn't one, I'd be in a cell, not a replica barracks."

"There isn't a game for you to play, here, Colonel," she shrugged, very obviously having a firmer grip on her gun now that he was standing. "This a game for someone else. All you've got to do is be yourself. As for what you're allowed to know, well, it isn't much yet. Not much has happened, but we converted the French unit sent in after you to our side. I'm shocked they bothered listening, but I guess even the French can surprise you."

He snorted slightly in annoyance, and bared his teeth. Then he sighed, and relaxed. "Fine. Then what do I call you?"

"Ines," she smirked. "I'd shake your hand, but I'd prefer you didn't come that close to my gun."

"Smart woman," he smirked back. Then he turned and lay back down on the cot, arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the ceiling and ignoring her, ending the conversation.

She laughed and turned around, heading back to the cell door. She knocked twice in rapid succession and the door unlocked, and she left, leaving an air of satisfaction behind her.

* * *

The lights never turned off or dimmed, and the space between meals was unpredictable. He lost all sense of time, any connection to the outside world.

He was not allowed a razor, so for a while he tracked time by his beard and hair, but he had never been able to grow a very full beard, and eventually it was about as long as it would get and time was still passing.

The woman- Ines- was his only contact. He spoke with her whenever she came in, tried to pry answers out of her, but she always said a whole lot of nothing, always playful and cheery and unruffled.

He explored every inch of the room for a way out, but the place was incredibly well constructed. For a few days he had stood waiting for Ines to come in, but the door had never opened until he went away and Ines came in laughing at him.

Another time he had managed to grab the door as she was leaving, but beyond he found only a step of space before another locked door, and she had laughed at him again, with her gun in her hands as she asked him politely to step back into the cell.

He spent his time exercising, thinking, and sleeping. He had gotten a little lazy over his and Lorna's vacation, but he quickly hardened his muscles back into shape.

He thought a lot about India. About Lorna and Jim...

He needed to escape.

* * *

At the month and a half mark, Ines entered into the cell again, armed with her usual weapons, along with an actually decent cooked meal and a bottle of bourbon. "Hey Colonel," she hummed, shutting the door behind her with a familiar click. "You want a drink? It's your last meal, after all."

He looked up from where he was doing one-armed push-ups, and then got to his feet, brushing his hands off slowly. "Is it? That's news to me," he said, tone light but eyes wary.

Her eyes gave him a once over as she proffered the bottle. "Your sentencing is tomorrow. Your execution will soon follow. Don't worry, you'll wake up fine, but you're going to, for all appearances, die."

He waved the alcohol away. He couldn't think of a time he wanted to be drunk _less_ than when it was in his captor's interests. He studied the food, though, and then picked up the plate and started eating eagerly. It was good to have something real.

"Why am I dying, exactly?" he asked, once he'd had a few mouthfuls of roast.

"To crush your colleagues. James Moriarty, without his longtime bodyguard and right-hand man? Lorna Harrison, his third in command, without her lover? Instability and death. That's useful to me," Ines smiled, unscrewing the bourbon bottle and taking a celebratory swig. "I run this operation, by the way. It's been me the whole time."

His jaw tightened just slightly. He took a slow breath, another bite of the roast, though he was uninterested in it now.

"Big reveal," he hummed with a nod as he looked up. "How many times did you play that over in your head? Was it fun?"

 _Idiot, Moran. Still, it doesn't matter who she is. It makes no difference. I haven't told her anything._

"Sure was, Tiger," she winked, setting down the bottle. "But you're not the fun part of all this. You're just the second step. Unless you decide to be more fun, that is, but I highly doubt it." She pulled the ring they'd taken from him when they'd first nabbed him out her pocket, bringing it up to examine the hammered metal in the light. "I'm not _her."_

His gut clenched, but he laughed. "That thing? I picked it up at a thrift shop. You're right that I won't fuck you, but not because of a two-bit ring. It's because, as a rule, I don't put my cock in _pied-noirs._ " He wanted to see if he could get a rise out of this woman.

"Oh, no, don't do that," she rolled her eyes, "Sebastian Moran isn't racist toward Algerians, of all things. You've done too much to be ethnocentric. Good one, though. Maybe if I was a little stupider I'd have believed it," she shrugged, still turning the ring around in the light. "So you won't mind if I hold on to this, then? I mean, it doesn't matter to _me,_ I couldn't care less whether or not you're sentimental about it, that's not how I'll get information. No, that'll be sleep deprivation and a myriad of drugs and small, dark spaces."

Her dark gaze returned to him again, black eyes glittering in the light, her irises nearly as dark as her pupils. "I won't threaten to put a hit out on her. She'll kill herself anyways; I've heard the stories. So you can hold onto this 'two-bit' ring, or watch it live on the hand of your enemy."

He stared at her for a moment, trying to decide the game to play. But this woman was like Jim, he could tell. Holding out wasn't how he one this game. He had to let her win a bit.

He stuck out his hand grudgingly, expression sour. "Just give the damned thing over," he spat quietly.

She dropped it into his hand, a sweet smile on her face. "Cute. Well, I'll leave you be. Rest up, you have a big day tomorrow," she hummed, turning and leaving the room, the bourbon left behind.

He closed his hand around the cool metal, taking a slow breath and reigning in his pride. He slid the ring in place.

 _Make her think she has control._

* * *

Lorna knocked on Jim's door, her face pale, her stomach trying to heave, her legs feeling like they were going to give out any second. She barely managed to wait for him to make any sort of sound of acquiescence before she walked in, grabbed the TV remote off his desk, and turned it on to change the channel to a Belgian news program.

 _"-was the historic trial of the madman convicted of killing three children and drawing Nazi paraphernalia on the walls with their remains. In a few minutes, we'll cover his execution by lethal injection."_

Jim felt his insides turn to ice. He stood immediately, for what purpose he was uncertain. A hand reached for his phone, but that was purposeless too. Every team the had sent in had disappeared, every _single_ one.

He tucked his phone away while the newscaster started rambling on about something to do with a rise in Nazi extremism in the European area. They were showing footage of a man being led from the courthouse by Belgian police. He was dressed in a prison jumpsuit, unshaven and thin, but there was no mistaking his face.

"We go now," he decided, heading for his quarters, the TV still playing. He grabbed a bag, starting to pack quickly. Clothes. Toothbrush. Knives. Guns. Guns. Guns.

She stayed where she was, glued to the television, her mind faltering on a month and a half of little sleep and too much alcohol. What did she need to pack? There was nothing here she couldn't live without, and that wasn't in her emergency kit.

He came back into the room with the bag over his shoulder, talking on the phone in rapid French. He trailed off when he saw the screen however, and slowly lowered the phone, and hung up.

Sebastian was on the screen again, on the other side of a glass divider from the cameraman. Other press was in the shot, which he vaguely noticed, but his attention was on his bodyguard. Sebastian was restrained in the chair with heavy leather straps across his arms, torso, legs and head, an I.V. leading into his arm. A guard was speaking with him, but there was no sound.

 _"We bring you live to the execution of Sebastian Moran, whose locked-room trial has been drawing attention across the world. Moran was convicted of three counts of homicide, after he murdered three children and used their blood to draw Nazi symbols on the wall. In an unusual move, Moran's execution has been expedited to just a few hours after the trial, after the defense made no attempt to appeal the verdict."_

Jim slowly put his bag onto the floor.

Lorna couldn't move, couldn't breathe, staring shell-shocked at the screen, the only movement tears rolling down her cheeks. _No, no, they can't, someone will ask questions, someone will say something, someone will STOP them._

 _"The execution will be taking place in just a minute, but we will have to turn off the cameras as it actually happens. I apologize to our viewers, but convicted criminal or not, we cannot show a person's death live on camera. We will be cutting to the studio, to discuss the trial and the events that caused it. Thank you for joining us today, my name is Jean Paul, and this has been the news."_

When the camera cut to the studio she stopped listening, sinking to the floor right where she was, her hands on her ears. _No._

Jim shook his head a little. "No... No, it's just a trick," he said, then, laughing. "They aren't showing it, it isn't-"

He broke off as his phone chirped, and picked it up, unlocking the screen and frowning at the blank space in the text where the number should be.

 _Didn't want you to think I was cheating ;)_ followed by a link.

He clicked it, and after a moment he cast it to the television. A grainy feed of a familiar room and a familiar man came up, and the happiness died in his chest.

"God, no," she whispered, eyes on the television again, her heart clenching in her chest.

She could see the guards injecting something into the IV, watched a grainy interpretation of the man she loved jump under the leather straps, straining as his body seized, the heart monitor that could just barely be heard drumming fast, stuttering, _stopping._

She curled in on herself, dragging her nails across her scalp, a broken sob punching out of her throat.

 _He's gone. He's gone. He's GONE._

Jim reached out a steady hand, and turned off the television. He stared at the dark screen for a moment, listened to the choked, sobbing noise that was coming out of Harrison. Then he turned around, walked slowly over to sit behind his desk.

He could almost imagine that Moran would walk in any moment, give him an idiotic smirk and tell him it was all to prove he _cared_.

 _This is what caring feels like, Jim_ , he would say. _Don't make me leave Lorna anymore. Not after we were apart for twelve months_.

And he would pick up his gun and shoot Moran in both legs and both arms, avoiding vital parts, and in a few months when he was healed up he would do it again, and again...

Harrison made another noise and he closed his eyes, trying to block her out.

She did all she could to muffle her sobs, because she sure as hell wasn't capable of getting up and leaving. God, how could this be happening? How was this real? She was the one supposed to die first, she was the one who was supposed to meet an early end. Moran, gone. Sebastian, _Seb,_ her boss turned fuckbuddy turned begrudging weakness turned love. The only reason she had pulled together the shattered remains of herself, how many times now? And now he was gone, so fast. Not even a bullet to the head. Lethal injection. Not a soldier's death. Put down like a dog.

What was she supposed to do now?

Jim had his gun in hand, but didn't move. Sitting there with his eyes closed, his breaths slow as he lost himself in his mind palace. Wandered through halls full of chemistry and mathematics and avoiding anything remotely involving memories. He didn't want to be _Jim_ , he wanted to be science and nothing more.

Eventually she gathered enough of herself to move, still half clutching her chest, and she left in a practically incoherent state, oblivious to anything around her.

When she made it back to the flat - _his, their, her_ flat - she scanned in and shuffled through the living room, into the bedroom, where she rummaged through his clothes until she found a suitably thick sweater. Then she sank to the floor again, the sweater clutched in her hands, and breathed in his scent while it still lingered here. Gunpowder and spice, and something that was all him. The scope of his loss with mind-boggling. It hurt worse than anything had ever hurt, like her chest was splitting in two, her bones and her heart trying to leave her skin the hard way. She buried her face in the sweater and sobbed again.

* * *

He couldn't stay in his mind palace forever. His body had needs. Eventually he was dragged out by the urgent need to urinate, and headed for his bathroom.

He stared at himself in the mirror when he was done. He looked... haggard. The shell of the man he had been a year and a half ago. Those twelve months had not been kind to him, no, but this...

He had never felt anything like this, and he wanted it to stop.

He had been afraid of it. He knew that much. When Moran had flat-lined he had felt the dread creep over him. But that was merely the anticipation of the unknown. Nothing had touched on whatever... _this_ was. It was a physical burden in his chest, crushing his organs and making breathing nearly impossible. He wanted to claw whatever it was out with his bare hands, and leave it drooling blood in the sink.

He closed his eyes, hands gripping the desktop until his knuckles turned white. He felt his eyes sting, and to his horror he realized he was crying.

He put a stop to that immediately.

* * *

She didn't know how much time passed before the utter grief morphed into blame. If Jim hadn't sent Moran alone...

She wasn't even really aware what she was doing until she had Jim's door halfway open, her heart hammering, fury in her fists.

"This is _your. Fault."_

Jim scrambled up from where he had been sitting, leaning against the desk. His eyes were red, and he looked pale, gaunt. "What the fuck are you doing here, Harrison?" he snarled, circling behind his desk. He wanted to be left alone.

She slammed the door shut behind her, a hand jerking out to point at him, knuckles white. "This is your, _fucking FAULT,_ Jim," she snarled right back, advancing on him until she could slam her hands onto his desk. "You sent him _alone,_ without _backup,_ into a place you had _no control over. YOU_ got him killed!'

The part of her that wasn't busy ripping into Jim was examining him. He looked to be just as much of a wreck as she was. So James Moriarty had a fucking soul after all.

He had the gun in his hands before she'd reached the desk, and now he brought it up, shoving it into her head with a snarl. "I warned you that if you came through that door again I would put you down," he spat. "Shut your fucking mouth."

She didn't back down, pressing her head further into the gun, her teeth bared in a snarl. "Fuck you. You're not going to shoot me. You're not going to kill me. You _can't."_

He flicked the safety off, finger compressing the trigger. "And why is that, Harrison? Please, I'm all ears. What makes you so _fecking_ special?!"

She dug her fingers into the wood, leaned further forward, eyes boring into his. "I'm all you have _left_ of him."

He stared her down, his chest heaving, and pulled the trigger.

Or at least that's what his brain told him to do. But the trigger remained very un-pulled, and he knew that she was right. Fuck her.

Sebastian Moran had loved this woman, had fought Jim to save her, for Christ _knew_ what reasons, but he had. It was a flaw, but it wasn't what had gotten him killed. The grifter was again right, there. That was his own stupidity.

He stared her down a moment longer, then lowered the gun.

"Get out." His voice was calm, but his hands shook, and he had a vice grip on the gun, seething.

She pushed off the desk and turned, storming out of the room without another word.

When she made it back to her flat, she threw open the liquor cabinet and grabbed the strongest thing they had - _she_ had, dammit - and didn't bother pouring herself a glass, just chugging right from the bottle. After five swallows she slowed down, sat down against the sofa, crying again. It was so hard to be in here, in this flat, in HQ, in this fucking country. The memories of him stung, and stung deep.

They'd nursed each other back to health so many times in this flat. Had so many fights here. Eaten so many meals here. Fucked so many times. Cleaned their guns, made their drinks, done their jobs. And now they were no longer a they. They were a she. She was bereft of him.

She didn't know when she found the handgun of his that he kept in the cabinet under the TV, or how she'd gotten it properly loaded, but it was in her hand as the light in the flat was dying, the sun failing to cast its glow in through the windows any longer.

She kept it on the coffee table in front of her, drinking through sobs.

* * *

Playlist: Marina and the Diamonds - I'm A Ruin (Acoustic)

Fall Out Boy - Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes


	99. Grief

Playlist: Lana Del Rey - Dark Paradise

* * *

Jim had sat there a long time after she'd left, clutching the gun, staring at the space where she'd been.

He was full of energy he couldn't control, _emotions_ he didn't understand. Pain like nothing he had ever felt, not just in magnitude but in type. This was not the pain of a wound, the pain of a lost game, the pain of scar tissue strangling his brain... this was completely different. Completely consuming.

Still, he stared at where she had stood. _I'm all you have left of him._ Where was what was left of _Jim_? Where was the man who didn't give a flying fuck if his people died, who would have killed Harrison for saying something a tenth as insolent... but he had let her go. For Moran. Who was dead.

More emotions.

Eventually, without really knowing what he was doing, he stood and headed for the door, then for the lift. It wasn't until he was outside Moran's- no, Harrison's- door that he knew where he was going, and still he didn't know why. But he scanned in with his override and opened the door.

She didn't look up until she realized that it made no sense for the door to have opened without her permission, and when her eyes landed on him, the earlier fury was gone from them, a light extinguished. The drink had quieted her a little. She wasn't sobbing anymore, but a near constant stream of tears kept rolling down her cheeks. "What are you looking for, Jim?" She asked flatly, dejected eyes losing the energy to stay on him and fluttering back to the gun on the coffee table. Her attention was drawn to it like a magnet. "Most of this is probably yours. I haven't tried to dig up his will. Dunno if I'll get to it."

"You have most of this," he said quietly. "His flats, too, most of his money. He modified his will before that brush with death he pulled, and again after we got back from the labyrinth." His eyes shifted to the gun as well, then to her, reading quietly. "He's left a sizable sum to his daughter as well, but that's about it. I just have a few effects." A letter, the gun Moran had shot him with when they first met, Moran's personal ledgers and notes, his laptop.

"Did I interrupt something?" His gaze returned to the gun.

"I haven't decided yet," she said softly, a new ache in her chest. He'd left her nearly everything. She hadn't known. A fresh wave of tears stung her eyes. She couldn't believe she was still able to produce them. She took another swallow from the bottle. "I don't know what else to stick around for if not him. I used to think grifting could be enough, but..." she shook her head. "Things changed."

He put his hands into his pockets, rocking on his feet for a moment, before nodding and turning to leave. He took a few steps, then he was turning back, and for the second time that day he was acting before thinking.

 _God I hope this doesn't become a habit._

"Don't kill yourself. It'd be a fecking waste."

She couldn't even manage a surprised snort, only looking up at him again, unsure how to react. "What do you care, Jim? I've never been anything more to you than an employee who somehow got Sebastian Moran to feel something. Why the hell _shouldn't_ I just fucking put an end to it?"

He was quiet for a moment, evaluating, trying to decide. Why _was_ it she was useful? She would be difficult to replace as a grifter, certainly, but he had never shied from difficult.

But he had also never lied to himself, and he knew that he didn't ever want to feel more of whatever it was clawing its way around inside of his body. So he said the one thing that made any sort of sense.

"Because you're all I have left of him," he said finally, an admission, if James Moriarty ever made admissions. In the midst of _this_... perhaps he did.

She shook slightly, a soundless sob, covering her mouth and pressing her forehead into her knees. This would have been about the time Sebastian would have pulled her into his lap, tucked her under his chin, let her cry until she had gotten it all out. But now she was alone, with nobody but Jim for company, and he would never comfort another living soul.

But besides Moran's things, and her memories, he was the only thing she had left too.

He watched her curl up, grasp for a hand on her shoulder that wasn't there, and left her to her grief. He walked out the door, closing it behind him, and texted orders that she not be disturbed for any reason, other than by the kitchen to bring her food.

He headed back to the elevator, entered his flat, and put the place in full lockdown. Then he headed for his bed, undressed, laid down, and went to sleep.

She sat up all night, drinking and sobbing. When the sun showed up again, she only managed to move into the bed, where she curled up around his pillow and just tried not to think anymore.

* * *

When he woke, it was with the worst craving for a hit he'd had in months. He had a massive headache, and his eyes felt swollen.

He forced himself out of bed, heading into the kitchen to get ice water. Then he sat on his couch and stared out on the city through three layers of bulletproof glass.

Moran had insisted on that.

 _"I'd expect one, most high-security places. Bring enough equipment and plan enough time to get through two. Three layers is ridiculous. Which is why we're putting it in."_

He drank his water and considered finding heroin, but only in passing. Instead, he walked over to his laptop, pulled it up, and connected his phone. He was going to track down who did this. Starting with the text.

* * *

Lorna was largely useless for the next week. On the eighth day, she plugged in her dead phone and brought up some messages. She spent some time reading through ones between her and Sebastian, but when she was able to tear herself away again she texted Jim.

 _What can I do?_

He glanced at his phone when it buzzed, and was prepared to ignore it, but saw the number and changed his mind. He picked up and shot back

 _Come up here._

Then he set it down and went back to work.

His office was a warzone, if a very neat one. Pages and pages of pictures and information were taped up on the walls in meticulous rows. A map of the world and a globe sat side by side, with matching spreads of pins in them, marking seemingly random locations. He had three laptops and a desktop open on his desk, one deep in interpol's database, the others on various sections of his own. He had dragged two spare televisions in in addition to his normal one, and all three were playing different world news broadcasts on low volume.

Lorna got dressed, took one last swallow of liquor from her rapidly diminishing supply, and went upstairs. She knocked on the door, waited for him to beckon her in, and then stepped inside. The room looked about how she had expected it to. Sebastian would have been serious about it, but if she'd made a joke about a spider's web, he might have laughed. She shut the door behind her and stood just over the threshold, not sure what he could want from her here. What help would she be with this compiling of data?

"How's it going, Jim?"

"Abysmally," he said with a soft sigh, closing one laptop and looking up at her. "You look horrendous. How much have you been drinking?" The answer was too much, but he had a few empty liquor bottles around himself, so there wasn't much he could say. "Sit," he said, pulling out the bottle of bourbon he was currently working on and pouring a couple of glasses.

 _Moran liked this brand._

He closed the bottle and put it back in the cabinet beneath his desk, before picking up his glass and taking a slow sip, closing his eyes and letting it burn.

She sat and took a sip as well, trying and failing not to remember the taste of bourbon on Sebastian's lips. Oh, Christ. Could she even make it a month without him? "I haven't _stopped_ drinking since it happened, but I figure it's better than heroin or killing myself, so at this point there's really no point in worrying about it," she said slowly, her voice just a bit lifeless. She looked down into the amber liquid. "I haven't gotten much sleep. I'm not used to sleeping alone, and the feed was good nightmare fuel." She looked up again, appraising the room. "Have you eaten anything in the past week?"

He considered that, and took another sip of bourbon. He'd had the room on lockdown, so... "No, but I'll get there eventually. I've been busy." _Busy getting nowhere._ He looked back at her. "He would care, you know. About you being depressed like this. It isn't what he would want. He'd be furious about it, actually. About me, too, really, but I'd just tell him to feck off."

"I know he would care. That doesn't even remotely help, believe me," she sighed, shrugging a little. "I know he would tell me that he's not the only thing I have to live for, but that stopped being true a long time ago. I've had a fairly short life filled with abuse and drugs and he was the only good thing in a shitshow of life." She paused to sip at her bourbon again, surprised Jim was letting her get away with this much. He must have been hurting. "I'll stick around to put the son of a bitch who did this in the ground, but other than that I can't promise anything. I never told him that, but I've known it since we pulled him out of his sister's root cellar."

He nodded a bit. "Oh, I've known long before that. But that was when I first knew for certain I wasn't going to be able to get rid of you." His tone was vaguely exasperated, but mostly for appearance's sake. "I am disappointed, though. I had hoped for better. You have potential." He downed the rest of his whiskey. "His daughter is doing well. Boring, but with occasional instances of interest. With the right training she could replace him fairly successfully in a few years' time."

"Christ; Keira. I keep forgetting about her," she murmured, frowning. She didn't know if she could bear to see her. She had her father's eyes. "Regardless, I don't know if I could ever be the same after this. Work-wise. I just don't care anymore. My quality would drop enough it wouldn't be worth keeping me around anyways." She took another drink. "Keira is in Hits, I know, but you should put her in a rotation in my department. She's young enough to overcome her genetics; she can still learn how to spy without being on a rooftop. In a few years, you could have a very versatile right hand."

"I have one now, but she's given up all hope of survival," he said dryly, staring her down. "I'm not a patient man, Harrison. I'm not waiting a few years for someone competent. You're the best grifter I have. As for _versatile,_ I _own_ Armetti now. You think I don't know your history there? You're clean, you _were_ sober..." He observed the dregs of his drink idly. "If you want to live your life like a teen romance novel, and hurl yourself off some obscure cliff because your beau isn't there to make your heart go pitter-patter anymore, by all means. But then you're not the woman I thought you were. Nor Moran, for that matter. He saw potential in you from the start." He stood suddenly, picking up a green pen and walking over to the wall, scrawling a note in the margin of a photo, and then underlining a bit of text on a page a few feet over. He walked back to his desk, returned the pen and sat down.

She threw back the rest of the bourbon and set it down on the desk, bringing up her hand to rub at her forehand. "We'll see, Jim. But how long will it be until I'm caught again, tortured again, a human wreck again? Are _you_ going to help put me back together?" She looked at him steadily from the other side of the desk. "I'm not capable of doing it by myself. Learned that one _real_ young. I always have to have a vice, or someone to keep me from it. I'm not saying I'm going to off myself for certain, or immediately. But you should be prepared for it."

"Give me three days," he said calmly, reaching up to rub absently at the week-old scruff. "If you ever decide to kill yourself, tell me, and I will start a clock and get things in order. Seventy-two hours later, if you're still certain, then you can go however you choose."

"Fine," she sighed, exasperated, giving a tiny wave of her hand. She probably owed him that much. She couldn't promise that she wouldn't make a rash, grieven decision late one night, but she would do her best. She was silent for a moment, wishing she had more to drink. She wondered if she still had any cigarettes. "I miss him," she said then, her voice quiet. "It's been a week and I already miss him."

He didn't have a response to that, so he reached into the cabinet, withdrew the bourbon, and poured them both a double. He left the bottle on the table this time.

"We'll find whoever did this," he said quietly, after a few sips of whiskey. It was starting to affect him pretty heavily on his empty stomach, but he ignored it. "I'm not going to let it go unanswered."

"I know," she replied, then took a good swallow of the freshly replenished drink. She had to keep stopping herself from thinking of things to say to Sebastian later. How her day was, what Jim had said, something funny she saw, whatever Kelly had set on fire. Being constantly drunk was starting to become more difficult. And it was starting to affect her judgment. Her first instinct was to seek physical comfort of any kind, and with Jim the only person in sight, it was a dangerous line of thought. "Listen, boss... If you need me to do something to help, I'm here. Otherwise I should go. I'm pretty drunk, and I can see myself doing something stupid."

He took a breath, wandering through the drunken, exhausted shanty house that his mind palace had become over the last week. "I need you to look over... everything. All of this. A bit at a time." He looked around. "Whoever this is knows me. Very... very well. This is all custom designed just for me! How lovely." His smile was acrid. "I need different eyes to see what I might be blind to. I know it will take you a while. Come and go as you please."

She nodded. "Alright," she agreed, and stood, picking up the glass. Then she walked over to the far side of the wall and began the daunting task of reading all of it. Yikes.

He sat back to watch her. He had read it all over and over, until his eyes were red and he had it all memorized. He eventually turned his attention to the televisions, watching the news quietly.

Sometime around midnight she had to take a break, and she went back to the flat to sleep. The next morning she came back, a bag of bagels in her hand, which she set on the desk as she passed. Sebastian would have wanted Jim to eat. She returned to the papers.

He ate about half a bagel, grudgingly, but it tasted so good that he ended up eating the other half a few minutes later.

It wasn't for another couple hours that something pinged in her brain. She took a paper off the wall, squinting at it to make sure she was reading it right, and then her stomach twisted. "This is for me."

He was engrossed in his own reading a while later- the latest news from Belgium- when she spoke. His head snapped up, and then he stood. "What do you mean?" he demanded.

"These code names," she frowned, troubled. "'Little Bird,' 'Black Widow,' 'Whore.' These are what my bosses called me. Only I would have seen this combination and been affected. What the fuck?"

He walked over, studying the paper carefully. "Bases of operation named after your various exploits..." He raised an eyebrow. "Flamingo? Is that one as well? If so, I want the story." He stepped back, looking at the other papers. "A message to you. Why? To show that they know you. Another boast...?"

"I don't know..." she whispered, staring at the paper. What was this? Who was doing this, and why? God, were they doing all of this just to get to her? "Jim, tell me this can't be about me," she said in a hushed voice, looking at him with wide eyes. "Tell me they didn't kill him because of _me."_

"It's possible," he said with a shrug. "But not likely. Their main attack has been against the network. If this were personal, it would be much more obvious. They would have texted you the feed link, for example." He glanced at her, taking in the fear in her gaze and rolling his eyes slightly. "And if it was to get at you? So what? It changes nothing. It doesn't make you culpable."

She relaxed a little and swallowed, nodding. It didn't make her culpable but it was something she would have to live with knowing; that she'd fucked over someone bad enough that they had ended the life of the person most important to her. "Yeah, no, you're right. Sorry," she shook her head a little, and sighed to relieve the tension in her stomach. "So what do we do with this information? They know about us, but what does that mean?"

He walked to the center of the room, looking around slowly. "Not just that they know about us... Who called you Whore? Someone before DeWitt? It certainly wasn't me."

She snorted. "Besides my own name I feel like that's what you called me the most. Maybe putting my own name was too obvious. Flamingo was something that Ford Holmes called me once in a while. The flat I'd moved into had a lot of flamingoes. Just. On the walls, or the furniture..."

"Christ, did I really? That's painfully unoriginal," he muttered with a sigh. "Still. To have all of this... They've been watching you for years at the very least. None of these are written down anywhere. They would have had to have seen personal interactions, or talked to people who had seen them... this isn't someone who just stepped up to the plate."

"No, and that worries me," she frowned, taping the paper back to the wall. "Do they not have anything personal about you up here?" Honestly, she was glad that neither of them brought up the fact that maybe, just maybe, Sebastian had said something before he died. She didn't want to consider that.

"This whole bloody thing is personal," he snorted, annoyed. "A nest of dead ends and rabbit warrens that shows a disturbing intuition as to how I think, how I plan, how I react..." He rubbed at his eyes and then pushed a hand through his hair. It was disheveled, like the rest of him. His office was put together, but he very much wasn't. "I haven't made the announcement that Moran is dead," he said suddenly. "I need to be ready to name his replacement in hits and restructure the necessary sections _immediately_ , or all hell will break loose."

She muttered a swear, rubbing her eyes. "Who are you planning on putting in charge? I know plenty of people who _want_ it, but I don't know if they're even close to _qualified._ I can stopgap as best as I can, if you need me to, until you find someone better."

"I have a few options, but all of them involve bringing someone in from a different branch, or from outside. Armetti had occurred to me. Or giving you Hits and bringing someone in to take grifting." For that, he was considering Adler, but she didn't need to know that.

She shook her head. "Don't bring Armetti here. He'll be useful in America. You already lost one hardened hitman to me, you don't need another. And I would probably end up killing him. I'm sure Moran's death will make him think he has a _wonderful_ opportunity," she said acidly, half concerned with the professional, half dreading someone trying to make her move on. She couldn't handle that pressure, that insult to his memory. "If you can't find someone better, I'll take Hits. Godspeed to anyone who has to take over the bag of cats thats Grifting."

He nodded slightly. "I'll look into the situation a bit longer, but that may be my best course of action at the moment, even if it's temporary. I'll inform you when I've made a decision. Unless you have any suggestions on candidates for either department?"

She rubbed her eyes, shaking her head a little. "I don't know. I don't have faith in anyone right now. There's plenty of good people in both departments but none of them are leaders. As for anyone outside this branch I don't know enough to decide," she sighed, casting a depressed glance over the wall of papers.

He nodded a little, and then waved a hand to dismiss her. "For the time being, then, you'll take Hits. I can't afford to delay this any longer. The network is growing stagnate. I'll evaluate the situation today and make the announcement tonight."

"Alright," she agreed, running a hand through her hair. "You want me to keep reading over this stuff or get out of your way?"

He sighed, considering the room, then stood. "Keep reading. I'll work from my flat." In truth, he needed a break from the walls of unreadable futility. It was massively draining and frustrating.

She nodded with a quiet sigh, and moved to return to the wall she'd left. "Oh, and Jim? For both our sakes, please, shower."

He glared at her, rage rising in him almost instantaneously. He considered her for a long moment, then took a slow breath. He didn't have any way of threatening her right now. Death had no meaning to her, and pain would drive her away. He needed her, for the moment. So he just said softly, evenly, "I'll keep that in mind, whore," and headed for his flat.

She snorted, shaking her head and returning to the work, utterly unaffected by him. Nothing would get to her for the foreseeable future. Not when she'd lost so much.

* * *

He put out the email that night, after he had received Adler's acceptance. He saw no reason to treat the address any differently than his other occasional network-wide bulletins. To do otherwise would show weakness. The message was cold, clear, and brief:

 _To all departments:_

 _Sebastian Moran is dead. The new head of the Hits department will be Lorna Harrison. The new head of Grifting will be Irene Adler. All other personnel adjustments will be handled by security._

 _M_

Lorna checked her phone as it gave a one-two buzz; the vibration she had for any of Jim's messages or emails. She read it neutrally at first, and then felt sick, fingers tightening on the phone. Of course it would be fucking Irene Adler. That bitch had shown up so soon before they'd been called back to London - it made her suspicious, and it wasn't a feeling she enjoyed. She left Jim's office, deciding that she couldn't focus on anything else right now, and left for the common room to scrounge up some food, and to make a public appearance. She needed to prove she was still kicking.

The common room wasn't full, but it was more populated than usual, a dull roar of conversation. Almost everyone had phones out, and those that didn't were reading over other's shoulders.

The roar died off at a stagger when she walked in, eyes turning towards her warily, uncertain. A few people murmured congratulations, and one flustered woman offered condolences, but for the most part people kept their mouths shut.

She ignored them for the most part, only giving the room a cold scan with her eyes before turning for the community pantry and looking for something microwaveable. She settled on making a cup of macaroni and cheese, the beep of the microwave buttons loud in the silent room. As she waited for it to cook, she turned and leaned against the counter, eyes going to movement at the door. Short, dark hair; blue eyes. She sighed. Keira.

"Everyone else out. Not you."

Keira didn't seem surprised, just adjusted her pack over her shoulder as the collected people filed quickly out.

The teen walked into the room and over to a couch, dropping her bag and unzipping it, before pulling out a bottle of good vodka and walking over, unscrewing the cap with a small _crack_ as the seal broke. She took a long pull.

"Took it from his desk. Want some?" She offered the bottle in Harrison's direction, expression inscrutable.

She didn't answer for a moment as the microwave went off, turning and pulling out her bowl before she turned and took the bottle, taking two swift chugs before handing it back. "Has anyone taken anything from his desk, or just you?" She asked then, grabbing a fork and beginning to eat her food, eyes flicking definitively to Keira.

"Just me," she said, taking another swig. "I locked the door when I left. Unless security comes around to get in, which I doubt they will. Not now that you're in charge." Her eyes looked over Lorna for a minute before she said "Who fucked up?"

"Jim sent him to check out a situation in Belgium. Alone. They had him on false charges almost immediately. They executed him a week ago. Lethal injection," Lorna said, almost robotically. She ate more of her mac and cheese. "Everybody we sent in went dark. There was nothing we could do at the end."

"Who's they?" Another swig, before she set the bottle on the counter and walked over to sit on the arm of a couch.

She followed, sitting on the couch proper. "We don't know. They had control over a court, though. They sent us the prison feed of his death."

She nodded a little. "I want to see that," she said quietly, though her voice trembled just slightly.

She looked at Kiera directly instead of out of the corner of her eye. It was painful; she looked so much like Moran. "Why?"

She cleared her throat, and didn't look at Harrison before she finally said "He wouldn't want me to be afraid of it. Of how he died. Besides. Maybe he gave us a clue about who did this to him."

She nodded, rubbing her eyes. "I don't have it on me. I'll send it to you once I get it. Don't share it unnecessarily, I don't know how public we want it to be. I don't want it to exist at all, but there's nothing I can do about it."

She nodded a little, looking at Lorna for a minute before standing suddenly and sticking out a hand to help Lorna up. "Come on. I'm going to get my hair bleached and then find a dive and get fucking wasted, and I'm not stupid enough to do the second part alone. It's not alcoholism if it's social, and something tells me you need the drinks as badly as I do."

She gave a startled laugh. "Why the fuck are you bleaching your hair? And you're, what, seventeen? I guess you haven't learned that dive bars aren't worth it. If you want to get wasted we'll do it here. Better liquor, anyway," she shook her head taking her hand and allowing herself to be helped up.

Her expression pinched a little at the age crack. She would eighteen in a month, but that wasn't the point. "I'm bleaching my hair to honor my father, I'm going to a dive bar because they don't look twice at fake IDs, and I'm going _out_ because my dad just died and I can't show emotion here or I'll get eaten alive." Her words were barbed for a second, before she closed off again. "Are you coming or not?"

"I don't mean the common room, Keira, have some sense. We'll drink in our flat. Look over his rifles, drink his bourbon, listen to his music. God knows I've shown plenty of emotion in there," she sighed, gathering up her empty plate and walking over to the counter to put it in the sink for someone else to deal with. "But the last thing I want to do is go to a dive bar in his memory. I'm a recovering heroin addict, _again._ He wouldn't have been pleased if I went somewhere it was readily available."

She hesitated, glancing around. "I didn't mean the common room either. This whole place... Nowhere's fucking private. I guess your place is." She shoved her hands in her pockets. "Fine. Fine, your place, then. I just need to get the fuck away from everyone."

"He had the place swept for bugs every month or something," she snorted, then waved a hand. "Now where are we bleaching your hair? I can do it, if you want."

She was surprised at the offer, considering Lorna warily for just a moment before she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"I probably have some in the flat, come on," she said, beckoning her with a wave of her hand, and leading her back towards the elevator. Moran would laugh if he saw this. Lorna accepting a sentimental aside from his daughter, inviting her into their flat. Drinking to his memory. She still had a few bottles of liquor in the flat. There were a couple that she couldn't bring herself to touch.

Keira followed Harrison quietly, warily. They had never gotten along, but that felt petty now in the wake of Moran's death.

It hadn't sunk in yet. She could feel it sitting there, on the surface, waiting for something to break the last barriers and send it crashing into her full-force.

 _Dead_.

It wasn't like she'd known her father well, but she'd been starting to. And she had seen the potential. Had had aspirations of rising to become his second at Hits, maybe taking the department over so he could focus on guarding Jim...

Now he was gone. _Gone_.

They stood in silence in the elevator, lacking any common ground besides Moran to talk about. When they reached the right floor Lorna led her out and scanned into the flat. She walked in, leaving the door open for Keira behind her. "Let's do it mostly in the bathroom. I don't want to get bleach on the furniture."

She nodded, following after Harrison and studying the flat carefully. It showed a side of her father she'd never seen- what he was like in the comfort of his own home. It was surprisingly similar to what she had usually seen. Careful and stark organization, quiet elegance, guns. The kitchen was much better supplied than she would have thought, carefully hung pans and a variety of knives and tools and spices. She wondered if it was Moran or Lorna who liked to cook. Both?

The bathroom was spacious, and she looked around in appreciation. The flat was much nicer than her one-room cell in the lower levels, though that was to be expected.

Lorna crouched in front of the sink and started rooting through the cabinet, pulling out several different boxes of varying shades of red hair dye and finally coming up with a box of bleaching solution before piling the rest of it back in. She didn't hesitate to show her back to Keira. She didn't think she had any reason to distrust her, and even if she did, she no longer cared enough. She was exhausted. Moran was gone.

She stood, setting the box on the counter. "Alright. I assume you showered within the last 48 hours? It'll work best if you're not filthy."

"Yeah, this morning," she said quietly, waving off the question. This morning. That seemed like a long time away. Ten hours ago, when she hadn't known her father was rotting in some prison graveyard.

She nodded, grabbing a random towel off the rack (it wasn't random, it was hers, not Moran's) and handed it to Keira. "Wrap that around your neck and shoulders then, and we'll get going," she said, opening up the box and cracking open the bottle, pouring the chemicals together and then pulling on the gloves included in the kit. It was going to be even harder to look at Kiera after this. Right now, at most angles she could pretend Sebastian's features weren't right there, staring her in the face. Once she was blonde, though, it would be impossible. "Have you gotten good use out of that motorcycle he got you?"

She smiled a little at that, just the hint of a smirk curling the corner of her mouth. She wrapped the towel around her shoulders and nodded a little. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Got my license, and I've been doing races... I'm good."

She chuckled, pouring the solution into the tiny tray and picking up the brush, picking up a good amount on the bristles and starting to paint the paste into her hair. "He'd get a kick out of that, I'm sure," she smirked, wrinkling her nose as bleach wafted up it. "Your scalp may start burning; that happens."

She nodded just a little, minimally, cautious of the brush on her head. "It's fine. Just be careful about my neck behind my left ear. Roadburn." The scrape had been ragged when it happened, full of gravel and dirt, but now it was near healed.

She frowned once her eyes found it, tilting her head forward with a finger to the back of the head. "Have you been wearing proper equipment? You're aware of just how many people a year die from motorcycle accidents, correct?"

"Yes, _mum,_ " she snorted. Though sarcastic, the word planted a boot in her gut she wasn't expecting. "Just wiped out during a race and hit the ground funny. I'm fine."

"Alright, as long as Sebastian Moran's only kid doesn't get taken out by a glorified bicycle," she rolled her eyes, letting her head return to normal and continuing to apply the bleach. It was weird, Keira making fun of her that way. It was something Sebastian had used to do, but it was a double-edged sword coming from her. As his, what, girlfriend, partner, live-in, she was the closest thing to a parent the girl had left.

She rolled her eyes, but didn't comment, watching in the mirror as Harrison spread the paste around. Finally she asked "Why did you wait a week to tell us?" _To tell me?_

"I left this flat for the first time in a week yesterday," she said quietly. "Jim stopped me from shooting myself. I've probably come very close to alcohol poisoning this week. When I got myself kind of together me and Jim spoke. We couldn't announce his death without having another head of hits in place, the power vacuum would have sowed discord, and we can't handle that at the moment." She was silent for a moment, then sighed. "I thought about telling you, but, honestly, I couldn't face the idea of seeing you. You look... _so_ much like him."

She listened to the confession, surprised deep down that Harrison was telling her all of this. But it made sense. The woman had apparently really loved Moran. Still did. She nodded a little at the comment about her looks, still watching their doubles in the mirror. "Yeah. My mum always said that, too. That I looked like him."

"I'm glad it's not just me," she muttered, carefully working around the mostly healed scrape on the girl's neck. "If you had any questions about him you want answered, now is the time. I don't know everything, but I know a lot of it, and I can guess pretty well."

She sighed, then laughed a little. The vodka was starting to hit her, and the laugh sounded off. "This is some bullshit," she muttered. She closed her eyes for a moment, and told herself the burning was bleach fumes. "I don't know. What the fuck should I ask?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. What have you ever wondered about? I'm still not even sure if he could dance or not..."

"Not wondering if he could dance," she muttered. "What got him into organized crime? To the Network?"

"Indirectly, his father," she said, voice carefully devoid of emotion. Touchy subject. "He joined the military to spite his father. Learned the tools of the trade. When he got kicked out, he started picking up bodyguard jobs or some shit."

She nodded just a little. Lorna set the empty bowl aside and Keira headed for the kitchen to find aluminium foil. "Did he care at all about... That I existed?" she asked, more quietly, finding what she was looking for and ripping off a piece, wrapping it around her head.

"I assume you mean after he found out you _did_ exist," she said, following her out and pulling off the latex gloves to throw in the trash can. "Which he did, at least as much as he knew how. He was given a choice about whether or not to take you into the network, and he chose to take you in. I can't say he had a sense of fatherly affection, but I think I can say without a reasonable doubt that he cared about you more than his father ever cared about him, even if that is an astoundingly low bar."

She accepted that for what it was, walking over to rinse the bits of paste that had gotten onto her hands off in the sink. She let the water run for longer than she should have, just feeling it slide over her hands, cool and distracting.

Finally she shut it off. "I didn't really know him at all. I shouldn't be bothered. But I am."

"He was a man you've heard about most of your life, whether or not you knew who he really was. All children add emotional attachment to what are essentially fictional characters," she said quietly, opening up the liquor cabinet and picking out a bottle of middle-shelf vodka.

"But I'm not a child." She dried her hands. "I'm a member of the best criminal network in the world. I survived the culling. I should be better than this. He wouldn't have cared if I got killed."

"Everyone has lingering childhood sentiments, Keira, even Sebastian. And he would have cared. He might not have admitted it to anyone, but I think he was pleased with the idea of a progeny," she replied, moving over to sit on the sofa.

She didn't respond to that, choosing instead to focus on the couch Lorna had just sat on. It was, unlike the rest of the apartment, rather in shambles- stained and torn and surrounded by empty bottles of alcohol.

"Was he really all you had to care about?"

"At some point," she said quietly, rubbing her fingers over the tear in the couch that she had made. "Who else? What else?"

She shrugged. "Seems odd. That's all. To only have one person in your life that makes an intact skull seem worth it." She walked over to pick up the vodka, took a sip, frowned. "We should have brought the other bottle up." She took another swig.

"How many people have you met who you'd stay alive for, Keira?" She challenged, raising an eyebrow at her. "And why are you insulting my vodka?"

"A. I am not insulting your vodka, merely stating that the other bottle was better. Which it was. He had it around for some special occasion, I think. It was in a nice box. And B... A lot of people?" She felt vaguely sorry for the woman sitting across from her. "Plenty of the kids I went through culling with. We go out drinking, watch each other's backs. Both of my girlfriends- yes they know about each other- My cousin Matthew back in Ireland, some of the guys I race with, the rest are tools... You need to get a dog or something."

She laughed, rubbing her eyes. "What's that like? Living a normal life until your parents died? Keira, my entire family were criminals. I grew up with my step dad using me to ferry drugs. My real dad left my mom to go do hits. She was the one calculating all the money coming in and out of my step father's tiny drug operation. During the start of our relationship, your father got my mother killed. I shot my own brother in the head after he tried to shoot Sebastian. Who, incidentally, also killed my father, with my blessing." She paused to take a swig of vodka, her stomach burning.

"I've been at the head of the grifting department for years, which means I don't have and can't make friends. I killed the man I used to distract myself from Seb. I can't do drugs, and the drink won't work forever. I don't have the loyalty to Jim that He did. There's nothing for me here, and there was never a chance of there being anything. I grew up and learned to kill my friends and family in order to survive. But what's the point? What's the point if the only thing I've ever really loved is gone?"

Keira was quiet for a while, sitting in a chair. Then she shrugged. "Whatever you want it to be, I guess," she said finally, the tin foil on her head crinkling slightly. "I mean, there's a whole world of people and things. You're head of hits now. You can travel wherever you want, run the department however you like as long as you don't piss off the Boss. Hell, you could get a nice apartment and take painting classes and talk about feelings. There's a lot out there."

"I'm the head of hits," she repeated, bitterly, "And that means that I don't have the time to do anything like that. It means now instead of watching out for spies I have to watch out for knives. There's a whole world of people and things, but I have never had access to them. They have access to me. Or they used to. Christ, Keira, don't you get it? After all the shit I've seen, after all the sexual assaults in the past few years, the near deaths, the torture, the head games - I went through all of that with him. There is no After. There is no leisure time, no place of safety, no person on this Earth anymore who I can trust. If you have to suffer, you shouldn't do it alone. It's been a week and I'm already fucking sick of it," she spat, a few tears spilling over her cheeks. Her chest hurt, like it had been ripped in two. "He was everything that made me feel safe and at home and worthwhile. And now he's gone."

Another silence. She watched the broken woman across from her, trying to pinpoint what she wanted to say. Finally she took a breath. "So...?" She shrugged. "'Safe' and 'home' and 'worthwhile' are luxuries you can live without. I haven't felt any of those since my mother died. She was gone and there went 'home'. I followed my father and ended up in drug-trafficking, so there goes 'safe'. I _find_ my father, and the first chance he gets he puts me into the culling and cuts all ties. There goes 'worthwhile.'" Her tone wasn't bitter, but it was perhaps a touch frustrated. "You didn't suffer through those alone. He was there. The reason you're suffering through this alone is because you didn't tell anyone. Now I'm here and you aren't alone again. He died. It's horrible. I want him back. But there is a point to living without him. There _is."_

"He suffered with me. That's part of it," she whispered, wiping the tears off her face. She couldn't believe she was falling apart in front of Moran's teenage daughter. "I've lost too much. There's no one else who can ever grasp that or what it means to me. I don't have the will to keep doing this without him. Why are you trying to convince me otherwise?"

She laughed, exasperated. "Because you're a human being who deserves a good life. And because my father loved you, and if he's watching right now from his VIP suite in hell, he's screaming at you to stop being stupid."

"I don't know if I believe any of that, but there's no reason for me to argue it. I don't care about it. I'm too tired," she sighed, grabbing the vodka again and taking another swig.

Keira watched her, briefly considered removing the alcohol from the decision but decided that that would make things worse. Instead she stood, starting to walk around and pick up empties, bringing them to the recycle bin.

"What are you doing?" Lorna asked, watching Keira wearily. This all felt pointless.

"Cleaning up," she said matter-of-factly. She needed to do _something_. Standing still just meant thinking, and thinking was a problem at the moment. She finished clearing up the bottles and looked around for a moment for something else, before finally walking over to sit again. She was definitely buzzed, but suddenly she didn't want to be drunk anymore. Her head was hot. "I should rinse this out before it burns my hair off," she said, standing suddenly and heading for the bathroom.

She waved her hand, indicating agreement and sipping more of the vodka, sprawled back against the couch. She was exhausted.

She showered quickly, drying off with a borrowed towel and getting out, looking at herself in the mirror.

Her father stared back.

She took a slow breath, closing her eyes tightly and swallowing back everything that wanted to break out. She couldn't do this, not right now. She'd go out, get away, find somewhere no one would question a girl crying in a corner.

She wiped away the few tears that escaped and straightened, taking a breath and roughing her hands through the short blond crop of hair. Then she headed out into the living room quietly.

Lorna practically flinched at the sight before her, her chest wringing itself in knots. "Christ," she breathed, "It's like looking at a ghost. I don't... I don't know if you can be here."

"I know," she said, straightening her shirt. "I'm going. I'll see you around, I guess. Don't kill yourself. And don't forget to send me that video." She headed for the door quickly.

She nodded, ducking her head, trying not to look but wanting to, wanting to see that familiar face come back around the corner and make a wisecrack, talk about cooking and Jim and sniper rifles. She pressed a hand to her mouth as the door opened, stifling a sob.

Keira headed to the elevator and hit the down button, but then eyed the stairs and took them instead, running down them rapidly, full of energy to burn. She hit the garage level and headed for her motorcycle, pulling her helmet on over her damp hair and revving the bike up, heading out onto the street.

* * *

Playlist: Halsey - Colors (Stripped)


	100. Time Limits

Playlist: Panic! At The Disco - House of Memories

* * *

The next morning, Ines knocked on the door to Moran's cell and then swept in, a small DVD player in her hand. "Good _morning,_ Colonel. I have some entertainment for you today! And news. Care to hear it?"

He looked up from where he was lying on the cot. Whatever drugs they had given him to fake his death had been nasty. His heart had never stopped - that had been fake audio - but it had caused a minor seizure and then unconsciousness, and apparently, an allergic reaction that had almost killed him for real. The after-effects had been flu-like in nature, and he was still weak, recovering.

He gave Ines a withering look. "What could you possibly have to entertain me? But sure. The bloody news."

"Harrison has been named the new head of your department, though by all accounts she won't last long. She's a ruin. My source says she's likely to kill herself within the month," Ines said brightly, walking over to sit on the cot next to him. "So not as exciting as her _death,_ but pretty close. If you want me to try and get you a picture I will. She's a very pretty woman, once you take off all those scars." She opened up the DVD player, turning it to face him. "But this isn't of her. It's of your spawn."

"She was gorgeous with the scars," he said absently, barely above a whisper. He didn't want a picture of Harrison. The ring was hard enough. If she killed herself while he was in here...

 _She won't. She isn't that stupid. She won't, and then I'll get out._

He was surprised when Ines mentioned Keira. "What about her?"

"She went on a bender," she chimed, grinning, pressing play on the player. " _Watch."_

He did, and couldn't deny it was his daughter. She looked even more like him with her hair bleached. He watched the security footage from the bar, not bothering to ask how she'd gotten it. It was on fast-forward, but he lost track of how many shots she downed. When she got kicked out, she got on her bike- he bit his tongue angrily at that- and drunkenly wove her way past CCTV cameras to another bar to repeat the process.

 _Who are these idiot bartenders, not carding? She can't buy hard stuff, you fuckers._

He memorized bar names for revenge.

"It's too bad, she made it home without incident," Ines sighed. "Drunk driving is a serious crime, you know. I'm surprised she was out on her own. What were your lovers too busy doing to ignore your only child in her grief?"

He pushed the DVD player away, deciding to ignore the pluralization of 'lovers'. "Harrison is going off the deep end, you said so yourself, and she and Keira never got along. I'm not surprised."

"Mm, I suppose," she sighed, folding the DVD player up again and tucking it in her lap. "Still, hard to believe she let the kid recklessly endanger herself while she looked so much like you. Maybe she's growing to hate your memory. Unlikely, but possible. Interesting coping mechanism."

"She looks exactly like me. Barely any of her mother in there, except for the hair, which apparently she changed. I could see that being jarring when in mourning. I doubt Harrison knew what she was doing. Keira never would have told her."

"But how well do you really know her, Colonel? It's my understanding that you never really got to know your kid," she shrugged, smirking at him. "How do you know what she will do?"

He shrugged. "Then your understanding was incorrect. It wouldn't be the first time. So, now what happens, I just lay around rotting in a fake barracks for the rest of eternity? Surely you're not that boring."

"Of course not. Now you get to decide how much grief I give your old friends," Ines smiled, giving him a mock sympathetic look. "You can either feed me some information, or I can make their lives even more miserable. I need some kind of your cooperation."

He sighed, closing his eyes. "Wow. How original. Let me know when you have something interesting to say, woman, or leave me alone."

Ines considered him for a moment, then tsked once. "Oh, Colonel. That's a shame. I didn't want to, but... you should get a good night's sleep tonight. Starting tomorrow, we'll begin sleep deprivation." She stood. "If that doesn't work, we'll move to a small, dark space, and continue that as well."

"Well, that was a quick change of tactics. Feeling a bit uncertain of yourself? First it's my friends, then it's me... And still, completely unoriginal." He chuckled, eyes still closed. "You must be new to this game."

She dropped the DVD player on the cot behind her and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back, her jaw tense, eyes blazing. "You don't want me getting _creative,_ Colonel, believe me. I have somewhere near the IQ of your beloved Moriarty; below or above remains to be seen. I can come up with things just as bad as he can," she hissed, pulling harder, her free hand on the gun holstered at her side. "I will take your sight, then your hands, then your fucking _legs_ if I don't get any cooperation from you. Give me _something,_ and we won't progress past sleep deprivation. Hold out on me and you'll never shoot a sniper rifle again."

He'd finally gotten to her, and he made no attempt to keep the victory out of his gaze as he met hers. "There's the problem, though," he said, voice soft despite the pain of her ripping at his hair. "You're used to people being afraid of you, but I lost my fear of Moriarty a long time ago, and you're not the special snowflake you think you are. Do what you want to me. It won't change that _I'm not afraid of you._ "

"You don't need to be afraid of me," she spat, pushing him away as she let go. "You just need a sense of self preservation and a modicum of selfishness. I'll get your cooperation, Colonel. You'll see."

He gave her a smile that was all teeth and mockery. "Poor little girl, snarls and snarls but no one cares when she bites. It must be so very frustrating when your best keeps falling flat. Well, I look forward to this, honey. It'll be like watching a fledgling falling out of a nest while it tries to learn to fly."

She whipped around and was gone in nearly an instant, leaving behind a practically tangible scent of anger. She had to get control over him. _Had to._ But how?

He watched her go, and for the first time in all of this, he felt _good_. He had broken past the outer layer of calm, flawless human. He had found her weak point. Now it was simply a matter of exploiting it, worming forward... He would play her like he had played Jim, and somewhere she would make a mistake. It was only a matter of time.

His mind turned briefly to Lorna, and he wondered suddenly how much time he had.

* * *

Ines didn't visit him over the next two days, and without her, the food stopped too. When she came in again on the second night, she gave him a sickeningly sweet smile as she put the tray down next to him. "I should warn you about the hallucinogen I put in this. You don't _have_ to eat it, of course, that's up to you. But why not, right?"

"Because I'm allergic to most hallucinogens," he lied easily, not even bothering to look at her from where he lay. "Which most competent captors would know. And even if I wasn't, the fact that you think two days of no food is long enough to make me ignore being drugged, you are once again very mistaken."

"Funny that you say most competent captors, assuming I _haven't_ checked," she snorted, picking up a piece of bread from his tray and taking a bite out of it, swallowing before dropping the piece of bread on his chest. " _Mmm, garlic._ Flush it down the toilet, I don't care. If I _really_ want to drug you I'll put it in the water."

He shrugged, picking up the bread and tossing it over back onto the tray without looking. "Fine. Drug the water, then. I won't drink. Gets a bit problematic when I start dying, though. Then you just have to inject it, along with saline solution, nutritional supplements... Or you could just inject me in a straightforward manner. I'll even lie still for you. Your call."

Ines sat down on the cot, pulling her rifle into her lap and leaning on it, resting her chin on her hands and looking at him for a minute. "You're really very used to this, aren't you? I suppose it's to be expected. How long have you been working with Moriarty? A decade? Now, what I just can't see is how you grew such a gaping weak spot. Her, sure," she shrugged, eyes looking up at the ceiling briefly. "I mean, she's a glorified whore, it's in her nature to be more emotional. But you? I don't get it."

He stretched out slowly, grunting as his back cracked in a few places. He sighed, and then sat up and turned to sit across from her, meeting her gaze, elbows on knees, mirroring her pose. "I have been with him for over a decade, that is correct. And, unavoidably, I have been the captive of various enterprising individuals, all of whom were certain they would be the last of me." He smirked a little. "Yet here I am. Weaknesses or not."

"I don't intend to be the last of you, unlike the majority of your captors. I intend to be the last of our good friend James, however. As the saying goes, this town isn't big enough for the two of us. But you? You interest me. You'd fit, if you decided to," she said, expressionless. "I don't bring up your weakest spot to threaten you. If I wanted to exploit a weak spot, I would have you shot up with heroin. But if you won't speak to me about any useful information, tell me about _her._ I can't grasp it. I'm not made to. I suspect no one of my caliber is."

He was silent for a moment, evaluating her. He would never work for her, not even if Jim was dead. He'd kill her and take the network for himself the first chance he got. But the only way that happened was if she trusted him enough to turn her back.

He took a breath, and shrugged. "It's not logical. I told myself a hundred times to walk away. I threw her under the bus and destroyed her, but in the end I couldn't resist piecing her back together. I tried to kill her, left her bleeding out on the floor, but I didn't finish the job. She... understands me. Never tried to change me. She was just... a part of me. Hurting her hurts me, and I'm not much of a masochist."

She made a thoughtful sound. "Interesting. If you had done even one of those things to me I'd have killed you. I suppose that's the feelings, isn't it, her putting up with that. What an unsavory lifestyle," she mused, tapping a finger absently on her chin. "By your estimation, how many scars would you say you inflicted on her?"

He smirked a little. "Physical? Two. Emotional? The devil only knows. I would have killed me too, for half of what I did. But she..." He shrugged. "She had other ideas."

She snorted, leaning over a little and picking up the tiny croissant that served as dessert, eating a bite off of it thoughtfully. She had lied to him about the hallucinogen, just to see what his reaction would be. "And how many has she given you?"

"Two," he returned with a smirk, watching her eat the croissant and ignoring the rumbling of his stomach. He reached up to pull up his shirt, baring his chest and revealing the two sets of initials there, Jim's and Lorna's.

"Isn't that _adorable._ Pity you can't match. Difficult to have possessive markings when you fuck people for a living," she scoffed through a mouthful of crumbs. "How does that one-sided monogamy suit you? I'm assuming it's monogamous. How much time can you have to go screw a random man or woman while you're sitting by Moriarty's side, protecting him from harm? And other activities, if the rumors are to be believed."

He dropped his shirt, smirking back easily, not in the least bit bothered by her smugness. "And if the rumors are true? So what? He's the most powerful man in the world, regardless of what the Americans think." He leaned back on his hands. "But you're different than he is. You take an interest in people. They bore him."

"I'm interested in people, yes. I can't liberate myself without knowing them. Politics are disgusting, but a necessary evil I must face," she shook her head. "If I could be afforded the luxury of boredom, maybe I would take it. But that's not exactly quantifiable. I don't think I would stoop to having sex with my employees out of boredom, though. There is better entertainment."

He laughed. "Perhaps. I never understood his motivations, but I wasn't complaining. So, tell me, how does learning about me help you? What do I help you 'afford'?" His eyes were reserved, but interested.

"You may be a small subset of the population, but the outlook of someone who originally tried to shun human feelings is valuable. It's a stepping stone to the core of what everyone is, I think," she shrugged, hand flexing a little away from her face. "If I'm going to throw the next revolution, I need to have an understanding of people. The lack of such is what's brought down multiple revolutions."

"A revolution, hmm?" he asked, smiling. "Well, that would be an interesting turn of events. Looking to put yourself on top?" He scrambled through the list of things Lorna had taught him about grifting, and gave a more relaxed smile, without his teeth.

"Me, and the rest of the people who have been spat on for generations by the French and upper-class Belgians. I care more about the 'me' part, but I figure everyone has to give charity," Ines rolled her eyes. She made a silent note of his change in posture.

He was quiet for a bit, then sat back a bit on the bed, putting a bit of distance between them. His right hand strayed to the ring on his left finger, and he spun it there absently, watching the light reflect off of it. "A lot of people revolt. Few succeed."

"Why do you think I'm doing a character study of the human race?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "I won't be Napoleon. I won't march into Russia in the winter. I'll learn from history's mistakes."

"Napoleon studied Caesar, Germany studied Napoleon, you study the Germans, but in the end you'll find your own unique way to fail. There are so many paths to failure and so few to victory." He shook his head. "You'll fail."

"Ah, but you're forgetting one thing," she smirked, raising a finger. "I'm not a military commander or a conqueror. I have no interest in taking land that isn't already supposed to be mine. I'll do what the Americans did, or the Indians did, or the Russians did, to their own people no less."

"The Americans are a bad example, until the Native American revolution. Wake me up when that happens." He smiled a little. "As for your revolution... I can't help you. You must know that."

She leaned back a little, sighing. "You're missing the point, Colonel. Every little bit helps. I talk to anyone I can. Build the database, so to speak. It will all come together."

He shook his head a little. "Build all the data you want. I can't help you. I think we're done here, unless you wanted to inject me with hallucinogens?"

"Watch it, Colonel," she warned, standing. "Don't think you can get away with dismissing me more than once. Have a good rest of your day."

"I will, thank you," he said, unruffled. When she left he stood and took the food, bringing it into the bathroom and flushing it down the toilet before setting the tray next to the door. Then he started a light exercise routine. He was trying to get his strength back. And he was thinking. He didn't know that he wouldn't break, but he liked to think he wouldn't. Still, if he could find a way to ensure Lorna and Jim's survival, then they could retake the network if it fell.


	101. Falling Through The Cracks

A few months later, things were not going so great. Lorna was still struggling to keep herself together, but it only felt like it was getting harder. Wasn't time supposed to heal wounds? This seemed like a very bad cosmic joke, and she consistently attempted numbing herself with alcohol.

Irene Adler wasn't helping matters. Now that she was running the Grifting department, she kept appearing around the building. Lorna didn't appreciate that very much. Irene would give her very... _condescending_ looks. Of course, if she brought this up to Jim she would only be ignored, or maybe even chastised, so she suffered alone, as she was trying to become used to doing.

Running Sebastian's old department wasn't too difficult. She already had the leadership experience, and most of the people she now controlled were careful not to get in her way. She kept it going, but anything beyond that had slipped out of her grasp with his death. She didn't know who was in charge of security these days, which was likely a bad sign, but she was far too exhausted to care. If Jim was handling it, fine. If Jim was ignoring it, that was also fine. What control did she have over it? It just wasn't worth worrying about.

* * *

Jim was floundering, despite his best efforts. He had gone through six replacement bodyguards since Moran's death. The longest one had lasted was forty-two days before he'd pulled out his gun and shot her in the head. She hadn't done anything particularly wrong, he'd decided, when cleaning carried her body out of his office. She was actually rather competent. But she wasn't Moran, and competent wasn't enough.

The network was floundering, too, and for once he was having trouble caring. The head of security was complaining that Jim had killed off six of his best people, and that replacements were hard to come by right now. That applications had stopped coming in, that the vetting process was slow and difficult.

He didn't care. It was Moran's problem.

* * *

It was on the night after Jim killed his latest security guard that she showed up at his office door, a bottle of tequila in her hand, and knocked in a pattern she associated with Moran. She didn't know why. Maybe it was a knock he had used in front of her once. She didn't know exactly what she was doing there, but she didn't want to be alone, and he was the only one who could come close to understanding without looking like Sebastian.

Moran's customary knock rang through the office, and Jim felt vaguely ill as his brain presented for him the number of times he had heard that knock used- 237- and the flavor of Moran that came with it. That was the knock of a tired, frustrated Moran, coming in to toe around a fight and find a solution to a rough problem. That was a knock he had heard so, so many times...

"Come in, Lorna," he called quietly.

He was sitting at his desk, which had gone from orderly chaos to just plain chaos, and the rest of his office was just about as disheveled. He was clean, and shaven, but there were dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and he had lost weight.

She came in, lifting the tequila bottle for him to see. "I brought liquor. The 'pretty fun' stuff. I figured absinthe was probably too much fun," she said, shutting the door behind her and walking in, moving to sink into the chair across his desk. She was surprised there weren't papers strewn across it. "I'm sorry, I don't have a real reason for being here. I just didn't want to be alone. No one else could fill this role."

He nodded a little, digging in a drawer and producing a glass. His own was already on the desk. He set the clean one next to it and motioned for her to pour. "I won't say no to tequila," he sighed. In truth, he was glad for the company.

She leaned forward and poured them both a full glass, then grabbed her's and sat back, sighing. "How did it end up like this? How did _we_ end up like this?" She sighed, taking a sip of tequila.

"Moran died," he said quietly, picking up his glass and taking a large swallow of tequila, closing his eyes and sighing. "The fucker."

"We should have been able to survive it. Better than this. You're one of the most powerful men in the world and I'm a seductress who made her living off of toying with the hearts of others. This happening to us, it doesn't make sense," she muttered, giving another sigh.

"No. But none of it makes sense. Him giving a damn about you doesn't make any sense. Your putting up with his shit doesn't make any sense. Him being... He and I... Nothing makes sense." He downed his tequila and reached out to pour another.

She took it a little more slowly. She'd already been drinking today. Her alcoholism was back in full swing, and she planned to keep it that way. "I miss him. I miss his cooking. I miss the way he smelled like gunpowder and spices. I miss how tall he was. And _god_ do I miss the sex."

He was silent for a while, considering all of that. "I miss him, too," he said finally, his voice quiet, but sure. "He was important."

"I just... I miss everything about him. Even his damn fucking resistance to help. The way he shut down sometimes. Even though that didn't happen much anymore. I think the last time was when I was jealous of you. Didn't help that you fucked him in an alley to get back at me. Uncool," she shook her head, though it was obvious she couldn't bring herself to care anymore. She didn't have room to be angry with Jim.

He shrugged. "He was mine before he was yours. You're lucky I let you have any of him at all. But you... had your uses. So you stayed." He sighed.

"Hey, I fucked him first, I had the claim on that frontier," she snorted, then chuckled and downed some more tequila. "Seriously, what's even the point of being pretty again now that he's gone? I don't care what anyone thinks of me now. I don't care if I'm desirable. There's no point without him."

He shrugged. "It's only been a few months. I've been told this... sensation... goes away eventually. Or at least lessens. You'll find a reason. I personally recommend revenge, it works well."

"It's not lessening. I'm dealing with it, on the outside. I grit my teeth and do what I have to. But every day is worse. It hurts more. It's agony and I can't escape it. Fuck," she shook her head, and finished her glass, leaning forward and pouring herself another. "I don't care about revenge. Once I find who did it, what then? Killing them won't fill the empty space in my bed. It won't bring him back. It will only remove another connection he has to this world. He'll be further away."

He snorted. "I don't plan to kill them. I plan to keep them alive until the day I die. I'm going to weld them into shackles and spend every day inventing new ways to torture them. And I am going to enjoy it." His eyes were alight, for just a moment. Then he sighed through his nose. "It's only been four months. You'll find someone else eventually."

She laughed. "Christ. Moran was the only person I ever found. How old am I? I've lost so much time in captivity, I can't remember. Thirty, maybe, a little less? I've only ever loved Sebastian. At one point I thought maybe Armetti... but I left him the first time I disagreed with him. That wasn't love. That was me being in a non-abusive relationship for the first time and thinking it was love. Who else will there ever be?"

"Why, for the love of Christ, are you asking _me_ that question, Harrison? I don't give a shit about people. That's who I am. So this whole thing is very much out of my comfort zone." He sounded very irritated.

"You told me there would be someone else. I'm disagreeing," she sighed, giving a depressed look to her glass. "I don't know. I'm lost."

"I've noticed." He took a slow breath. "Well. You can come here. When you're lost. No sense in you going somewhere idiotic or dangerous." He topped off his drink.

Her eyes flicked up to him, a dull curiosity to them. "You said yourself you don't know what to do with me. I'm not rejecting the offer, but it sounds like an inconvenience to you."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Inconvenient, maybe, but more interesting. I need a break from the revenge business every once in a while."

"Alright," she shrugged, as if there was nothing to do about it. "I apologize in advance for when I get too drunk and try to fuck you. That's a depressing inevitability."

"Don't apologize," he said, sipping his tequila. "Who knows. Maybe I'll agree. Like I said. I need a break."

She cast her eyes around the room, lingering on the messier piles of papers. "Yeah, I think I'll have to agree with that."

He considered her for a while, before he said, "Do you want to fuck, Harrison? Because I think if I had another drink or two, I could decide that was an acceptable idea."

She considered him right back. Would it be the same as the couple of threesomes they had had, back when the third piece of them wasn't missing? Even if it wasn't... "I'm not going to say no."

He nodded, downing his drink and reaching for the bottle to refill. "Well, then, let's see where this evening goes." The idea of companionship was, for once, a touch appealing. Moran had been one thing. That was anger and frustration and dominance. But this...

 _James Moriarty seeking comfort. Jesus, I'm becoming laughable._

This was the most contractual-feeling rebound fuck she'd ever agreed to, but that didn't make the idea any less appealing. He was the closest thing she would ever get to having Sebastian again, and she knew it. She followed his suit and downed the rest of her glass before refilling it again. "Is this week's bodyguard still alive?"

"No, and I'm going to have to replace this rug. It's taken a beating. Cleaning can only do so much." He tilted his head back, tired. "They're all useless."

She didn't think he'd like her bringing up the fact that him telling her to move on was hypocritical, so she didn't, just nodded and took another drink. There had been a couple of competent people in Jim's office since he had started looking for a replacement, but Jim had killed them anyway. "I hate to do this to myself, but maybe bringing Armetti here is what needs to happen. He's not Moran, but no one is. Maybe you can live with him."

He shook his head, took a breath. "That man is trying to be me, and failing miserably. I need someone different enough from me to present opposing ideas, excellent with tactics and security, imposing if I need them to be, unassuming and invisible if I require..." He stopped talking and drank instead. "I want to find his body."

She raised her eyebrows, looking a little pale. "Moran's? Why? I don't want to acknowledge its even out there, let alone see it."

"Proof," he said, eyes hard. "Bloody _confirmation_." There were too many ways to fake a death. His mind came up with more daily. It was eating him alive.

She downed the rest of her glass, which was a good amount, and grimaced. "Alright, well, I can't stop you. But if you find it... I don't think I want to be involved."

He nodded absently, and considered the rest of his glass. He downed it in one go, then stood, setting the glass down almost delicately. He walked around the table, considering Harrison for a moment... before he reached down and got two fistfuls of her shirt, hauling her up out of the chair and kissing her roughly as he shoved her back against the wall.

She had a moment of startled surprise where getting her feet under her was difficult, then she grabbed ahold of Jim's forearm for leverage and dragged him closer, giving as good as she got, teeth clashing against his.

He kissed her ravenously, doing his best to lose himself in the feeling of teeth and tongue and stolen breath. He grabbed her wrist and pinned it against the wall next to her head, his body pressing against hers roughly, with not a hint of restraint or decorum. He wanted this to be harsh, he wanted this to _hurt._

She let out something resembling a moan at his rough handling, every sudden longing to be touched from the past months welling up at once in a violent fashion. She didn't fight to free her wrist, her other hand twisted in his shirt, pulling him against her further while she kissed him back fiercely, not shy to bite him when she needed a breath. She could come close to feeling crushed, craved it, even, but she wanted the full effect to be in the midst of fucking, not the foreplay.

He snarled as she bit into him, and reached down to unbuckle his trousers and get them out of the way. His hands shifted to her legs, and he shoved the skirt she was wearing up her legs, hands finding her thighs and gripping them with bruising strength as he continued his snogging war.

Her nails dug into his abdomen through his shirt for a moment before she let go and slid her hand downward to squeeze him through his pants, her heart pounding in her head, Jim's breath hot on her lips. She wanted to fuck him now, _immediately,_ damn the lack of preparation. She wanted it to hurt, to make her draw red lines on him with her nails. She needed to feel an ache that wasn't in her fucking chest.

He didn't bother pretending that he couldn't read her signals. He shoved his pants out of the way and reached up to push her knickers aside, and then he pushed into her without pause, snarling and tilting his head to sink his teeth into her neck, breaking skin and tasting blood as he started moving.

" _Fuck,"_ she hissed, nails ripping at his shirt as she worked to adjust, though the pain satisfied some need at her core that she couldn't truly explain, her back arching off the wall and fighting with him for a moment before giving in again.

He was relentless in the face of her clawing and thrashing. He could still feel the need pouring out of her every pore, matching his own. He was wrath and desperation and starvation, and all of that drove every movement he made as her blood coated his tongue and his hips crashed and bucked mercilessly against hers.

She pushed his shirt up, fingers finding bare skin and not hesitating to leave scores across his hips, teeth finding his shoulder and biting down through cloth until she needed to breathe again and she had to break away, panting, a desperate moan leaving her throat. To anyone else this would have looked like a hate fuck. She didn't care. She just wanted to _feel._

He wasn't in the mood for drawing things out. Everything was immediate and full throttle. Her nails and teeth bit into him, leaving stars of pain to burn in his mind, cold light in hot darkness. His body leapt towards climax. He could feel it burning in him, and just let it drive him on. The wall was thudding and creaking in protest, and they were both going to have bruises.

She could feel his end approaching, and she knew better than to try and slow him down, and knew if she didn't catch up she would be left unfulfilled. She moved against him with more purpose, grinding against him, desperate and hungry, trying to take all she could from him before he was done with her.

He could feel the redoubled effort, and didn't question, just reached between them with knowledge born more of clinical expertise than a lover's experience to find her clitoris with deft fingers, pressing and rubbing with his rough movements, determined to bring her over with him. He wanted to feel her come, wanted that bare rush of energy, of power and weakness all hurled together in a blast of heat.

She gasped as he catapulted her over the edge, drawing blood on his sides, the shock of energy that flowed up her spine rendering her speechless, before it reached the base of her skull and dissipated back downwards.

He pulled out of her a split second before he came, the orgasm tearing through him with the same brutal energy he had fed it. He bit into her shoulder this time, not quite breaking skin as he let out a roar of frustration and pent up aggression that had nothing to do with the sex.

He felt himself relax slowly, and eventually let his muscles unclench, teeth leaving her skin. But he didn't pull away. He didn't want to, for the moment. He remained pressed against her, gripped her tightly.

It was just the span of a few seconds, before he finally stepped back, letting her gain her feet. He took a slow breath, then turned around and headed back to his desk, fixing his trousers.

She slid down to the floor as he returned to his desk, a puddle of spent energy, just taking a moment to gather herself. Her thighs were trembling a little from the sudden exertion, and her neck stung where he'd opened it with his teeth. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say we have unresolved anger issues with one another," she snorted, when she had the breath.

"Hilarious," he muttered, sinking into his seat and inspecting his sides under his jacket. Blood was staining his white shirt. He sighed, but didn't bring it up. "You have a point, however. We should attempt to resolve that more regularly."

"I assume you don't mean by talking about it," she said, standing, bringing a hand up to touch the bite on her neck. "Either way, I don't care, I'll do it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go shower. I don't enjoy being... sticky."

He nodded, waving her off. He was going to do the same as soon as she left. He was similarly... sticky. He watched her go, then stood, walking through to his flat, going to take a shower. He undressed, looking over the marks left on his body. The scratches on his sides burned, and he let them.

 _Fuck you, Moran. Fuck you._

She started crying as soon as she stepped into the shower, months old grief welling up and combining with guilt. It didn't make sense, but she felt like she'd done something wrong, fucking Jim. Like she'd moved on in some aspect. But in another... if she was going to fuck anyone, Sebastian would have approved most (if not only) of Jim. But the grief came from the idea that she'd accepted some part of his death, if she could even think about moving on.

She sat under the stream and just let the water clean her out.

* * *

Playlist: Sia - Cellophane


	102. Lying To Loved Ones

Playlist: Sia - Unstoppable

* * *

It had been a long, long few months. He had dealt with the sleep deprivation just fine, but the solitary had been a struggle. Luckily, Ines had expected it to be. He hadn't needed to work to hard to fake a break.

That had been the easy part, though. The next stage had been more difficult. Creating a complex web of lies and just enough truth that Ines would believe him. It had been like walking through a minefield of knowledge she had, and knowledge she needed. But in the end, here he was, sitting beside her as they rode in a car, headed for the network.

She wanted him there, wanted to see the realization on their face, she said.

He didn't care. Realization meant they were alive. He'd convinced her they would be crucial for a few months as he rewrote the security system.

Ines knew that taking him with her was reckless. Selfish, even. But sometimes it was worth putting the plan at risk to get back an ounce of satisfaction. She looked up out of the window as they approached the building, eyes critical. Hard to believe the world's best crime web was housed in such an impressive building. High windows, good stonework... it was a wonder no one asked any questions about it. Hiding in the middle of London, in plain sight like this.. she couldn't fathom it. She loved her abandoned military base. The solitude, the feeling of invincibility. She would always feel threatened if she lived here. Her greatest enemy could be standing right outside, and there would be too many people around them to tell.

The driver made a turn down into the underground parking lot, where there was already a multitude of black vans. They had all made the first and second and third waves into the building; Ines was only there to see it cleaned up. "How does it feel to be back home, Colonel?" She asked, smirking, as she opened the door and got out, scanning the garage.

He stepped out behind her, looking around and taking a slow breath, straightening his jacket. He was wearing a new suit, well-tailored to fit his leaner figure. Ines wanted no question of why he was there, no question that he was her right-hand man.

And he was. By his own admission, Jim was no longer the most powerful person in the world, Ines was. So he had transferred his loyalties. He wouldn't shrink from any order.

Or that was what he'd done his best to convince her of. Whether or not she believed him remained to be seen.

"I'll admit, I've missed the place," he said with a small nod. "Though in my day the security was better." He smirked.

"That's not exactly a surprise," she chuckled, looking behind them as a few more black vans rolled in, to protect them from behind. She didn't think Moriarty had anything left in him by this point, but pretending he was utterly beaten was a mistake. "I do assume the building isn't boobytrapped, or I would have been informed before," she said, walking away from the car and heading for the elevator, adjusting her blazer.

"No. It's constantly in use. Booby traps inhibit workflow," he said, following her into the elevator. "There's security, but if your people did their work then I can bypass it. You have Moriarty and Harrison, I assume?"

She glanced at the man as he said Harrison's name, keeping an eye out for any facial twitches. Her one disadvantage in this line of work was she wasn't a reader. She could study a person, but she couldn't look at them and instantly know their life story. She didn't see anything in his face to indicate he was still in love with her... but it didn't escape her notice he'd kept his ring. Perhaps out of habit, but she didn't dare trust him too much. Years from now, maybe. Not now. "Yes, we have them. They were both caught... unprepared. And indecent."

He credited his years of working for Jim that his face remained impassive. He didn't try forcing a smirk, that was too far. Despite the last few months, he wasn't a grifter. "Good. I'm glad. This whole situation would be much more difficult if one of them was missing."

"That was never a risk. They were too handicapped by your death to go anywhere," she shook her head, her voice near a sneer. "Honestly, I can't believe the propensity of sleeping with his employees. I thought he didn't care about people?"

He shrugged. "He doesn't. I never really got it either." He stepped out into the familiar hallway and took a breath, waiting for Ines to lead the way. She didn't hesitate to strut down the hallway, and he followed her, steadying himself. This was going to be rough.

She opened the door to Jim's office, and there they were, kneeling on the floor, hands on their heads, a half-dozen guns trained on them.

The two of them looked up as they came in, at differing speeds. Jim's head snapped up, a vicious wolf cornered and furious. Lorna's came up more slowly, a defeated, exhausted woman just waiting for death. They both couldn't believe what they saw.

"Sebastian?" Lorna gasped, her voice breaking halfway through, her fingers digging into her scalp.

" _Moran."_ Was all that came out of Jim, his teeth gritted in a snarl.

He nodded to them both, meeting their gazes without emotion. He knew Jim was weighing the merits of killing him and dying in the process, but he had no way of conveying to the boss that everything was fine. He just hoped Lorna saw the ring. Her expression was gutting him, but he didn't let it show.

"Hello boss. Lorna."

"You were right, this is incredibly funny," Ines laughed, patting Moran's shoulder. Lorna gave up nearly immediately, bending over, pressing her forehead to the floor, hands clenching by her head. She thought she was going to die, right here, right now, her chest hurt so badly.

 _Not again._

"How long, Moran?" Jim's expression was cool again, composed, but he could see the fury in his eyes.

"Long enough, Bo-... Jim." He glanced at Ines. "Sorry, boss. Old habits."

Ines shrugged, her eyes on Jim. How interesting to meet him in the flesh. To see the man who ruled the castle. What did he think of her? Did he have any idea why she'd done this? Well, they would have time to get to know each other. "Bag them. I don't feel like gloating right now, I feel like cleaning out this office and getting a place to lay my head for the night," she said, waving a hand at the mess the room was. "Keep them in separate cells 90% of the time. I'll allow them to visit each other every once in awhile just so Harrison doesn't off herself with spork. That's not lasting entertainment."

Moran watched as they were hooded and tied, taking a slow breath before turning to look at Ines. "I'd like to evaluate our security, Boss. Make sure we aren't vulnerable to counterattacks."

"Do it. Get back to me in two hours. Three, at tops," she said, turning and beginning to go through the papers scattered on Moriarty's desk.

He nodded, following the group carrying Lorna and Jim out.

He wanted to do something then. Wanted to kill the guards and pick Lorna up and crush her to him and apologize to Jim and _run_.

But if they were going to have any chance of taking the network back, this was his game to play. But maybe...

"Stop," he called, and the men paused, raising an eyebrow. He walked forward, then, and around, to crouch in front of Harrison, yanked up her hood. What to say... Any code would be decipherable. So instead he just grinned. "I heard you broke, when I died... I thought you'd have a little more faith. I never forgot you, see?" His tone was snide as he wiggled his ring finger.

She stared for a moment, looking a mess, her hair rumpled from the hood, face pale. She couldn't move for a long moment, unable to make herself react, _act._ Moran would never have kept the ring. He wouldn't have cared enough to rub it in her face. She only let the understanding, the love show on her face for a few seconds, to let him know she understood, before her expression fell back into one of grief. "Fuck you, asshole," she snapped, spitting on the ground between them. Her fingers traced the ring of her own, still living on her hand.

He laughed. "Stop acting like you care. You were onto a new pony soon enough. I heard they caught you naked. Were you sucking his cock? Or was he taking yours? You know, he has _quite_ the submissive side, don't you, Jim?" He shoved the hood back onto Lorna's head roughly. "I bet he's hard right now, all tied up and hooded. Are you, boss? Are you randy? Need someone to rub you off?"

Jim didn't dignify that with a response, but Moran could see his knuckles were white, hands clenched in anger. He laughed, and then nodded to the soldiers. "Get them out of here."

His words stung, considering she didn't know how much of them were true. But it didn't sting enough to erase the relief in her heart. Now she just had to let Jim know. That could be a while, though, and who knew what they would have to go through while Sebastian figured a way to set them free.

He watched them go, and then headed for security. That had been a risk, but a necessary one. If Harrison had killed herself before he had a chance to rescue her... And now was the best time, with the security system likely still down, odds were the interaction wasn't even recorded. That chance would be gone within a few hours.

In the elevator, Lorna thought about trying to overpower their guards, but the risk of one of them being shot in such close quarters was too much to risk. Especially now.

They were taken to the basement. It used to be a nightmare of hers, to be locked up down there, and now it was coming true. Excellent.

* * *

Over the course of the next few hours he successfully brought the basics of the security system back online. He would need to rewrite much of the system and disable fail-safes with Jim and Lorna's bio-codes before the full thing could be back online, but for the moment it would do. He headed up to Ji- to Ines's office.

Ines had cleaned everything off the walls, and was sitting amongst a pile of papers, starting to go through it all and filing it away in her brain. She looked up at Moran's entry. "Moriarty and Harrison are in the basement, should you wish to visit them. You will have to be supervised, for the moment. It's not that I don't trust you... it's just that I don't trust you."

He gave a crooked grin. "I understand. God, when you said he'd lost it I didn't think he'd gone _this_ far. I mean, this is some real Rain Man shit..." He picked up a stack of paper, starting to leaf through it. "All this and he didn't see your people working in security right under his nose."

"I don't know. I think he did see it, from what I've seen so far," she shook her head, pointing to a stack of papers which all had something circled on it. "He saw my signs. He just didn't do anything."

" _Christ_ ," he muttered under his breath, then let out a small laugh. "All the years I worked for him, as well as I knew him, I couldn't have hit his weak points more precisely as you. And you'd never met him. You... _crippled_ him. Incredible." He pushed a hand through his hair, which was shorn short on the side but had been left with a few inches of length on the top. He wasn't a fan, but Ines was, and she controlled everything about him now.

She shrugged a little, though a self-satisfied smirk was on her face. "You're not a studier of people like me. Most people aren't. James was surprisingly easy to learn. He acted how he felt, didn't bother holding anything in. It was clear even from Belgium. His actions twitched the web around him, just like the spider he is."

He nodded just a little, genuine admiration on his face. "Well, congratulations, then, Boss. The network is yours. Security is stable, though not at it's strongest, so I'd recommend keeping a heavy guard up until I can finish converting the system. It's the best there is, so it might take me a while. Ten days, a bit more."

"Sounds good to me. Make it happen. I'll probably be holed up in here for the foreseeable future. This is just his _office._ What's in his penthouse?" She sighed, putting down the paper she was holding and adjusting the bun her hair was in, tucking back some stray strands of hair.

"While I knew him, he kept his work mostly contained to the office. But then again, I never saw his office like this," he said, glancing around, nodding a little. "Alright, then, am I excused?"

"Yes, you're excused," she said distractedly. "Unless something happens, I'll see you tomorrow."

He nodded, gave a lazy salute, and headed out the door. He took the familiar route to his and Lorna's apartment, and keyed in. He didn't want to be there, not when she was dozens of floors below in the basement cells, but he didn't have much choice. Anything else would look strange.

The flat was a wreck, empty bottles of liquor strewn everywhere. He ignored all of that for now, heading through to their room and falling onto the bed, exhausted.

It smelled like her. He grabbed her pillow, and fell asleep.

Lorna didn't sleep well that night, curled up in the corner of the room on the floor. It was weird, thinking that Sebastian was somewhere above her. Likely in their apartment. The one she'd been living in alone for the past months, grieving his death.

He was _alive._

* * *

He woke the next morning, showered and shaved. The shaving felt nice. Until yesterday he'd been sporting a scraggly, unkempt beard. He considered trying to cut off the flop of hair left on top of his head (he looked like some ridiculous metrosexual pomp) but didn't want to risk Ines's ire. Instead he dressed and headed for the elevator to the basement. He wouldn't bother Ines until later in the morning.

It was irritating, needing to ask for a piss break, but she figured it was better than being thrown in a hole and forgotten about. She didn't recognize the man who gave her her meager breakfast, and she wondered what had happened to her people. Johnson and Kelly and the others. Irene, even. Had they all been purged, or forced to become traitors? Had they run? She sighed, rubbing the circles under her eyes and trying to ignore a building headache in her head from being unable to drink.

The lift opened, and he was met by two of Ines's soldiers who walked him through the familiar halls to where Lorna and Jim were being held. He stayed away from Jim's cell, but headed for Lorna's with a cocky grin and a heart that was beating double-time. "You awake in there yet, little birdy?"

"You know I don't like being called that, fucker," she said back, her voice dry. "You bring me whiskey, by any chance?"

"Seems like you've had enough for a lifetime, judging by the state of my flat," he snorted. "It's disgusting, really. Did you have to sleep in my bed? Everything smells like you, it's rank. I'll have to put it through the wash a half dozen times before I can sleep."

 _I miss you._

"Do you have to lurk outside like a creep? If you're going to insult me, at least have the courtesy to do it to my face," she scoffed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the wall.

 _I want to see you..._

He raised an eyebrow at the guard, then nodded to the door. The man keyed something into the keypad, blocking Moran from seeing, and then slid the door open.

There she was, sitting in the corner, looking so small in the cold expanse of the room. "What bothers you most about 'little bird'?" he asked as he leaned against the door frame. "Is it that it so aptly describes your stature? Or because it's a reminder of another man in the list of lovers who didn't give a flying fuck about you?"

"We both know I'm not sensitive about my height," she said coldly, a warning about where exactly he was choosing to tread. "I'm sensitive about the reminder of a man who raped and impregnated me. You ought to remember, considering I was sick on your couch as a result of fixing the problem."

 _Too far._ But he wasn't her. He wasn't a grifter, and he was bumbling through this as it was.

"Oh, I'm so _sorry_ ," he chuckled. _I am_. "Did I hurt your feelings?" _I did._ "You know, I'm going to enjoy the next few weeks. We'll be seeing an awful lot of each other." _You have at least that long alive._

"Lovely. Bring me something alcoholic. I'm serious. Last time I had the D.T.s I had a seizure and a stroke I'm lucky I recovered from. If your new lady boss wants me alive, for some reason, she's going to need to wean me off it," she said dryly, though her eyes didn't hold the same dry anger.

He smirked. "I'll pass that along. I'm sure she'll be interested. You are ever so special." _You have leverage_. "Does her majesty want anything else?"

"Yeah. A cell with a bathroom. And she's going to give it to me. You know why?" She asked, raising her eyebrows at him. "Because if she didn't think I could eventually be converted into something vaguely usable she'd have killed me, regardless of entertainment value. I'm not important, you don't love me, and I know it."

He laughed. "All I need you for, princess Lorna, is your thumbprint and DNA. How useful you want to be beyond that is up to you. But I'll pass your message along. Ines will think it's hilarious."

"Why the fuck do you need those? There's nothing I would have access to that you wouldn't. I doubt we wrote you out of the code," she snorted, rolling her eyes a little.

He laughed, though his eyes met hers fiercely for just a moment. _Don't be stupid._ "Your security department wasn't falling apart as much as the rest of the network. Standard procedure after a death is to delete that person's access. And for rewriting many of the security measures, more than one approval is needed."

"As soon as you want to do that, let me know then," she sighed, shrugging. "Let me get it over with."

He laughed. "God, how did I _stand_ living with you? You are so fucking _whiny_. It's a wonder I didn't beat the shit out of you until you shut up. Probably why we fucked so much. Are you done, princess, or shall I fetch you some lacy pillows, too?"

She thought about whether or not she could kick him from where she was sitting, and decided her legs were too short. "Get out, Moran. I'm tired of listening to that smug tone. Let's hate-fuck sometime, okay?"

"I think Ines might get jealous," he snorted, winking before heading out of the room. He felt nauseous and filthy. How in hell did she _stand_ this? Christ, give him a roof and a gun any day.

She rubbed her eyes as the door closed, exhausted. It was one thing, grifting with strangers. But having to endure his sneering and attitude all over again was hard, especially since she was still adjusting to the idea of him being alive.

* * *

He didn't go back for a few days. He hated the idea of having to grift her again. He turned his attention to the security, losing himself in reworking the system he had created, in sneaking backdoors in where he could, in creating a web around himself without letting the programmers know exactly why he was asking them to do what they were doing. He was the only one with a full idea of what the system looked like, and he kept it that way.

Lorna was relieved when they started giving her the little tiny airplane bottles of liquor, of which was enough to keep her from going into withdrawal too hard and too fast. It took them a day to move her into a cell with a toilet, but she was willing to deal with that, now that she didn't think she was going to have a very unpleasant death.

She had mixed feelings about Moran's absence. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to see him. To reaffirm in her mind that he was alive, he was real, he wasn't just the voice that had been haunting her head, her flat, her empty bed. But on the other, it would mean she would have to be subject to his abuse - hopefully, only verbal. She didn't know the exact plans that Ines - whoever the woman was - had for her, and so she was a model prisoner. She didn't scream, didn't attempt to escape, just kept her head down and did what they told her to do, though, so far, they left her by and large alone. She was worried that that could change.

* * *

Ines called him up to Jim's office a few days later. He extracted himself from the security work and made his way to the stairs. It was a slower way up that he could put off as wanting to stay fit. Every little fight he could make, he made.

He knocked on the door crisply, and then stepped in. "You rang?"

"Yes, I did," she said, going through a few files on her desk. The office was much neater, but there was still progress to be made. "I've been looking over the security files. I've gathered that we don't actually need the both of them to override the procedures. Moriarty should do. There's no reason to keep Harrison around."

He blinked, but didn't falter. "If I still had security access that would be the case. But in the process of rebuilding the system there are a few key places where you need all authorized executive officers to approve. So I need Harrison."

"But what if she'd died, like you? James would need a back door," Ines argued, giving him a strange look. "He couldn't be locked out of the system forever."

"He wasn't trying to rewrite the entire system. The alternate workaround is possible, but lengthy. It doesn't inhibit normal operations, but it requires a six-month delay for any major changes. The way Jim figured, if we were suddenly all dead it was probably a time to lock down security anyway." He kept his expression calm.

Ines pursed her lips, considering for a moment, her finger tapping on the desk. "Normally I would be prepared to wait the six months. But these aren't normal circumstances. I suppose I'm forced to keep her. Or I could just keep her hand around..."

He shook his head. "Jim had a vested interest in remaining alive. All of the scans require a pulse reading from the appendage, and the iris scan requires pupil reaction."

"Christ. He really thought of everything, there, didn't he," she muttered bitterly. "Alright. Fine. Leave them be, for the moment."

He nodded a little. "He was the best. But when the system is turned over, it will be _your_ best. Those same fail-safes will keep you breathing in nasty situations."

"Yes, well, that's all well and good I suppose," she sighed, waving her hand dismissively. "But it doesn't help me in the here and _now."_

He left without responding, taking a slow breath of relief and settling his nerves by force. Then he headed back toward security. He had work to do making everything he'd just said true.

* * *

The next day, Ines took a break from her work, and visited her prisoners. She watched on the CCTV station in the basement for a few minutes, and then paged Moran, heading for Harrison's cell, picking up an armed guard on the way. She opened up the cell, smiling, and Lorna winced a little away from the brighter lights in the hall. "Harrison. Hello. You've made my life rather difficult, you should know. I'm not very _pleased_ by that," she said, leaning against the door frame. "You should know that he really did love you, you know, at first. Converting him was a _real_ challenge. But, well, now he's only lying to you just to hurt you. Isn't that _loyal_ of him?"

Moran knew something was going to go horribly wrong the moment he was summoned down to the basement. He spent the elevator ride preparing himself for whatever might come, wishing he had the comforting weight of his gun at his chest.

He stepped out into the hallway and was met by two guards, who escorted him to Harrison's cell. He heard Ines before he saw her, and took a breath.

"You called, boss?" he asked, paying no attention to Lorna.

Ines smirked, turning to Moran a little. "I did indeed. You made good time. Moran, why don't you tell our captive how _fucking_ long you held out before we hardened up that heart of yours again?"

His jaw tensed slightly, and he straightened. "Two months, twenty-six days," he said quietly, eyes on Ines only, responding to an order, nothing more.

Lorna was also tense, eyes hard on Ines to keep them from tearing up. He had fought back for almost three months before coming up with whatever his current plan was? What had they done to him in the meantime? He was thinner than he had been...

Ines turned to face Moran more, reaching out to lightly grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to her. "Give me a kiss, Colonel," she smirked.

 _You need to make her buy it._

He gave a laugh, glancing at Harrison with a look full of playful challenge, trying to pretend he was just teasing her and hoping Ines would read it as mockery. He turned back to his employer, leaning in to snog her enthusiastically, hands snaking around her waist.

Lorna dug her fingers into her thighs, anger and a little jealousy brewing in her stomach. They kissed for far too long, Ines obviously not doing it just for show after a moment, her hand twisted up in Moran's signature crimson shirt. When she backed off, her cheeks were a little darker than usual. "I suppose now I understand why James takes to having sex with his employees. They know what they're doing," she chuckled, letting him go and giving a dramatic wink to Lorna. "I mourn your loss. Now I have important things to do, so enjoy your time rotting in here."

Moran groaned slightly as she pulled away, smiling. "If you ever want to try his methods, I'm volunteering," he said with a smirk, eyeing the woman up and down, expression hungry. And as much as he hated to admit it, it wasn't too hard to fake. He _was_ hungry. It had been ages since he'd done anything, and his body was reacting without his say so.

"I guess I could always make an exception. I'm tense from leaning over paperwork all day... I'll call you tonight, Colonel," she hummed, giving him a lingering look, then she turned away. "Alright. I have to get going. Toodles."

He smiled after her, then turned to look at Lorna, risking an apologetic glance, just a flicker. Then he gave her a sneer. "Sorry, love. You just got boring." He turned and left.

She buried her face in her hands after the door shut, taking a deep breath.

 _I'm sorry, Sebastian. This isn't your life._


	103. Mistakes

He went to his quarters after that. He was tired. He hated this, hated having to think about every emotion that flickered across his face, every movement of his body. He missed the good old days of strategy and sniping and bodyguarding, when he didn't have to worry about his expression or his body language unless he was around them, and even then it was just keeping it respectful.

He lay down on his bed, and grasping the knife under his pillow, he closed his eyes and drifted off.

* * *

Ines did call him up that night, although it was closer to the morning by that point. She was curious. And she wanted to satisfy that.

He woke at the buzzer, acknowledging the call and getting up. He showered quickly and brushed his teeth, dragging a comb through his hair before dressing in his typical crimson and black, and heading for the lift. He'd kept her waiting already, better not push it.

The aid had said the penthouse, so that was where he went, knocking on the door briskly.

She opened the door, for once not dressed in fatigues or her pantsuit, and instead in a t-shirt and loose jeans. "Don't tell me I caught you sleeping, Colonel," she smirked when she saw him, raising an eyebrow at him. "Come in."

He gave her a grin, but his heart sank. _Fuck. She's taking me up on this._ He stepped inside. "Just taking a nap while I could. Never know when I might need to be awake for a day or two straight. It happens."

"Mm, I suppose it's a good policy," she agreed, shutting the door behind him and leading him further into the penthouse. "Want a beer?"

"Sure, thanks," he said, following her in. It was odd to be in Jim's apartment without Jim. It felt wrong. Mainly because it was. The place had been redecorated slightly, furniture shifted around, some items removed or replaced, but for the most part it was the same as it had always been.

She led him into the open layout kitchen and grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, turning and handing him one with the thud of glass against skin. She opened hers, took a sip, and considered him for a minute. "I've never been fucked by an employee before. I'm not certain why I'm making an exception."

"Because I'm that damn pretty," he deadpanned, opening the bottle on the edge of the counter and taking a sip.

She laughed. "You're pretty, and you kiss like your life depends on it. Potent combo," she chuckled, drinking more of her beer, eyes lingering on him in interest.

He laughed at that, trying to relax. "Might, with you. I'd hate to displease," he shot back, smirking as he sipped his own beer more slowly.

She leaned against the counter, watching him. "Who gave you those scars, Moran?"

"Which ones?" he asked with a grin, but he raised a hand anyway, considering his words. "I'm surprised you don't know. You seem to know everything."

She stepped forward, closer to him, examining the scars on his face, her lips slightly parted. "No, I don't know everything. I've never heard anything about these, excepting the fact you have them."

He took the chance to observe her, as well. The smooth, ebony skin and black eyes, the broad lips, a gentle transition from pink to brown.

"I got locked up in solitary. A tiny root cellar with a three-foot ceiling for a few months. You're looking at my entertainment."

"No, no, not those. I know about that," she shook her head, lifting up her hand to trace her finger over the scar crossing the bridge of his nose. "These two."

He grinned. "Oh, that? I pushed Jim a little too far, he reminded me where the line was. With a broken glass, if I remember correctly." He shrugged.

She raised her eyebrows. "Healed well, for it being broken glass. What did you tell the infirmary? I never heard about the reason until now," she asked, her fingers finishing their trace and falling to rest on his chest.

He laughed. "I don't go to the infirmary unless I have to. Made Harrison stitch me up. Would have done it myself, but I had trouble getting near the eye without closing it.

She laughed. "Well I won't play nurse for you, if that's your thing," she said, smiling. "I'm not much of a _caregiver."_ She slowly pressed her fingers slowly into his chest, eyes challenging him to do something about it.

He chuckled. "I might not be a reader, but I picked that up," he said, reaching up a hand to catch her wrist, thumb sliding along her pulse point. "You're more of a... control freak..."

"I like things how I like them," she agreed, eyes predatory on him. She set the bottle of beer aside on the counter, then returned her gaze to him. "Are you finished with your beer?"

He tipped the rest of the beer back in a few swift gulps, and set the bottle aside with a clink. "Very," he returned with a smile, nipping the tip of the fingers he had in hand before releasing his grip.

Her fingers fell from his grip and grabbed his shirt, pulling him into a rough kiss. She would own him tonight.

He kissed her back, vicious and severe. He wasn't going to back down without a fight. Somewhere his brain was flagging this issue that this _wasn't_ _Harrison_ , but his body was responding and she was hitting all the right buttons...

She managed to boost herself onto the counter without breaking the kiss, pulling him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist, letting him largely dominate the kiss. She would pay him back in kind later.

He pushed his tongue into her mouth, grabbing her hips and pulling her against him, grinding against her a little.

 _I have to do this to keep Lorna safe. So I might as well enjoy it._

She kissed him harder in response to the grinding, humming, hooking her fingers in his belt loops and starting to tug his trousers down.

He slid his hands up underneath her tee-shirt, fingers tracing out smooth skin. He encountered the ridge of a scar along her right side, from her hip back, and traced it for a moment before moving upward again.

She left his trousers for the moment, hands skimming up to his shirt, where she began unbuttoning. She didn't bother telling him that they were on camera, and that she planned to show the video to her prisoners.

He stepped back just long enough to get rid of his shirt, sending a cufflink flying god-knew-where in his haste. Then he was back, kissing her again and pulling her shirt upward, stepping back just long enough to pull it over her head.

Ines lifted up her ass just enough to grab the condom from her back pocket, slapping it onto the counter beside them, before her hands became busy unbuckling his belt. _God,_ he was an amazing kisser.

He pulled away from her fascinatingly full lips to meander along her razor-sharp jawline. He grabbed the condom and ripped it open, before setting it aside again until he needed it. His hands found her breasts, then, exploring them through her bra. They were smaller than Lorna's, but they fit neatly into his palms, and he squeezed them experimentally.

She arched into his hands, encouraging his exploration, her hands freeing him of his belt and immediately sliding one of her hands inside his trousers and squeezing him through his pants, an appreciative moan rising out of her throat. "My, my, Colonel," she grinned against his lips, "Do you carry a permit for this?"

He let out a surprised bark of laughter, which turned into a groan as she squeezed him again. "Never been asked for one before. Maybe I should," he retorted, shifting a hand up to grip her hair gently, pulling her head to the side just enough to gain access to her neck, which he availed himself of readily.

She chuckled, then made a soft sound, obviously appreciating the attention. She pushed his trousers down further and gained better access to his hard-on, starting up a slow rhythm with her hand. "If you don't have a permit, how can I know you know how to wield it properly?"

"Well," he said, between leaving a small mark beneath her ear and exploring the shell of her ear itself, "I suppose the most efficient method would be a trial run."

She hummed in agreement, slipping her hand into his pants and finding him hot and heavy in her hand. "Trial run it is, then..."

He grinned against her skin, nipping lightly. "Staying on the counter?" he asked, reaching for the condom.

"If you get me out of these jeans, I don't see why not," she replied, pulling him out of his pants and pushing them down and out of the way. "I'm flexible."

"'If,'" he scoffed, pulling back and undoing the fastening of the jeans, before lifting her in his arms and pulling them down and off with his free hand. He set her down, tossed the jeans aside, and picked up the condom again, actually rolling it into place this time as he stepped out of his pants.

 _You're enjoying yourself too much, Moran..._

She wasn't wearing pants beneath, and she didn't waste time pulling him closer, scooting forward and pulling hips closer so she could rub against him, leaning up to kiss him again.

He groaned happily, rocking against her slowly. Getting a feeling for the unfamiliar. His right hand left her hair, matching his left on her hip, and he gripped firmly, fingers leaving marks, controlling her movements, challenging.

She let that continue for a minute before she grabbed his hips with her knees, stopping his movements, and she reached between them to line him up, and, raising her eyebrows at him, released her hold on his waist.

He laughed, but didn't comment, just pushed into her slowly, holding her gaze, lips pressed together to hold back a moan.

Her eyes slipped closed as he slid home, a satisfied groan leaving her. "Jesus..." she muttered, eyes opening again to look at him and rocking her hips forward again.

He took a slow breath, letting out a groan. He had been with Lorna for so long, he'd almost forgotten how _different_ women could feel. What it was like to experience a new partner and all the different quirks and the room for exploration...

 _Fuck, Moran... get a hold of yourself. This is a job._

Ines was really starting to understand the people who regularly fucked their employees. She doubted they could all be as rewarding as this, but Christ, did Moran make a compelling case. He was a tall mountain of a man, and his cock was proportional. "Christ, how the fuck did little Harrison _take_ you," she breathed, and pulled him closer again, making it clear it was time to _go._

"She's versatile," he grunted as he immediately started moving. She didn't seem like the kind to like things gentle, and he didn't make any attempt to be. "Fucking is her job." He grabbed onto Ines's arse, pulling her against him more solidly with each thrust.

She got a grip on his biceps to get the leverage to move with him, something close to a snarl on her face, a look that said she was going to take as much from him as he would let her wrest from his grip, her movements rough and unpracticed - not the smooth rhythm of someone who did it for a living, who did it and made it look good, no matter how convoluted the position.

He let her take control, though he still provided much of the power. There was a clumsiness to her movements, but she made up for it in strength and force of will, her eyes full of challenge and thirst. His muscles burned and protested, unused to this sort of movement, but he was lost in heat of a different nature, originating from his cock and the places where her fingers bit into his skin.

She was observant, had trained herself to be, and saw the way his pupils darkened as her nails dug into his skin, and hardened the pressure, trying to get just a little more drive out of him, a little more force, drive him a few more feet up the wall...

He snarled at the pain in his arms, pulling her more firmly to him as he left any reservations he might have had, his hips pounding between her thighs as he fucked her mercilessly. He bit her shoulder, teeth digging into skin.

She hissed, bit him back, teeth drawing blood from the crook of his neck, not so much punishing as giving back what he gave her, energy building up in her spine.

He cursed against her skin when he felt her teeth puncture him. His whole body was singing with energy, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer. Not after months of celibacy. He started grinding his hips slightly then when he had the chance, hoping to give her clit a little friction to catch her up to speed.

She started to lose her rhythm as he began grinding on her, her breath coming a little shakier, one of her hands falling from his bicep to slap onto the counter, keeping her upright. "Just a little more, Colonel," she said, strained, pressing her forehead against his now-injured shoulder.

He grunted in response, his grip on her ass tightening as he struggled for control, taking short, sharp breaths as he felt himself teetering on the edge. He continued the grinding motion, trying to focus on the tension of her body, the way she was trembling, fighting to hold out.

The sustained motion finally tipped her over the edge and she swore, the hand on his bicep squeezing as hard as she could, her breath coming fast as she arched off the counter.

He came as soon as she did, the sudden rhythmic pressure around his cock not giving him much of a choice. He cried out wordlessly, his hands sliding up to grip her shoulders and hold her against him as he rode the orgasm out.

She panted against his shoulder for a minute, letting him remain against her, then shifted to move him away. "Well done, Colonel. Enjoy the rest of your night."

He nodded, stepping back slowly. He pulled the condom off and tied it, tossing it into the bin and hauling up his trousers, still catching his breath. He hadn't expected any differently from her. "You, too, boss." He zipped his trousers, gave a lazy salute, and headed for the door, doing his best not to think about the situation. Or Lorna. Fuck. Lorna.

Ines watched him go, then got herself back together. Once she'd showered, she went to the computer controlling the video cameras and got to work.

He returned to his room and turned the shower on, and after a moment's thought cranked the heat up as high as it would go. He was beginning to feel the guilt worming its way into him.

 _I enjoyed that far too much._

 _What else could I do? If I refused she would have died._

 _That's a rather large leap to make._

 _But not improbable!_

* * *

The next day, Jim and Lorna were reunited for the first time since they'd been imprisoned, both brought to a separate room in the basement, this one used for video torture. It was, simply, a mini theater, with a couple of chairs that could be bolted to attachments on the floor, and straps for every appendage. There was a projector embedded in the wall. The opposite wall, which was painted white for the purpose of being a movie screen, doubled as cabinets, but they could only be opened by applying pressure in the right places. Usually, they used hypnotic suggestion, doctored footage, or pure gore to torture the people who were slated for regular visits to the room, so neither of them quite knew what to expect.

Ines was in her penthouse, having passed the tape on to their captors. She was content to watch their reactions on CCTV later, when she wasn't busy.

Jim shifted uncomfortably as they strapped him down, fighting against the restraints before they managed to secure his head. He was in a permanent state of brooding fury recently, and he wanted nothing to do with this room.

"Harrison. Are you injured?" he asked through grit teeth.

"No, you?" She asked, not fighting the restraints, looking at him out of the corner of her eye as they secured her head in place. The blue loading screen of the projector powered on.

"No. Just fucking furious," he said dryly. "Why exactly have we been hauled out into this lovely theater?"

She shrugged as much as she could as the screen turned black, and the guards left, shutting the door behind them. Then, without any prelude, what looked like security footage of... Jim's penthouse? Saxophone music began playing in the background of the video. Her eyebrows shot up. "What is this, a bad porno?"

He withheld judgment for a few moments, but then Moran and the woman came on screen, and he sighed, bracing himself. "Yes. That about sums it up."

She grimaced, her stomach churning slightly. But this was a golden opportunity to tell Jim Moran's allegiances... except. There, in the corner of the room, the blue blinking light of a security camera, directed straight at their faces. Any decent lip reader could see what she was saying. And despite the fact Moran was sharing a beer on camera very close to Ines, she didn't want to blow his cover. But she had to say something to Jim, to stop him from doing anything stupid in vengeance. "Jim..." she started, trying to make it hard to read her lips and have enough volume to be heard under the saxophone and the loud talking on screen. "Moran's mine, understand?"

He sighed, watching the screen as Ines and Moran talked and laughed. "Don't be an idiot, Harrison. It ill suits you."

"No, Jim, I mean it. He wasn't serious. Just... don't do anything dumb. Don't let vengeance blind you. You see?" She insisted, ignoring the screen as best she could, but she was still aware of the fact Ines was now touching the scars on Sebastian's face.

"I am not blind," he hissed back. "You are. Fuck you, Harrison, and your fucking emotions. You ruined my best man. Turned him into fucking emotional _goop_." He took a breath, closed his eyes and received an electric shock for the trouble. He opened them again in time to see Ines pulling Moran into a deep kiss. The saxophone got more energetic.

She gave an exaggerated sigh. _Christ Jim..._

"Jim, I'm... this isn't being me," she said, trying not to give too much away, hoping that his reading ability would kick in. The two continued kissing on screen. "I'm not being emotional. Don't be stubborn. Think."

He rolled his eyes. "I get the idea Harrison. Just fucking drop it, alright?" God, this woman was slow. How stupid did she think he was? The woman on the screen, however, was not. He was fairly certain her tongue was somewhere well past Moran's tonsils.

She rolled her eyes right back at him, letting out a frustrated groan, but she dropped it. She couldn't say anything more without revealing Moran. For such a smart man, Jim was a colossal _idiot_ sometimes.

Moran and Ines' hands were beginning to wander now, and Lorna did not like how eager he was. _Tone it down, dude..._

He took a breath, and prepared to watch what he was certain was going to be a nauseating performance.

He'd had his suspicions about Moran's loyalties since a few hours after they'd first seen him with the woman, which he had gathered support for by observation. Lorna's rather unsubtle attempt at conversation just strengthened everything. For a grifter, she could be painfully blaisé sometimes, but then, all non-readers were.

Moran's trousers were down now, and despite the fact that he was fairly certain his bodyguard was playing the long game, it was disquieting to see him so content in the arms of their enemy. He didn't fight her touch remotely. In fact, he seemed content there. Eager, perhaps. For the first time in days, Jim's conviction faltered. Moran wasn't a grifter. He had never been able to do much more than suppress emotion, though he did that well. The man in the screen in front of him was eager to be in this woman's arms, and more.

Lorna watched with a nauseous feeling in her stomach, her eyes glued to Sebastian. She was conflicted by what she saw. She had begun to teach him the basics of grifting a long time ago, when they were dealing with Armetti. Being a grifter herself, she knew that once you were in the zone, it was easy to fuck someone. To just turn off the part of your brain that liked speaking about rights and wrongs and just let the animal loose for a little while. The enthusiasm that he was showing for Ines, though... This was a situation he could have avoided. He'd volunteered for it, right in front of her. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to stop the emotions welling up in her.

Jim did his best to ignore the swelling saxophone music and tune out what was on the screen, but his brain was a traitor as well, it seemed, and cataloged every moment carefully. The way Moran held the woman almost gently as he removed her trousers, the way he relaxed as he entered her, the eager roll of his hips with each movement as he started up a rough pace.

It was so hard not to close her eyes, to try and shield them from seeing this, so instead she just let them go blurry, out of focus, ignoring her name as it was spoken. She tightened her grip on the armrests of the chairs, unable to tune out the sounds, their groans, _Sebastian's_ groans. Those were for _her,_ and sometimes Jim. This hurt.

Jim eventually gave up on ignoring and started reading instead, trying to figure out everything he could about the woman as she swore and clawed and bucked against the man that was perhaps his only friend.

She had taken Moran from him, in more ways than one, and he intended to get revenge.

If there was one thing she could be comforted with, it was that there was no way Moran had known he was being filmed. He would never agree to such a thing, grifting or not, and the enthusiasm would have been lost. He hadn't done this to hurt her. That was the best she could give herself. She tightened her jaw as they came, wondering if now she could look away.

Moran left and the screen went black, the saxophone music stopping abruptly. Jim shifted a little, preparing to be removed, but then the music started up again, and they were watching the empty room again, before Ines and Moran came on screen again, started drinking beer again, and he settled back to watch it all over again.

In total, they watched the film a total of twenty-two times that day. And each time he watched it he noticed one more body signal that damned Moran, one more movement that told him that the man was thoroughly enjoying this, that convinced him that he had let his affection for the man blind him (a truly nauseating realization). The more he watched, the more angry he became. Not because of the film (it was clear Moran had no idea of its existence, and that the woman was showing it to them to fuck with them) but because he could see Moran enthusiastically losing himself to this woman, and that was the extent of his trust.

It was disconcerting how much the movie affected her. She was a grifter, supposed to be immune to sex. But when they took her back to her regular cell she wanted to gouge her eyes out just to stop the haunting images from playing over and over and over again.

* * *

Playlist: Maroon 5 - Animals


	104. A Bitter Taste

A/N

TW for assault at the end of the chapter - possibly triggering for some folks

* * *

Moran headed for Harrison's cell a few days later. He'd been avoiding it, but the guilt was eating him alive and he needed to remind himself why it was he was doing this. Needed to see her in the cell, needed to see her hurting. He would get his resolve back, get his anger back, and get back to work.

She had been spending her time trying to think of anything but the video. Puppies. Handguns. An irish jig. She was desperate for outside stimulation to distract herself, so she looked up quickly as the door opened, and then had to stop herself from cringing. "Hey, Moran. Here to brag about getting your dick wet, or is it something else?"

She caught him off guard, and he started just slightly, more a tensing of muscles than anything. "What..." Then he shook his head and forced a grin. It was queasy at best. "I came to see you, Lorna dear. What, I move on and suddenly you don't want to talk to me? That's just rude."

"Please, I think I saw your dick more times in one day than I had in the combined time we lived together. I've really had enough of looking at you for a week," she said snarkily, eyes on the wall across from her, not on him.

"I'm not sure what you're rambling on about. Have you been fantasizing about me, Harrison? Finger fucking yourself in here, thinking about my cock?" He was wracking his brain. Had Ines come down to boast? No. That didn't explain the visual element... A tape. There had to be a tape. He took a breath.

Her eyes slid back to him, dry, but not particularly vindictive. "I knew she didn't tell you beforehand, but you still haven't heard? She filmed you. Put a lovely saxophone accompaniment over top. She played it twenty-two times for me and Jim. I suppose I should be thankful I was called _versatile."_

His jaw clenched, but he nodded just a little. "Right," he said quietly. The skin on the back of his neck was crawling. "Yeah, well, I've called you worse to your face." With that he headed for the door, and the elevator. He'd told Ines he'd serve her like he'd served Jim, and he would. That meant reminders on exactly what it was she was entitled to.

She snorted a little as the door closed at how all the sting had been sucked out of him at once. She'd never seen him look so... some mix between disgruntled and disquieted. It made her feel a little bad, but she was still hurt enough not to care too much. He could deal with it.

He headed immediately for Jim's office, and knocked, opening the door without waiting for Ines's invitation. She was at the desk, sorting through papers, and he didn't give her a chance to react. He stood tall, eyes black with anger, and when he spoke, his voice was cold and unerringly precise.

"You might be under the mistaken impression that you own me," he said quietly, his eyes boring into her. "And I want to make it _very_ clear that that is not the case. I help you, you don't torture me. That was the arrangement. But if you feel that that arrangement entitles you to my rights, or to film me without my permission, you can put a bullet in my head right now. And good luck resolving your security system without me."

Ines sighed through her nose, looking up from her pile of papers with a tired demeanor, as if he were an overeager child interrupting a parent who was attempting to get some work done. "Your feelings have been noted, Colonel. I will do my best not to irritate you in that fashion again. Now, if that's all..."

"You won't 'do your best'," he said, an edge to his voice. He walked forward, and put his hands on the edge of her desk. "You won't. Full stop. And if you think you might, you'll reconsider. There were lines even Moriarty knew not to cross with me, since I almost killed him when he did. He wears my initials just like I wear his. I might work for you now, but you'd do well to keep that in mind. Do we have an understanding?"

Her eyes sharpened just a little on him, appraising him, calculating what he was worth and what the limits of his bluffs were. She may not have been a reader, but she knew that this wasn't a bluff. "Yes, we have an understanding," she agreed after a moment, giving a very rare deferential nod. "I apologize. Please be aware I will not tolerate threats, however."

He stood fully, then, and gave her a smile. Nothing like the soft smiles he had given her so far, this one was his usual: all teeth and no warmth. "Well, seeing as we both understand now what the other won't tolerate, I think we'll be able to work well together. I'll leave you to it." He turned and headed for the door.

She bit her tongue to stop herself from calling him back and chewing him out. He was no longer her prisoner, she could not do with him what she wished. It was inconvenient, but if she wanted his cooperation she would need to treat him differently. She returned to her work, irritated.

* * *

Moran continued working on the security system over the next few days. He avoided the basement, so when he wasn't planning, he was walking around headquarters, listening. He needed to know the public opinion.

Generally, it was confusion. Ines's people had taken over security, but she only had enough people to place a few key staff members in the other departments. The workers were still largely the same force as had been under Jim, and they had no idea what the fuck was going on, or where Jim and Harrison were, or who this new woman thought she was.

* * *

Ines was becoming... slightly suspicious. Moran said he was her man now, but still. Something didn't sit right with her. She wasn't sure what, but she wasn't going to stand for it. So she called him back up to her office, a test planned for him.

He took the stairs up and knocked, waiting to be called in before stepping inside. After his outburst a little healthy respect was the wise move, to get things back on track. "Hey boss. How can I help you?"

"Moran, thanks for coming," Ines smiled, lacing her fingers together on the desk. "I wanted to extend an olive branch. Something to lift your spirits. I know that you used to visit the people that were kept in the basement for torture training. I thought you could vent a little like that again. How does Jim or Lorna sound?"

It started out bad, and got worse. He forced a grin, though. "Either sounds good. They both got mouths on them. Been itching to have a little fun. Jim especially, the prick."

"Then have fun," she smiled, waving a playful hand towards the door. "I look forward to the footage."

He nodded, grinning, and turned and left. He didn't dare let the expression falter, even in the hall. He hadn't known about the camera in her room, and he was paranoid now. He got in the lift this time, heading down and trying to prepare himself. Trying to find every time he'd hated Jim over the years and bring it to the surface.

Jim was finding his captive existence... boring. Besides from the infrequent entertainment provided by the woman who had kicked him out of his office, he'd been left largely alone. He was fed, but nothing was wrong with the food. He hadn't seen Moran in person. Only seen Lorna once, and she seemed alright.

He'd been thinking about Moran, anyway. Weighing his suspicions about his loyalties with what he'd seen on that screen.

Sebastian exited the lift and nodded at the guards as they joined step with him. "Transfer Moriarty to interrogation room 4," he said absently. They opened the cell, walking in with guns drawn, and one of them put Jim in cuffs for transfer. Moran looked at him, tried to find the anger, but all that was there was nausea, deep in the pit of his stomach. Still, he forced a leer. "Hey, Jim."

"Moran. So good to see your face in person," he said icily in response, still clinging to his dignity. "Much better than that grainy camera."

He grinned wider. "I heard you got quite the show. You always were a bit voyeuristic, though, weren't you? Don't be jealous, though. I've come to give you a little attention too."

Jim gave him a condescending smile. "I'm afraid that even the thought of hate-fucking you makes me shrivel up like a dried prune," he said, tilting his head mockingly. "I don't want your attention. Thank you, though."

"Well, luckily for you, that isn't what's happening today. Unless I get very bored," he said, nodding to the guards. They hauled Jim to his feet and started moving him toward the door. Moran stepped aside to let them through. They moved Jim across the hall to the interrogation room, and shoved him onto the table, starting to strap him down.

"Oh, joy, torture," Jim rolled his eyes. "This isn't even for information, is it? You know everything you need to about this network," he said, glaring at the guards as they treated him roughly.

"No, no, this is just good ol' fashioned fun," he said cheerfully, walking over to personally slam Jim's head into place, strapping it down tightly. "Do you know how long I've wanted to do this, you fuck? Ines made the offer and I jumped at the chance."

"You're a known sadist, Moran, of course you would," Jim said acidly, eyes tracking Moran's movements, ignoring the throbbing in his head. He'd never been so conflicted in his life. He was a reader, close to the best there was, and he could not tell whether or not Moran was lying. If he was lying, he was doing it well. He could excuse that, if it meant fooling Ines. But if he wasn't lying...

What could have changed Moran so dramatically? After all the sniper had willingly sacrificed for him, and for Harrison, what had made him turn traitor? For Christ's sake, there were so many times his bodyguard could have let him die, or incapacitated him personally. But this vicious treatment, the earnestness in the way he had fucked Ines... Was this part of a long game, or had he truly, finally gone off the edge? Jim hadn't made up his mind yet. That was the trouble with feelings.

He dismissed the guards to the outside of the cell, and stood over Moriarty, considering him quietly, coldly. "Where to start..." he murmured, reaching out and trailing his fingers up Jim's torso, starting at his navel and ending near his throat. "I would love to open you up... crack your rib cage open like a blooming onion and see what you've got in there. But we need you alive. So I'll have to be a little more creative."

Jim snorted, rolling his eyes again. "Alright, drama queen. Let me know when you've decided on something. I'm really not in the mood for you to be pulling out all of the theatrical stops."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, before he started unbuttoning Jim's filthy shirt. He pushed the material aside, and smirked, running a finger absently around Jim's nipple until it hardened.

Then he grabbed it between two fingers, with every ounce of strength he possessed, and started to twist. "I've always wondered if I could just... pull one off."

Jim grit his teeth, muscle in his jaw jumping, but otherwise didn't react, already deciding to draw from the place he had when Mycroft had captured him, questioned him about the network. He found that unbreakable nugget of pain tolerance of the center of his being and situated himself around it, closing himself off from the outside world. Moran could do whatever he liked to him, but he would not give him the satisfaction of enjoying his pain.

He twisted further, felt blood well up under his fingers, and suddenly realized that if he wanted to he could just tear the skin away. Instead he released, trying to find satisfaction in the way Jim's muscles twitched, in the cold concentration in his expression. There wasn't any.

* * *

He spent the next hour working his way through a list of non-maiming tortures, or at least ones that left minimal scarring.

He was washing the blood off of his knife, having finished removing Jim's fingernails. The man still had yet to scream, and it was starting to grate on him. He tried to let that fuel him, and after a moment's consideration, went to a new cabinet, opening it with a touch. "You know, I'm getting the sense that pain just... isn't working for you," he sighed. "So let's try something else." He walked over, a syringe in hand. He tapped it lightly, sending a small fountain of solution into the air. "What happens to that beautiful mind of yours if I fuck with it? If you lose control of your mind? Throw a few monkey wrenches into the machine..."

Jim gave a pale imitation of a smile, something akin to the sinister grin of a jack-o-lantern. "And what is that? What do we have that will utterly break down the years of control I've piled around my mind like sandbags? Oh, excuse me, what does _Ines_ have? I forgot your new fuck buddy. She's so _forgettable._ At least when you shacked up with Harrison she was a good enough distraction you _nearly killed yourself_ for her? Or did you forget?" He sneered, eyes blazing, locked onto Moran's. Even if Moran really was a traitor, even if he was doing this of his own free will, he knew that not everything that had happened in the past had been a cover. And if Moran was doing this because he had to? He still wouldn't lie down and take it. He would dish out as much mental turmoil as he was capable of producing. Normally, he would have started with the sacrifices Moran had made for _him,_ but with that tape...

He grit his teeth a little, taking a slow breath. Hating Jim was getting easier and easier.

"What is it you like to say?" he muttered as he flicked the inside of Jim's forearm a few times, hunting for a vein. He found one, and stuck the needle in. "I'm so _changeable._ " He depressed the plunger, emptying the syringe into Jim's arm. "And I'm not going to break your control, Jim... I'm not even going to rob you of it. You can have all the control you like." He set the syringe aside, reaching up to get a grip on Jim's hair that straddled the line between affectionate and painful.

"No... Jim, I don't give a fuck about _control_. I'm going to take your _mind_. Take that beautifully honed knife of a wit, and dull it down until it couldn't slice butter. That was a mercury solution, Jim. Just a bit, for now. You know the effects of mercury poisoning, I'm sure. I'm going to let you sit with that, with mercury running through your system, being accepted, accumulated... and in a few hours I'm going to come back and give you some more. And then again... I expect you'll start feeling the effects within a few days. And it will just get worse. Then, when I've decided you've reached the point where you've got just enough brain power left to hate yourself for what you've become... I'm going to leave you. How does that sound, Jim?"

"Lovely," he spat, visibly humming with anger, impotent rage, and a layer of fear just beneath the surface. Another version of the thing he had done to his mentally gifted mother. How poetic. Had it ever even occurred to him in his life, he might have cried. But no, that one he had reserved for the traitor above him, about to take from him the thing he had once protected. "Are you done monologuing? Mind if I get a word in, slighted little henchman?" He asked, his voice twisted in anger. This was irrefutable proof that Moran was being sincere, that he really was gone. "A question occurred to me while you were rambling on. How long do you think Ines is going to keep you around? Look at you. You had everything your little heart could dream of. Access to all the people you could ever want to torture. A beautiful woman who fell so much in love with you she nearly killed herself when you _died._ A lucrative bodyguard job. And you still betrayed me. Who says you won't do the same to her?"

"I followed the current, Jim," he said, dropping his grip on the man's hair and ignoring the barbs. "She had me locked up by myself for a while- you know how I get. Anyway, she brings me out and shows me the mess you had become... What was the point of guarding a man who went to shambles if I died? Is this what I could have given my life for, Jim? I'd protect you just so that you could fall to pieces afterwards, and lose everything? It's pathetic. I don't give my life for pathetic. Ines offered me worthwhile work, I took it. Harrison was regrettable, but as you've reminded me so many times... there's other options out there."

Despite himself, he was ashamed. Damn him. Moran knew him far too well. In hindsight, he should have recycled bodyguards every few years. He could have avoided all this. He was silent for a moment, eyes boring into Moran, despite the sickly feeling in his stomach that he assumed was from the mercury. "You may work for her, but good luck finding yourself _purpose."_

He shrugged. "Not that I care what you think, but I have it. Honestly, you're my one disappointment in all of this. I thought you were better." He turned and headed for the door.

Jim curled his hands into fists, fingertips screaming in pain from his lack of fingernails, which was exactly what he wanted. He was furious.

Moran left and headed for the security station. He needed to work. Needed to lose himself in how he was _fixing_ all of this. More than ever, he missed Lorna. But she didn't even want to look at him, and he couldn't blame her.

* * *

The next week was a motley of short torture sessions and desperate planning on the part of Jim, trying to figure out how to get himself out of his situation. And he came to the conclusion that the only way to really end the mercury situation, to stop Moran's sadism, was to kill him. Even if Ines continued it when he was dead, at least he'd have gotten his revenge.

It was during the fourth session that he managed to nick the metal nail file from the obsessively-groomed guard.

Moran exited the elevator, heading for Jim's cell. His plan was working. Ines was thrilled with the mercury plan, and the saline he was injecting was keeping her satisfied for the time being. If she checked Jim's blood for mercury she would find some- the minuscule amount he'd injected the first day- but it should be enough to keep her off of his scent.

The guards were on either side of him, and opened Jim's cell as usual to transfer the man to the interrogation room.

Jim had been waiting. He'd heard the guards voices as they walked away from the cell to escort Moran, and he stood against the wall, behind the door. The second the door opened and the first guard stepped in, he lunged, plunging the nail file into the guard's neck, unflinching as blood spurted against his face. The second guard shouted, elbowing past Moran, and he was down with a sharp jab to the eye, and then Jim jerked towards the sniper, snarling and furious.

His body hardened as the first guard screamed, muscles readying, adrenaline pumping. Jim lunged at him and his hand snapped up, slamming into the side of Jim's arm as he stepped to the side, and grabbing at the elbow, twisting hard to lock it and force Jim down. His other hand found the nape of the man's neck. Then he pushed him hard to the floor, knee finding the smaller man's back. In seconds, he had him subdued, though his arm was burning where the shiv had opened a broad gash across his upper arm and shoulder.

"Nail file," he breathed, sliding his hand up to Jim's wrist and twisting until he dropped it. "Creative."

"Fuck off," Jim panted, trying to struggle for a moment before he relented, knowing he would never overcome the sniper by force.

He shoved Jim harder into the ground and leaned down as he reached for Jim's other arm. As he did so, he got close to Jim's ear, and murmured, so softly he wasn't even sure Jim would hear, " _Saline_." Then he was leaning back, wrenching Jim's arms behind his back as backup ran down the hall.

Jim felt something funny happen in his chest, somewhere just underneath his ribcage, which was a mixture of surprise and hope, and he was limp as Sebastian manhandled him further, ignoring the guards. It could be a lie. But something told him it wasn't.

Moran borrowed cuffs from a guard and closed them around Jim's wrists, arms still behind his back. "How about you just stay like that for a while?" he snorted, hauling Jim up to his feet and shoving him into his cell, slamming the door. The guards stared at him, but he straightened, blood running down his arm. "What the fuck are you staring at? Get these bodies out of here," he snarled, heading for the lift.

The guards glanced at each other and then jolted into action, deciding to listen to his orders.

Moran evaluated the injury in the lift. It was his dominant arm, however, and partly on the back of his shoulder, so there was little hope of stitching it up on his own. Reluctantly he headed for the infirmary.

Ines wasn't too pleased to hear about Jim's struggle. Moran wasn't doing too well with his playthings, was he? Maybe his spirit wasn't enough in the game. That was fine. She would punish them for him.

She picked up her phone, and called a special contractor.

* * *

He got the call to her office just as they were finishing the bandages. He'd been expecting it, and headed up to her office immediately, pausing just long enough to get a new shirt from his room. He finished buttoning it just in time to knock on her door, ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder.

"Come in," she said, sitting back in her chair. She waited for him to step in before she raised her eyebrows at him. "What the hell happened down there? I was under the impression you could handle yourself. Instead two of my men are dead and Harrison is still completely unharmed. What's up?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Harrison is unharmed because I was under the impression I was to choose between her and Jim, and I chose Jim. As for your men, blame whichever one of them was enough of an idiot to let him steal their nail file. Jim's a dangerous man. You should count yourself lucky it wasn't worse."

"I expect better," she said in response, eyes and voice cold. "This is not better. If I let you torture my prisoners, I expect real anguish. So it's my turn."

He straightened, his stomach full of acid. "Real anguish? An hour ago you were thrilled with my tactics with Jim. He's so terrified he tried to escape! What the hell else do you want?"

" _Control,"_ she snapped, slapping her hand on the desk. "I want them afraid to even _try_ to escape. This? This is ridiculous. They need to be taught what happens, now."

"I haven't had the chance yet!" He retorted angrily. "He _just_ tried to escape! I couldn't teach him a lesson until he actually _tried_ something!"

She glared at him for a moment, then snorted. "Fine. You can keep Jim. But I'm going to vent on Harrison."

His stomach dropped, but he forced himself to shrug. "Fine, no skin off my nose. Enjoy."

"Thank you. You're dismissed," she said sharply, still irritated, and waved him off.

He left quickly, and headed for his room. He couldn't deal with torturing Jim any further today. His arm was killing him, and he was exhausted. He needed sleep. He'd deal with it tomorrow.

Ines scheduled Harrison's visitor for the next day and then went to bed herself, where she slept like a baby.

* * *

He woke feeling just as exhausted as when he'd gone to bed, but he hauled himself out of bed anyway. He washed off with a damp cloth, and took some painkillers for his shoulder, before dressing and heading out. He wanted to just work on security, but knew that he needed to deal with Moriarty before Ines took it into her own hands.

Lorna had heard the ruckus the day before, and she was quiet in her cell, afraid to draw attention to herself. Guards who had just lost a couple of their comrades could be dangerous, even though she had had nothing to do with it.

Ines stood outside Harrison's door for a moment, relishing the feeling of anticipation, before she nodded to the guard. He opened it and she stepped inside. "Lorna! How are you today?"

She flinched a little as the door opened, eyes focusing on Ines after a moment. "I'm tired. The cot in here is terrible."

"I'm actually here to try and make that situation a bit better," she said, smiling. "I want you to meet someone." She waved her hand, and a short, stocky man, with black hair, acne scars, and rheumy eyes stepped in. He considered Harrison eagerly. "I'd like you to meet Ralph. Ralph, this is Lorna."

"Hello, Lorna," he said, smiling and revealing a few broken teeth, fixed with gold caps. He walked forward.

"What situation are you trying to remedy?" She asked warily, eyes on Ralph, caution in them. "What's this guy do?"

"He makes beds more comfortable," Ines said, still smiling. "Ralph, why don't you show her?"

Ralph grinned, walking across the room purposefully.

Lorna leaned back, a twinge of fear on her face, but nothing else filtered through. "How on earth does he make beds more comfortable?"

"I'm sure you can draw your own conclusions. Do you want her restrained, Ralph?"

"Nah," he said, still backing Lorna into a corner. "Prefer 'em free range. They're more fun that way."

"She's fairly adept at defending herself."

"So am I. Don' worry, love. I'm a professional."

Lorna sucked in a breath, recoiling away from him, fear compressing her chest as if she'd been squeezed. She pressed herself back into the corner, eyes locked onto Ralph, looking ready to fight. "Don't you dare touch me," she snarled, teeth clenched. "You'll regret it."

Ralph nodded. "A lot of people say that," he said, as if she had mentioned that his eyes were a strange color.

Ines sighed, considering, a hand resting on the gun at her hip. "Please don't ruin his fun."

"Really? You're not even going to let me fight back? What kind of gladiator arena are you running?" Lorna spat at Ines, her stomach churning, unwilling to just let him do to her whatever he pleased.

"Oh, struggle a little, he enjoys that. But no injuring. This isn't a gladiator pit, Lorna dear. It's punishment."

Ralph reached out suddenly with both hands, grappling Lorna and pushing her firmly against the wall.

"Punishment for _WHAT,"_ She snarled, fighting against Ralph's grip, trying to ignore the shaking of her limbs, prompted by adrenaline. "I haven't _DONE anything._ Stop this shit!"

"Not yet, no," she agreed calmly. "But you might."

Ralph reached out and ripped open Lorna's shirt.


	105. Anywhere But Here (Home)

Moran was taking the stairs down four at a time. His knife was in his hand, and he was in a wonderfully numb state of minimal thought, just instinct and adrenaline.

It had been one of his old Hits people that had told him, had seen the man come in and meet Ines. It had only taken seconds for him to check the security tapes to confirm. Now he was vaulting down the stairs as fast as he could without risking injury. This was it. No further.

No one in the room was prepared for Moran's entrance, but the only one who didn't make surprised shout at the door exploding open was Lorna, who was too busy trying to keep Ralph off of her with nothing but her feet to take any notice of the rest of the world. She was on the floor, bare from the waist up, with a split lip and with her arms pinned to the floor by the man above her, and her feet planted in his stomach, keeping him from advancing any further. She looked over once she noticed he'd paused, and nearly sobbed as she saw Sebastian.

Ines finally snapped into action three seconds after the door open, pulling her gun out of her holster and raising it to point at Moran.

Moran was already moving, however, and before she could fully raise the weapon he was on her, his knife slashing across the inside of her wrist, parting the tendon. She screamed and dropped the gun, which he stooped to pick up. The shot rang through the tiny room like a bombshell, echoing over and over again as Ralph slumped slowly sideways, most of the right half of his head splattered on the floor beside him. Moran shoved the body aside and wrapped one arm around Lorna, helping her up and turning the gun on Ines, but the Algerian was already out the door, shouting commands and clutching her wrist.

Lorna screwed her eyes shut against the red mist, turning her face away, and was very disoriented to find herself suddenly up and against Moran. The scared part of her wanted to reject the physical contact, too freaked out to let herself be touched, but the rest of her pressed in further, chasing the feeling she'd been craving for months. Other than keeping herself up, she knew she wasn't going to be much help for him, not with the way her hands were shaking and her heart was pounding.

He got moving immediately, shooting the first guard to come running in through the head, and the next in the chest. There was a pause in footsteps, so he tucked the gun in his trousers for a moment and grabbed the guard's keycard, tucking it into his pocket and heading for the hall, glancing back and forth before moving a cell down. He swiped the card and kicked the door open. "Jim! Let's go, now!" he snarled, before letting go of Lorna and turning to shoot another guard who had entered the hall.

Jim was out in the hall in seconds, having heard the commotion and prepared himself accordingly. He was still in handcuffs, unfortunately, but he was much more present than Lorna, who looked a little hazy at the moment. "What's the plan, Moran?" He asked sharply, eyes scanning the hall.

"Yeah, about that," he grunted, clearing the hall before bending to help Lorna up again, heading for the stairs. "Car and go. We'll come back later."

Jim swore but couldn't argue, just nodded and followed, feeling annoyingly defenseless with the handcuffs on. He would have been angry with Moran for having put them on him in the first place, if he thought the man had had any idea that this would go down. Judging by Lorna's state of undress, someone had tried to sexually assault her, and Moran had snapped. He would need to have a talk with him about that being the line, but for right now, he would follow his bodyguard's instructions without complaint.

When they hit the stairs, Moran scooped Lorna up against his chest and took the stairs two at a time, suddenly thanking whoever was out there for all the days he'd taken the stairs to Ines's office in the last few weeks.

He shot two more guards in the stairwell, but it was only three flights to the garage and then they were diving into the first car they saw- a grey maintenance van. He hot-wired it in the span of a few seconds, and they were careening out onto the street while he wracked his brain for somewhere they could go.

Jim set about finding something in the van to free himself from the handcuffs, ignoring their plight for a moment while he worked on his comfort. He lucked out and found a paperclip in the glove compartment, and after a minute he was free, and lifted his head to look at the situation. "We need to leave the country," he said as they were forced to stop at a red light. "As far as I know, Armetti was untouched. He's still in love with Harrison. We can go there."

He nodded in agreement, already heading for the airport. "We need to find Lorna a shirt. Any chips you can cash in at Heathrow, or are we just going to have to steal the plane?"

"We won't need to steal a plane, I can get us in," he shook his head, turning and looking into the back of the van, where Lorna was sitting in silence, her hands in her lap. "Harrison. Look and see if there's a shirt or something back there. And clean off your lip."

She just looked at him for a second, unhearing.

They hit another red, and Moran slammed on the brakes, swearing and looking over his shoulder to see if they were being followed. Then his eyes landed on Harrison. He grit his teeth, looked forward again. "Lorna, listen to me. You are safe. No one is going to touch you. Find a shirt."

His voice filtered into her ears further than Jim's did. She _wanted_ to hear Sebastian, so she made an effort to. Without saying anything in response, she shifted onto her knees, beginning to sluggishly search. Jim let out a relieved sigh, turning back around.

Sebastian got underway again, doing his best to lose them in traffic. "Jim, take my knife from my belt and cut open the fabric of the roof above you. You should find a small yellow box. Rip it out and break it," he said as he swerved through a few lanes of traffic.

"Tracking device, or something else?" He asked, leaning over to get the knife from his belt and then doing as he said, grunting with the small effort. Lorna was putting on a black zip-on hoodie in the back, and then rubbing her bloodied lip.

"Tracker," he agreed, swerving to take an exit last minute after Jim broke the device. He got off the highway entirely, and then got on in the opposite direction. "Let'em think we headed north," he muttered, taking the exit for Heathrow.

"Good idea," Lorna said quietly in the back, still looking a mess, but not so pressing that authorities would stop them. "Where are we going?"

Jim glanced back at her. "America. Armetti."

Moran let them talk, and concentrated on driving. They pulled into Heathrow a few minutes later. "Where am I going, Jim?" he asked as they approached the turn offs for various sections of the terminals.

"Doesn't matter. Pick a terminal, all I need is to use a phone inside," he said, waving his hand a little bit. His wrists hurt from the handcuffs.

He nodded, pulling into domestic departures, which was closest. "Come in with you, or stay here?"

"Stay here, I'll only be a minute," Jim said, unbuckling his seat belt as they slowed down. "I'll have new directions when I'm out."

He nodded, pulling to a stop. "You have ten minutes. I'm going to circle the block. If I'm not back, or you're not, assume the other got caught and keep going."

"Understood," Jim said, ignoring that they would be in a bit of a sorry state without him, and got out of the van, immediately heading for the doors. Time to get to work.

Moran immediately pulled away from the curb, merging back onto the road and heading for the first turnaround.

"Lorna," he said, glancing over his shoulder at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "You still with me?"

She blinked, eyes flitting up to him. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm with you," she said quietly, nodding a little.

"Once we are in the air, I will happily do whatever you need, but right now I need to focus on getting us out of here. So just stick with me until then, alright?" He passed a car driving half the speed limit and took a hard right.

"Yeah, I know, I will," she agreed, her knees drawn up to her chest. "Don't worry about me right now, I'll be okay."

"I'm going to worry. I just can't do anything about it," he muttered, glancing at the clock and turning around, heading back.

She fell back into silence, incapable of carrying conversation right now. As they pulled back up to the departure gate, Jim came back out, looking slightly more relaxed. He got back into the van. "Head for the employee entrance. My contact will meet us there."

He didn't question, just took off again, turning down a service road and pulling into the employee parking lot. He parked, and climbed out. His shoulder had ripped open at some point, and the blood was starting to soak through his shirt, but that was half the reason he wore crimson. He looked around the parking lot, then walked around to open the door for Jim and Lorna. "Alright, let's go."

Jim led the way, bringing up a hand to wave at a man in a security uniform who came up to them. "Sir? Right this way, please, we had a canceled private flight, you can borrow one of the smaller jets," he said, beckoning them to walk with him. "Any luggage?"

"No."

Moran kept a careful eye on Lorna as they walked. He wanted to pull her into a tight hug, just keep her close and safe and _here_ , because _fuck_ he had missed her. But he had no idea what she needed right now, and his best guess was that touching her would be a bad idea. So he kept his distance, walked quickly, and wished he'd pocketed his bottle of painkillers this morning.

The security officer led them through the back workings of the airport, ignoring any odd looks they received, seeming to feel that as long as they didn't stop no one would try to apprehend them. He led them out onto the tarmac after a few minutes, making a beeline for an expensive looking plane, whose stairs were already extended down to the runway. "Alright, go ahead and board. You'll be moved to the top half of the queue. There should be people waiting for you in New York. If you need anything else, ask the flight staff, they'll be happy to arrange it for you. Now I have to be off. Have a good flight, folks." He turned and left, and Jim led the way up the stairs confidently.

The door closed almost immediately after they boarded. Moran evaluated the plane carefully for anything amiss, ignoring the friendly flight attendant as he tried to lead them to plush seats, his smile and safety speech relaxed and unhurried as the plane got underway. Moran didn't unclench until they cleared the ground, but then he took a slow breath, eyes on the flight attendant but otherwise relaxed. He looked at Lorna, sitting across from him. "Alright?"

"Physically, yeah, mostly," she said, lifting a finger to probe at her split lip, frowning a little. "I'll deal. Not the first time this has happened. One of the few where I was actually rescued, so that's nice."

He nodded just a little, sitting back slowly and taking a long breath. His shoulder throbbed, and his shirt was sticky. "I'm sure you both have questions..."

Lorna shook her head, but Jim scoffed. "You could say that again. What the fuck happened. Walk me through it. Debrief me."

So he did. He started at the beginning, at waking up in the army barracks, and gave Jim the details of everything that had happened. The torture, the decision to grift Ines, the takeover and security work... Right up to the moment he had heard about Harrison and had decided to expedite his plans. "...which is when I opened your cell," he said finally, tiredly, a few minutes later.

Jim nodded, digesting the story. Lorna didn't react at all. She just thought about it, putting herself in his place easily. She would have done the same thing.

She got out of her seat and moved across the aisle to collapse in his lap.

He winced just slightly as she hit his shoulder, shifting her over against the good side of his chest, holding her tightly and doing his best not to get blood on her. "I missed you," he said very quietly.

"Do I even have to say it?" She asked wearily in a sad attempt at a joke. "God. It felt like I couldn't _breathe_ when you died. I missed you so much."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I did the best that I could to keep you both safe." He was so glad that she was here in his arms, that everything was over. "I never want to grift again," he said with a half-hearted laugh.

"Yeah, that's valid," she snorted, shutting her eyes and just taking in the feeling of him again. Jim appeared to be ignoring them, but she wasn't sure what he felt about the whole thing. "You can have hits back, and I'll take over grifting, yeah?"

He laughed a little. "Let's focus on getting the network back first," he said dryly, reaching up to twine his fingers into her hair gently.

She had to fight not to start crying, everything suddenly taking over her at once now that she was wrapped up in his arms, safe and sound. Every night she'd spent alone and heartbroken in an empty bed, every morning she'd had to get up and do his job, every moment she'd spent trying to survive in a world without him. The relief she'd had to stuff down inside of her when she'd found out he was alive, the brief hopelessness before he'd shown her the ring he still wore on his finger.

She let out a hitched breath, leaning further into him.

He held her a little tighter, ignoring Jim's raised eyebrow as he bent to speak in her ear quietly. "I'm here," he said softly. "I am here, and I love you, and I am not going fucking _anywhere_."

She nodded a little, her hand curling in his shirt. Ironically enough, this was the safest she'd felt in months, not even an hour after she'd been sexually assaulted, and now fleeing the country. He felt like home to her. "Stop giving us that look, Jim."

The mastermind snorted. "What else am I supposed to do? You're nauseating." But for once he didn't sound annoyed. "How's your shoulder, Moran?"

"I'll need to get the stitches redone when we land."

Jim nodded. "I'm sure Armetti can find someone."

"And you? I tried to keep the damage minimal, but-"

"I'm fine." He waved the concern off with raw fingers.

Lorna's eyes opened to look at Jim. She didn't say anything for a moment, but just appraised him. "You shouldn't fib to your bodyguard."

Jim met her gaze. "Firstly, I am fine. It takes a lot more than a few missing fingernails to lay me out. Secondly, right now he isn't my bodyguard. He's suspended pending investigation."

She scoffed, raising her eyebrows at him. "And who are you going to use to investigate him, huh? That's ridiculous. Without him we'd both be in there right now. And I doubt Ines volunteered to have her wrist slit open to stage our escape."

He raised an eyebrow, glanced at Moran again, and sighed. "What the fuck should I do, then? Your story is reasonable, but at the same time there are millions of other possible scenarios. And you can't tell me you faked how much you enjoyed fucking that woman. Lorna hasn't forgotten, I'm sure." He glanced at Harrison.

Lorna sighed. "No, of course not," she said, shaking her head a little, as if she wasn't in Moran's lap. "But Jim, let's be honest. You and I fucked enough while he was gone. Can you say it was for any other reason than getting a little release?"

He stood, then, heading for the mini fridge and pulling it open, removing a bottle of scotch and a few chilled glasses. He set them on the small table, and opened the bottle with a wince before Moran could offer help. He was silent as he poured, then sighed. "This whole thing is a bloody mess."

"Things with the three of us involved usually are," she sighed, her eyes very fixed on the glasses. "Hey. Don't... don't pour me too much."

He looked over at her, then nodded a little, pouring less than a finger into one glass and well over two into the others. He passed them their glasses and sat back with his own, taking a long sip.

"That was clever, with the saline, Moran."

He shrugged. "Delay tactic, mostly."

"What was the plan otherwise?" She asked, taking the glass with an overly firm grip. She'd been staving off withdrawal with tiny bottles of low-proof alcohol for about three weeks, and having this in front of her was a little overwhelming.

Moran glanced at Harrison a bit warily, before taking a sip of the scotch. "I was converting the security system like she asked, but I was writing myself a network of backdoors. When it was done I would have been able to control that building completely. I was close, but then..." He shrugged.

"Yeah, shit happened," she agreed, taking a cautious sip. Jim's eyes were on her, assessing.

"Harrison, how capable would you be of going dry, right now?"

She groaned, rubbing her eyes. "I _probably_ wouldn't die."

Moran chuckled, draining his glass and setting it aside. "Have this as a parting farewell. I'll go dry with you." He looked out the window, watching the clouds go past. "Once we get to Armetti's... then what?"

"We'll decide when we get there. I need to know how useful Armetti's data gathering abilities are. When we know more we can decide where to strike back. I don't want to go in blind," Jim replied, still sipping his scotch. Lorna nodded. Secretly, she was just relieved that Armetti wouldn't have an excuse to try and move in on her, not with Sebastian there.

He nodded. "My back doors should still exist," he said quietly, considering. "As far as I know, no one knew they were there. We can probably exploit them."

"Good, that will help, probably immensely," Jim nodded, shifting in his seat to get more comfortable. Honestly, he was slightly uncomfortable. Not physically, but with this situation. He had Moran back. The only person he had ever shed tears for. And his relationship with Harrison was now... _weird._ He'd fucked her because she was a part of the sniper, in his mind at least, but he had to admit to himself that if he hadn't enjoyed it, he wouldn't have continued doing it. He drank some more scotch and tried to stop thinking about social dynamics.

The scotch relaxed Moran, and he realized in retrospect that he probably shouldn't have drunk anything until they were safe at Armetti's. His stomach was empty and he was a bit low on blood, and the stuff hit him harder than he would have liked. He forced himself to focus, keeping his attention on Lorna, but eventually he was lulled by her warmth and the alcohol into a quiet doze.

Lorna was relieved that the flight was almost seven hours long, because she could feel Sebastian start to drift off below her, and the same started to happen after she downed the rest of her glass and set it aside. With her head pillowed on his chest, she promptly went to sleep.

Jim watched the two quietly while they slept. He poured himself another scotch, but took it slowly, turning the events of the last few months over in his mind, trying to find solutions to questions he couldn't even properly define.

Sebastian woke suddenly as the plane started to descend. His shirt crackled as he moved, the blood dried and glued to his skin. Lorna was asleep on his chest and he did his best not to disturb her, shifting her gently onto the seat next to him before he headed off to go take a piss. He nodded to Jim as he passed, but though the man was awake, he didn't acknowledge him.

Lorna woke up disoriented, unsure where exactly she was or how she'd gotten there for a second before she saw the empty seat next to her. Jim looked... mostly unperturbed, so she assumed Sebastian had just gone to the bathroom, and she settled back down again, yawning, eyes resting on Jim again. "What are you thinking about that you didn't take this one safe opportunity to nap?"

He met her gaze for a moment, and there was a brief second when he actually considered telling her.

Then he reigned himself in with a derisive snort and shrugged. "I spent enough time sleeping in that damned cell. Now is the time to plan. I want my network back."

She wasn't entirely sure she bought that, but hell if she was going to argue. She wasn't insane. There were lines she didn't dare go near, even after her stint as right-hand man.

"Yeah, that would be nice, wouldn't it? I really look forward to removing Ines' hands."

"It sounds like Moran already got a head start."

"Not nearly as much as I would have liked," Sebastian said as he walked out of the small restroom and headed back for his seat. "I cut a tendon, though. That'll fuck that hand up for a while."

"We seem to be extremely good at taking out our enemies hands," Lorna muttered, not looking extremely pleased. "Wish it was, I don't know, their fucking heads."

"It will be," he assured her firmly, reaching out to pull her into his lap again. He needed her there. "We won't be down for long. Very few in the network are hers. The rest think Jim appointed her in his absence. They have no idea where the two of you got off to. They'll support us."

"Christ, is that what happened?" She asked, sounding vaguely disappointed. "I suppose that means a good portion of them are still alive then. I wasn't sure, the way they raided the building."

He nodded. "Too costly and time-consuming to kill everyone. Ines had had people in security for more than a month-" he shot a look at Jim- "So when they raided, they sent in a small group at first, and they were 'defeated' by security and a wave of backup that had been supposedly brought in by Jim from off-site. Security cleared them and no one questioned, so Ines literally walked into the building, and security took her up to you. You were both... occupied..." Another look- "So there wasn't much of a struggle there either.

"I'm willing to let the security lapse jib by, but after the way you fucked that woman I don't think I want to hear from your high and mighty celibacy horse about how they caught us fucking," Jim snapped, his accent getting a little stronger for a moment. He felt surprisingly strongly about that. "Even if we hadn't been busy, what would have been different? If Harrison had even been up to the task of protecting me, she would have been shot and I would be in the same position, except about to lose my third."

He rolled his eyes but didn't respond, just shook his head a little. "What the hell were you thinking, Jim? Not fucking Harrison, I can relate to what you were thinking there. But how could you let things slide so far out of control?"

Jim ignored the slight snort of amusement Lorna gave to the part of the sentence that concerned her, lifting a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. "I don't know, Moran. I don't know."

"Don't bullshit me," he said, shaking his head. "You always know. I was playing a part, Jim, but some of that was based in truth- what's the point of my protecting you if this is the result of my death?"

Jim steamed in silence for a moment, then said, in a short, clipped manner, "Moran, for Joseph, Mary, and all the fecking Saints, I can not explain to you what came over me. I was _furious,_ Moran. You've been by my side for the greater part of a decade and I grew _comfortable. Accustomed._ I was on my own for the first time in a _long_ time, and I decided very quickly that I didn't adjust as well to it as I wanted to. I'm a largely solitary man, but victory isn't as sweet without someone to compliment you on it. The king is still the king if you take away his advisers, but he isn't a very good one."

Sebastian was silent for a long while after that, processing what Jim had just said. Finally, he nodded a little. "Well, then, boss, I'll just have to work on not dying again."

Jim fell into an angry silence, bitter he had said that out loud. It was the closest thing to admitting he had feelings, and it was extremely uncomfortable. He didn't feel like himself.

Lorna remained extremely still and quiet, afraid of drawing anyone's attention, considering what she'd just been privy to hearing.

Moran let the silence continue, broken only by the captain's voice on the intercom telling them to buckle in for landing. He shifted Harrison off of his lap into the seat beside him, and strapped in, but his mind was elsewhere. Mainly on what Jim had just said. He knew better than to react, but the implications were still staggering. _The king is still the king if you take away his advisors, but he isn't a very good one._

He knew Jim cared, but never had he expected the man to admit it.

When they landed, the friendly flight crew reappeared and helped them get off the plane fairly quickly. Disorientingly, the sky was just about as bright as the one they'd left seven hours ago. On the tarmac, one of the attendants pointed to the door they needed to enter, and said, "I believe if you want to call a cab you can do so toll-free inside. Is there anything else I can do for you before you depart?"

Sebastian considered saying he'd left something aboard, walking on and cleanly dealing with the crew, but their disappearance would raise more flags than their standard flight, and instead he shook his head. "That will be all." He headed for the building, keeping Jim and Lorna in his sights.

Lorna gravitated back towards Moran's side as they headed for the building, her hand brushing his. She didn't want to be separated from him again for even a second. Jim gave them a look, but then returned his attention to their surroundings. "We need to get a burner. To call Armetti."

Moran nodded in agreement as they entered the terminal. To his relief, it only took a word from Jim and they were through customs with no questions asked. He didn't bother to try and figure out why that was, there were more important issues at hand.

Jim used a payphone to call a cab, speaking with a light Spanish accent rather than his typical Irish. He hung up and wiped down wherever he'd touched with a handkerchief. "We'll stop at a corner store and buy a phone and some less... eye-catching clothing." Between his and Lorna's tattered, filthy outfits, and Moran's expensive suit, they were turning heads.

Lorna nodded, pulling up the zipper on the hoodie she was wearing, worried it would slip down and turn even more heads. Jim led them through the airport as if he was familiar with it, which was surprising, since she was pretty sure she had been there more times than he ever had. They came out into the loud New York air again and headed almost immediately into the cab Jim had called, all piling into the backseat, which was uncomfortable for everyone.

Moran let Lorna take the middle. She was on better terms with Jim than he was. He tucked her under his arm, on the premise of saving space.

Jim called for a stop at a mobile shop and returned ten minutes later with a phone, which he promptly threw in the river as they crossed a bridge. Then he gave the cabby a new address, a few miles out of the city, and lay back.

Lorna didn't pay much attention to where they were going. She didn't really know where Armetti was nesting these days, and she didn't have the energy to look for familiar landmarks. She just sat in silence, her head pillowed on Sebastian's shoulder. She didn't think she could ever get sick of being pressed against him. It felt awkward now, though, now that she had reached a new level with Jim. She felt differently about what he thought of her. Of _them;_ her and Sebastian. She didn't want him to interfere because he didn't trust his bodyguard anymore.

* * *

Playlist: Panic! At The Disco - Impossible Year


	106. Cathedrals Are Underappreciated

Playlist: Lana Del Rey - Lucky Ones

* * *

It was almost an hour before they arrived at the address Jim had given, a small house in an equally small suburb. Jim paid the cabby well (Moran wondered where he had gotten the cash) and waited for him to drive off before he headed off in the opposite direction. "Come on. We don't have forever."

They went a few blocks down to a park. A nondescript blue sedan pulled up a few minutes later, and after a short conversation Jim ushered them inside.

The next three hours were a maze of switching cars and walking down twisting alleys and doubling and tripling back. Moran was exhausted and aching, and he knew Lorna and Jim had to be the same, but he didn't complain. The mess would keep them alive.

Finally they arrived in front of an old stone wall, with ivy creeping up it and covering the rusted iron gate. They entered a courtyard, at the center of which was an ancient church. Jim lead them inside.

The interior was surprisingly well-kept, with clean pews and a beautiful altar. A priest was at the front, lighting candles. Jim walked forward and the man looked up. "How can I help you, my son?"

"A man is a sinner, a man seeks redemption."

"All men are sinners. Few seek redemption. A light, perhaps?"

"I am looking to light a candle to St. Felix... perhaps you can direct me."

The priest nodded, and Sebastian got the impression that he was satisfied with a code. "Down the hall to the left. The entrance to the crypt is marked. Left, left, right, straight, second right..." The list went on, but Jim didn't blink, just nodded, and when the man was done they headed down the hall.

Lorna didn't even bother attempting to memorize the list of directions, leaving it to Jim's incredible memory. She followed him silently through the confusing and dark maze, wondering what exactly this place had originally been built for. "Armetti didn't set this up, did he? This is far too intricate..."

"No," Jim said calmly as they walked. "I did. I provided the only copy, hand-written and in a high-security box, to Armetti. Each head of my foreign departments has a similar, though completely unique, set of instructions, with orders to open it only under my explicit and personal orders." He turned a corner, the light from a wall sconce flickering and creating shadows on the tunnel wall. He had given the orders to Armetti as soon as Moran had gone missing in Belgium.

It was another ten minutes before Jim stopped, and motioned Moran forward, pointing him to a stone coffin seemingly identical to the hundreds of others they had passed. He hefted the lid clear, but instead of a body, there was a set of stairs leading down into another tunnel under the coffin. Jim went first, then Lorna. Sebastian came last, closing the coffin over them and entering the space below. Jim started walking again, stopped at a door and scanned his thumb to unlock it. Then suddenly they were through it, and they were no longer in a crypt, but rather in a cement shelter of some sort. Halls led off in every direction, well lit and carpeted, and there in the center of it all stood Armetti. He walked forward quickly to greet them, his eyes on Lorna. "My friends, sir... are you alright?"

"We've all been better, I'm sure, but we're alive," Jim said sharply, eyes examining the bunker, which he had provided the schematics for. It looked true to form, which he wasn't necessarily pleased with, as it was what he had expected to find. He wouldn't have accepted any less. "Show us to the medical room and we'll all be fine."

Lorna was pointedly avoiding Armetti's gaze, feeling like she couldn't handle his oppressive attention right now. Moran, who she trusted and loved, could be by her side, looking at her and talking to her forever, and she would have been fine with it. But even Armetti's presence, right now, made her anxious. If she had been in better condition and not recovering from a recent trauma, she could have handled him, wrapped him around her little finger without being bothered. Right now, she gravitated closer to Moran.

Moran returned his arm to around Lorna's shoulders. Armetti's eyes drifted to him, but Moran, for once, set hostility aside in favor of communication. He nodded slightly toward Lorna and shook his head. Armetti glanced at her again, and his eyes tightened in concern, but for once he kept his distance. "Of course, sir. This way. We have the staff you requested..."

Armetti continued talking logistics, and Moran tried to concentrate, but with a seat and painkillers so near to hand his focus dwindled down to putting one foot in front of the other down the hall.

Jim glanced back at the two of them as Armetti led them to the small infirmary, cautiously keeping an eye on their condition. They both looked exhausted. They stepped into the bright medical room and they both made it about three footsteps in before they both collapsed into a chair. He sighed. "Give them both a check up and wheel them to their room, if they can't muster the energy to walk. Now someone pay attention to my fingers."

Moran stiffened slightly at that, angry at first at Jim for the comment and then at himself for the show of weakness. He shifted away from Harrison, and stood.

He'd gotten too used to Ines. To needing to show weakness so she'd believe he wasn't a threat. Was rolling over and showing his belly _habit_ now? That was a disgusting thought. Oh well. Habits could be broken.

He watched as a man escorted Jim over to a cot near the back room and went to close a curtain.

"No," he ordered sharply. "He stays in sight."

Jim rolled his eyes, but set about unbuttoning his filthy, tattered shirt anyway. It was a shame, really. It had been one of his favorite shirts. "Do as he says. He's trying to regain brownie points." He smirked.

Moran ignored the barb, his attention shifting to Harrison. A woman was approaching to look her over, and he wasn't sure how the grifter would handle it.

She ignored the woman until she was touched, and then didn't even flinch, her eyes just locking onto the nurse for a second before sliding off in disinterest. Not a threat.

He watched her carefully for a bit, before relenting to the insistent stare of another attendant. He sat, then, and allowed the older woman to help him extract himself from his shirt. They ended up having to cut some of it away, and soak other areas with water until the caked blood gave up its grip. The bandage was just as entertaining, the wound red and angry where the stitches had pulled.

Jim was having an equally enjoyable time as the physician poked and prodded bruised areas and examined cuts. He said repeatedly how lucky Jim was that no bones were broken, given the damage, but Jim didn't bother responding, eyes on his bodyguard and his grifter, quietly reading, evaluating, puzzling.

Lorna's nurse cleaned up her split lip further and then asked if anything else hurt, to which she shook her head. The nurse gave her a bit of a skeptical look but left her alone, fetching her a bottle of water and a package of crackers, seemingly suspicious her blood sugar was low. She considered asking to be brought to wherever she was going to be staying, but then realized she wasn't capable of making herself leave Moran's sight.

They applied a topical anesthetic, finally, and he relaxed as the pain faded. He was used to the tug of stitches and didn't bother paying much attention, keeping his eyes on Lorna. Suddenly Armetti was at his elbow.

"What did they do to her?"

He turned to the man, expression unreadable. "That's her story to tell. Not mine. But for her sake, leave her alone for a while."

"You'd rather make her relive it than tell me?" He challenged, unaffected by the man's cold demeanor. He didn't fear the sniper, not like most people did. At the most, he was jealous, and fiercely so. But there wasn't very much he could do about it without causing Lorna's ire.

He didn't falter. "No, but I'd rather get her permission before I do. You make her uncomfortable, at least right now. I don't want to increase that." He gave a cold smile.

He didn't know how to come back at that, and his mouth opened for a moment before he shut it again and turned away, the beginning of a sulk entering the set of his shoulders. Lorna was only paying enough attention to discern that something had upset Armetti, but she didn't particularly care what at the moment. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, sighing.

The doctor finished bandaging up his shoulder and handed him a bottle of painkillers. He tucked them into his pocket as he stood, walking over to Jim. His nurse was bandaging up his fingers carefully, and Jim looked bored. "What next, boss?"

"For you? Nothing, not right away. You're under investigation and I'm not going to tell you anything until I can be certain you're not going to turn around and fuck it up for me," Jim said, mostly without inflection. "I need to investigate a great deal of things, only one of which is you, so it might be a few days. Feel free to review the security measures down here and send me a report. There's only a couple of devices down here that aren't on closed-circuit, so you may use those without supervision."

He grit his teeth slightly, but took a slow breath and nodded. "Of course, sir. I'll have that report to you as soon as possible." With that he turned and walked over to Lorna, offering her a hand up, expression impassive.

She opened her eyes at the sound of footsteps, and took his hand, standing and then letting him tow her where he pleased. Armetti studiously ignored them, paying a weird amount of attention to medical supplies in the back.

The doctor that had seen to Lorna guided them down a few halls and then stopped in front of a door. "Ms. Harrison, your quarters are here. Mr. Moran, if you'll follow-"

"I'll find them later, thank you," he said in a clear dismissal, waiting for Lorna to scan her fingers to unlock the door.

"It's three floors down, room 325," the woman informed him, before heading back to the infirmary. Moran snorted. _Subtle, Armetti._

She was thinking the same thing as she opened the door, her eyes landing on the very expensive interior. "How much do you want to bet even Jim's room is a lot less nice than this?" she asked, raising her eyebrows a little. The sofa was quilted leather, and a television that must have been 60 inches across was mounted on the wall. The kitchenette in the corner was state of the art, and there was an extensive liquor cabinet that looked as if it had cost as much as the rest of the flat combined.

"I look forward to my accommodations. It should be amusing to see how cheap he thought he could manage without blatantly insulting me," he said cheerfully as he closed the door behind them. He was instantly more relaxed now that they were alone. Despite everything else, this was what he wanted. Lorna, here, safe, with him.

"Shouldn't be too hard to add your scan to this door," she shrugged, making it over to the couch and sinking down, letting out a long sigh. She was exhausted. Idly, she wondered if there were clothes in here, so she could change out of this filthy hoodie. "I don't want to be living in different rooms."

He walked over to sit next to her, leaning back with a quiet sigh, looking around the room slowly. Then he looked over at her, and smiled a little. "Hey," he said softly.

She chuckled a little, rubbing her eyes. "Hey," she said back, a little amused that this was where they ended up. Months of grieving him, and then that moment of shock where she'd seen him and been _devastated,_ even more than that fake betrayal in the labyrinth. And now, sitting together in a silent room on a couch again. It wasn't the same room or the same couch, but it was them, and that was what mattered.

He looked at her for another moment, then reached out and pulled her into his arms again. He wasn't ever going to get sick of being able to do that. "Jesus fucking _Christ_ , I missed you," he said, loudly, because he could, pulling her into his lap against his chest, and tucking his legs up just a little, enveloping her in a hug.

She curled up into his chest, grabbing his new shirt with her hands, pressing her face into his neck, her heart jumping in her chest, unaccustomed to being with him again. "I missed you too," she said back, her voice hitching a little. "I missed you _so much."_

He took a slow breath, fingers gripping her tightly. "I'm sorry, Lorna. I am. I would do it over, but fuck, I'm sorry."

"I don't know what else you could have done," she sighed, closing her eyes, listening to his heartbeat under her ear. It was still comforting. "You did what you had to do to get back. I couldn't ask for anything more."

He nodded just a little. "Listen... About Ines... About fucking Ines," he said quietly, then trailed off. What did he say? "I shouldn't have done that. Shouldn't have..." He shrugged and trailed off.

She didn't say anything for a moment, just thinking about it. She couldn't just force it to the back of her head and pretend it hadn't happened forever. She wasn't good at that. That was a time-tested fact. "Look..." she started, finger tracing a random pattern on his chest. "I'm not going to say that it's okay, that I don't care, 'cause that's not true. But... fuck, Sebastian, it's not like I haven't made mistakes. I can't and won't hold it against you."

He sighed, putting his face in her hair. "I got lost. I'm not used to that shit and I got caught up in it."

"You're not a grifter, Seb, you've made that clear multiple times. You never learned the basic survival skills. The trick is to keep yourself from believing your own lie," she murmured, swallowing. "You can't always keep yourself from doing it, but you've got to try. If you don't, well, you pay for it."

He was quiet for a while, almost too long. The topic was sliding away into the silence when he said, "It was still wrong. I should have had more control. I know you won't hold it against me, but it was a fucked up thing to do. And I get that."

She nodded against his chest, letting out a quiet breath into the space between them. She didn't really know what to say. It was one of the most sincere apologies she'd ever received from him, and she hadn't even really been looking for it. "Thank you," she said eventually, voice soft.

He sighed, and nodded a little. Then said, "And the next time I die, you don't even think about that fucking gun, you hear me? Dammit, Harrison. That's not fucking good shit."

"I didn't know what to do, okay?" she said defensively, curling up a little tighter, jaw tightening. "We'd _just_ gotten back from India, where you basically single-handedly nursed me back to something resembling health, and then you were _gone."_ She was silent for a moment. "You know, I actually blamed Jim at first? I barged into his office, screaming at him. He was just as upset as I was. I think maybe I wanted him to kill me. But he didn't, and he stopped me from shooting myself later," she sighed, closing her eyes, trying to remind the approaching anguish in her chest that it was over, that he was back. He was here, and he didn't have to pretend he hated her any more. "Fuck, Sebastian, I just didn't see the point to keep going. At least if I die you have Jim. Jim and I only grew closer when you were dead because it was the only thing left of you that we could touch."

"Yeah, well, I'm not impressed with him either," he snorted. "I can't be the only reason the two of you function, Lorna! It's not fair, and I can't do my job, because fuck, if I have to choose between dying for Jim and knowing you'll die too, or..." He trailed off. That was a dangerous thing to say right now. "We need to work on finding something in life that you enjoy besides me. Because I can't deal with being the only reason. I'm going bloody grey."

She took in a deep breath, trying to decide what to say to him. She'd known since his amnesiac episode that she didn't have anything going for her besides him, but she'd been careful to keep it from him. She would not get in the way of him doing his job, or living his life, just because she wasn't strong enough to keep going without him. Honestly, that had worked up until he had died and then come back to life. She didn't like the idea of lying to him, but if it took that.. _problem_ out of his equation... "I'm sorry," she murmured, rubbing at her eyes again, and sighing. "I didn't... intend for this to be a problem. I never thought I would have to _explain_ myself to you. I know that's not an excuse, but I've admitted before that I'm a deeply miserable person, and I've been surviving on increasingly healthier -shockingly- addictions for years. I can't just _summon_ a reason to live. I'll look, to ease your mind a little, but Christ, Seb, I can't just erase the feeling that you're the best thing that will ever happen to me."

He sighed. "Just... fuck." He didn't know what to say to that. "I considered it, too, when I thought you died," he said after a while. "When Jim told me you were dead. I had my gun in my hand. But it felt wrong, somehow. Because you gave a shit about me, so it seemed fucked up that my first reaction to your death would be to destroy something you cared about."

She chuckled, weakly, then took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like she needed to hold back tears. "That makes you a better person than me. I was too selfish to consider that."

He laughed, a real one, deep and full. "I think that is the first time anyone has called me the better person. I'm slipping," he said, tickling her side gently and letting the topic drop for now.

She giggled, squirming in his lap. "Christ alive, man, stop, I'm sore and bruised! Have mercy!" She begged, trying to wiggle away from him a little.

He relented slightly, though he didn't stop completely, still grinning. "Are you really begging a sadist for mercy, Harrison?" he asked, bending to nip her neck.

"Try a new tune, Moran, I swear to god," she laughed, managing to grab onto his hands to stop his assault and planting her foot in his thigh. "Seriously, you keep going, I'm going to ' _accidentally'_ kick you in the balls."

"Now that's just low," he said with a fake pout, but didn't struggle, just gripped her hands and leaned forward to kiss her gently.

She kissed him back tentatively, her stomach doing an odd flip. It hadn't been prepared for Moran to be back in her life, to be touching her again, and the tolerance she'd built up over time was shot to hell. Not to mention the fact that a man had attempted to sexually assault her today, and she was still coping with the lingering anxiety.

He just lingered against her lips for a moment before pulling away. He had no intention of going further than that, the image of her fighting the man off still burned in his mind. But he had needed that much, that little reassurance. How many times had he imagined the ways he would fuck her when they got back together- rough and bloody and pinned to walls- but now they were cuddled up on a couch kissing with the intensity of kindergartners. Still, he was happy.

She nestled back against him, warmth and comfort in her chest for the first time since India. Even though it wasn't true, she had the feeling that everything was right in the world. It didn't matter what kind of shit they were put through; as long as she could curl up against his chest and soak in his warmth, any suffering she was going through eased. After a few minutes of silence, a small smirk appeared on her face. "Have I mentioned I like your new hair?"

"God, no, not you, too," he groaned, arms wrapped around her. "It looks so... boy band. It's horrendous."

"You look stylish. Roguish, even," she grinned, half-serious. "Plus, let's all admit that it's actually spitting distance from Jim's hair, so you might want to be careful with insulting it in front of him."

He raised an eyebrow. "It's a far cry from Jim's hair. Plus, it was Ines's idea. Still a fan?"

"Less of a fan," she admitted, grimacing a little. "Doesn't make the hair terrible, but it does take the fun out of it."

"Yeah. She took far too much pleasure in being able to control precisely every aspect of my existence. It was not enjoyable." He snorted in annoyance. "So I'll be cutting this off as soon as possible, thanks."

"Yeah, alright," she agreed, still grimacing. "What a bitch. I look forward to paying her back a little revenge."

"Agreed," he said with a snort. "Though honestly, if she had just come into the organization, she would have done well. Jim would have liked her."

"Or she would have been viewed as competition. I don't know if Jim would be comfortable with someone else smart enough to be running a network hanging out in his lobby," she said, shrugging a little. "I think he might have killed her."

"True," he sighed, nodding a little. His hands wandered across her shoulders gently, massaging slowly, trying to work out knots and tension.

She let the conversation fade, just enjoying his presence in silence. She'd missed this. She'd missed him.

He massaged her back for a while longer before finally smiling and nipping her ear. "Come on. Let's find out what your shower's like."

"Let's find my wardrobe first. It's chilly in here, I don't really look forward to wandering around in the nude," she chuckled, unfolding herself and climbing out of his lap.

"I could turn up the heat," he offered with a smirk, but let her go. He sighed, closing his eyes and relaxing for a moment.

She explored the flat a little, mostly ignoring the small kitchen and pushing open the door that looked like it would lead to a bedroom. She was a little taken aback by how big it was - nearly as big as the living room - but moved on and headed to the armoire in the corner. Opening up the drawers, she began to root though it, looking for something comfortable to wear. She passed over silk and lace pajamas before eventually coming across cotton ones, and, pulling them out, stuck her head out of the door. "Alright, let's find that shower."

He opened his eyes and then stood to walk over her, admiring the bedroom with a low whistle. "Nicely done... Shame he won't ever see it," he smirked a bit.

She chuckled, slinging the pajamas over her shoulder. "Not anymore, at least. Somehow I doubt he's completely stayed out of here," she snorted, spotting a door in the corner of the room and moving to pull it open. It was a walk-in closet. "Damn, where's the bathroom? I don't really need _this_ much closet space..."

He snorted slightly, starting to walk around the room opening random doors. "Study... another closet... _Jesus_ , bathroom," he muttered, opening the door the full way so that she could see the large room that lay beyond. The floor was covered in flagstones of light sandstone. The walls were tiled in white, accented by sandy tan and seafoam green. Shells made a border around the room at about waist height, intersecting the counter, which was made of acrylic that, while smooth on the surface, had inner contours made to look like foaming seawater. Fake waves crested in the center of the counter to form the lip of a sink with brass fittings.

There was a shower in one corner, also brass and shells, and the toilet was in another corner behind a screen partition. Central, along the back wall, was a large jacuzzi, the exterior mosaiced with tiny shells to form stylized waves.

" _Jesus_ ," he repeated.

Lorna rubbed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. "Jesus," she agreed, looking wearily at the opulent bathroom. "I don't even really _care_ about the beach," she shook her head, stepping into the room and moving to stand over the jacuzzi, checking it out. "Shower or soak?"

"Shower first," he suggested. "I'll get the jacuzzi filled. You've been in that cell a while. You're filthy." He headed over to turn the water on, running his hand under to feel the temperature.

"Yeah, I'm pretty gross," she agreed, lifting a hand to gingerly touch her greasy hair, then dropped her backup clothes on the floor and turned on the shower, which had very good pressure immediately, which she was thankful for. She stripped out of her filthy clothes and waited for the water to warm up, leaning against the wall, tired. Without really meaning to, she began wondering about her relationship with Jim. Was this something that she needed to discuss with Sebastian? She hadn't been pleased when she'd been missing and found the two of them were regularly fucking, but she didn't _think_ that sentiment went both ways. She closed her eyes, sighing. "Hey... do we need to talk about Jim?"

"What about him?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the jacuzzi to pull off his shoes. He was pretty certain why she was asking, but didn't particularly feel like jumping into that topic unless he was certain. Even then...

She stepped into the shower, flinching a little under the heat, and sucking in a sharp breath. It felt weird on her sore muscles. "I... exclusively fucked Jim for what... I don't know, like three months? I don't know how you feel about that."

"I was dead. It made you feel better. I fucked Ines," he said, shrugging and then tensing slightly as his shoulder protested. He started working on removing his shirt.

She ran her hands through her now-soaked hair, trying to work out any dirt or blood that was clinging to her scalp. "I know," she sighed, "I just... it feels different now."

He was quiet for a minute, considering that, his fingers playing absently in the water of the filling jacuzzi. When he spoke, his voice was carefully nonchalant. "Would you rather be with Jim?"

She didn't even have to consider it, but she was quiet for a moment, because her throat was trying to close up. "Never."

"Okay, then," he said, not dwelling on that thought any longer than he had to. "So what's different?"

"I don't know. I don't know," she said, scrubbing her face under the water, partially to clean herself, partially to make herself feel better. "I've never been in this situation before. I've never been an equal participant. I've always been a third wheel, not the third side of a triangle."

He smirked and stood stiffly, and walked over, sliding the shower door open a little and reaching in to take her hand in his. He was always a little surprised by how small her hands were compared to his own. "Welcome to the triangle, I guess. You're fine. On more solid standing than you used to be, I'd wager."

"Yeah, I guess so," she agreed, squeezing his hand. Her eyes found his shoulder, and she frowned a little. "When did that happen?"

He glanced down at the bandages and then back up. "A couple days ago. Jim tried to kill me with a nail file. It was a sharp nail file." He released her hand and walked over to turn off the water, the tub nearly full. "It'll heal fine."

"He tried to kill you? I'm surprised you didn't try to break us out after that happened," she commented, grabbing mint & eucalyptus shampoo from the rack in the shower and lathering it up into her hair.

"The original plan was to actually take back the network, not just run for our lives," he sighed. "I managed to convince him while I had him pinned that I was on his side, so I thought I could keep things progressing."

"Too bad that set off Ines," she muttered, just loud enough to be heard over the shower, rinsing the suds out of her hair most of the way before she turned off the shower and stepped out, dripping water on the flagstones. "Is the tub ready? If you can call that a tub..."

"Yeah," he said, hitting a few buttons until the jets came on. Then he started removing his trousers.

She climbed into the jacuzzi with weary limbs and sank into the warm water, letting out a quiet sigh, and leaned back and shut her eyes. It was odd to be comfortable again. Some little voice in her body was hankering for a drink, but she wasn't depressed, and she wasn't afraid, and she only had a few superficial injuries, for once in her goddamn life. Now that he was back, she wouldn't have to miss her scars, either. The night she'd realized that they'd gotten rid of one of her concrete memories of him she'd broken a glass against the wall. "You know," she said idly, "You're lucky you came back when you did. I was gonna give Keira a couple of your guns."

He smirked. "I would have gotten them back." He climbed into the tub a moment later, careful to keep his bandaged shoulder clear. "She was more affected than I expected her to be. I wasn't thrilled when I found out she'd gone on a bender on her motorcycle." He shot Lorna a look.

She looked offended. "It's not like I just _let_ her go, I tried to get her to drink with me. She had one drink and left, and I was in no condition to stop her."

"She's a teenager, Harrison. My daughter. Those two things combine to make a rather stubborn personality. I know you weren't good, but, fuck..." He sighed and leaned back against the edge of the tub.

"I wasn't thinking, Sebastian, I'm sorry," she huffed, running a hand through her newly washed hair. "What did you want me to do? Knock her out and lock her up so she had no one left to trust?"

 _I wanted you to get your shit together long enough to care about someone other than yourself_.

But he couldn't keep fighting this fight. It was pointless, it wouldn't change anything.

"Nothing. Forget I said anything, you're right."

She fell into an unhappy silence, unsatisfied with his response but very unwilling to continue the conversation. She didn't want to relive that time any more than she had to, and she was ashamed that he now knew what a mess she'd let herself become.

He closed his eyes, trying to let go of the anger and frustration that he hadn't really noticed building up. He reached up to rub at his face.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the bubbling of the jacuzzi. "I'm sorry," she said eventually, not looking at him. "I know I shouldn't have fallen apart like I did. I can explain it, but it doesn't make it right. But I can't promise to be much better. You're too important to me."

"Don't say you're sorry," he muttered. "You won't change, that isn't sorry." He shrugged, and then swore under breath as his shoulder protested, and stood, water dripping off of him. "You don't need to be sorry. She isn't your job, she never was." He grabbed a towel and stepped out, suddenly done with jacuzzis.

That stung, probably more than he had intended to, and her eyes prickled, making her blink. She bit the inside of her cheek out of habit, too used to communicating with Jim to call him back immediately. He got a few wet steps away before she managed to speak. "Yes, she was. As long as she's been your responsibility she's been mine. I dropped the ball that night. But I didn't again." She got up out of the water and sat on the edge, her hands in fists against her knees. "Once I... I don't know, committed to Jim I'd give him warning if I decided to kill myself, I watched her. I'm sorry for that night. I'm sorry I fell apart. But fuck, what else was I gonna do, Sebastian?"

"Nothing!" he said, turning to look at her. "That's the point, Lorna. You wouldn't have done anything else. But that's what so bloody frustrating. My life is _pointless_. I died, and everything I had worked to build, to protect, everything in my life I cared about- You, Jim, Keira, the network- it all falls to shit as a result. My life's work gone in a few moments, because I died. Hell of a legacy to leave," he spat. "So I just need to get used to that, alright? I need to let it sink in. My pride is stung, so just let it be, okay?"

She looked away from him, nails digging into her palms, her eyes stinging badly. She couldn't speak even if she had had something to say, her throat closing up. What could she say to him? All of them had insulted him with the way they'd carried on after he died, and she couldn't solve that. She just stayed where she was, returned to familiar paralysis, and waited for him to leave so she could blink out the tears waiting in her eyes without judgment.

He watched her for a moment, trying to decide what to do, before he stooped to pick up his clothes and headed out into the bedroom.

They spilled over her cheeks as soon as the door closed, and she let her head drop to her hand, taking in a shaking breath, reminded of nights she'd fucked Jim. Fucking him always hurt. Whether physically or emotionally, it was meant to ache.

 _Sitting in the penthouse bathroom on the closed toilet, her head in her hands, breath shaking. He hadn't even said anything particularly hurtful, she'd just been reminded too strongly of Moran and now couldn't contain herself._ _He knew she was crying in here, there was no doubt about it, but they'd managed to strike an unstable peace, consisting mainly of willful ignorance and leaving each other alone._

 _She kept wiping tears away, trying to stop the flow, but her hands just kept getting wetter and there was no sign of stopping. It didn't help that she was alone in this. There wasn't any comfort left to her. She couldn't show this in front of Jim._

He got dressed, then, after looking around for a moment, found pen and paper.

 _Going to find my room and clothes. Back soon._

He left the note on the bed and headed out, closing her door quietly behind him.

He needed the space to think. He hadn't really been able to articulate his frustration until it had all come spilling out just then, and he was turning the realization over slowly. But it was true. His life was meaningless. The moment he died, everything he'd done was going to be wiped off the map. It was staggering.

By the time she gathered her will to move, her joints creaked in protest, and she pulled the drain on the tub and got dressed still damp, feeling too hollow to bother drying off the rest of the way.

He wasn't in the bedroom, and she picked up the note, read it, and then put it on the nightstand. She suspected he wouldn't be back for a long time, if at all today, despite the note. So she turned off the lights and crawled into bed in the near pitch blackness, curling up under the covers with the achingly familiar feeling of an empty bed around her. He probably would be unable to get back in without her being awake, but she didn't know whether or not she could make herself feel either way about it. He was angry, and she wasn't good with anger she could do nothing about. Especially for something she had not been able to help.

He found his room on the third floor down, and scanned in without problem. It was significantly smaller than Lorna's had been, which he'd been expecting. It had a central living area, a kitchenette, and a small bedroom and bathroom. It was well-furnished, and a bottle of mid-shelf scotch sat on the table, but he didn't bother, just walked into his room to find clothes.

He found a fully stocked wardrobe and changed carefully, being cautious of his shoulder. Then he sat on his bed, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced.

 _Nothing. My life is worth absolutely nothing._

But what could he do about it? Lorna would never change. She wasn't strong enough. Jim might, and he could try his best to influence that, but in the end it was always going to be up to Jim. Keira... Keira was best left mostly alone, for both their sakes, though he could at least rail her for bloody drunken driving.

In the end there was nothing to do but accept it. Accept that Lorna was selfish, Jim was chaotic, and Keira was a child. Those were the people he chose to share his life with, and in the end they controlled what happened to it after he left. He could either hate them for it, or accept it and move on.

And he desperately missed Lorna.

He stood, then, tucking basic necessities into a bag he found in the closet and heading back up to Lorna's, knocking.

She had just been falling asleep when the knock reverberated through the flat in a way that made her think a sound engineer had been involved with designing the place. She sighed and got out of bed, shuffling through the darkness into the living room, and opening the door. She was a little surprised to see him there. "Hey," she said quietly, and stepped back to let him in.

"Hey," he said, stepping inside. He took in the mix of sleep and confusion in her expression, and raised an eyebrow. "I said I'd be right back."

She snorted a little, closing the door behind him. "Yeah, you did. Sorry, I'm still running on Jim Time. Plus, you looked pissed," she replied, pushing off from the door and heading back for the bedroom.

"I am. But not at you, really. Besides, your room is way nicer. I'm not going to stay alone downstairs in Motel 6 when I could sleep up here in your penthouse, next to a sexy woman." He flashed a small grin.

She laughed, walking into the bedroom and turning the light on so he could pack away the things in his bag. It would probably bother him if he couldn't make things orderly. "Alright, now you're just sucking up," she smirked, climbing back into bed.

"To you? Never. What use is that? I outrank you," he snorted, starting to pack his things into an empty drawer.

"You might outrank me, but you are trying to weasel your way into living in my penthouse, remember?" she chuckled, leaning back against the quilted leather headboard. She wondered vaguely when she'd convinced Armetti of her undying love for quilted leather. Maybe he hadn't been involved in the interior design. Who knew.

"Oh, I'm weaseling, now, am I?" he snorted, shutting the drawer with a grin and walking over to turn the light out before lying down on the bed next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Well then. I'll weasel." He kissed her shoulder.

She shifted to be more horizontal, some of the anxious tension in her chest unraveling with his contact. "That's the easiest you've ever conceded on something, I think."

"I'm in your bed, aren't I? What use is fighting when the situation is in your favor?" He pulled her up against his chest.

She simply chuckled in response, too tired to continue quipping with him, the six-hour nap on the plane not nearly enough to combat a few weeks of exhaustion, and curled into him, letting her eyes shut. She just didn't want to think for a little while. She could deal with him being pissed at her later.

He tucked the blanket up around her and sighed, relaxing.

He waited until she fell asleep, then forced himself to get up, starting to check through the apartment carefully for bugs, surveillance equipment, whatever. They weren't safe, not really, but he needed Lorna feeling like she was. She'd gone through too much shit lately.

She shifted a little when he got up, but was too tired to wake up all the way. She just curled up tighter and relaxed again, sighing softly. For once, the dreams that contained Sebastian didn't hurt.

He returned an hour or so later, and climbed into bed, pulling her into his arms again, her head on his good shoulder. He took in the feel of her there, her smell, and finally drifted off, completely exhausted.


	107. How It's Made: Criminal Networks

She woke up at around what she assumed to be morning, and when she sat up and looked around, the digital clock on Sebastian's nightstand confirmed it. Late morning, but morning nonetheless. She got out of bed and walked into the living room, heading a little stiffly for the refrigerator. She was sore from being thrown around the previous day. She opened the fridge and was pleased to find it stocked. She grabbed an apple and then just sat on the floor to eat it, not bothered enough to sit at one of the chairs of the small table in the corner of the kitchenette.

He woke not long after she left, climbing out of bed and wandering around the apartment in search of Lorna. He found her on the floor on the kitchen, blocking the door to the refrigerator. He sighed, and stooped down to scoop her up enough to shift her out of the way. Then he opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of orange juice, and sat next to her.

"There are lovely chairs," he said, opening the bottle and drinking straight from it.

"Yeah, but that was work. Also, sitting on the floor's kinda habit for me at this point. I had bottles and shit all over the chairs," she shrugged, tossing the apple core neatly into the sink for her to deal with later.

"Uh-huh," he mumbled, rolling his eyes and taking another swig of orange juice before passing her the bottle. "Here. I swear to god, someday you will be a healthy weight for longer than a month at a time."

She took it and took a few chugs before she set it down between them, looking amused. "Hey, I'm a pretty okay weight right now, considering some states you've found me in. I may have been an alcoholic, but I still ate."

"True," he sighed, reaching out to slide an arm around her waist, closing his eyes. "I need to go over security today."

"Vince probably did a pretty good job, but you never know," she agreed, nodding a little and then resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"My main concern is that Ines may have somehow infiltrated here," he sighed, eyes still closed.

She snorted. "Considering she took over the majority of our network, that's an absolutely valid concern. But I feel better knowing that _I_ didn't know about this place. It must have been _heavily_ compartmentalized."

He nodded in agreement. "I didn't know about this either. Which is good." He gripped her a little tighter. He kept re-realizing how great it was to have her here.

"And I think we can all agree, Vince would rather kill himself than turn traitor to me. The man hasn't moved on, and it's been at _least_ seven years," she muttered, sounding preoccupied. She was worried what living here would be like. Having been staying in New York prior had been okay; she'd known it wasn't for too long. But now? She would be living close by to Armetti, in his reach.

"True. But that isn't true of all of his employees. It just takes one person." He stood, then, offering her a hand up. She was lighter than he remembered, but that could just be that he was stronger. He'd spent most of his time under Ines exercising. Either to keep himself motivated, or distracted, or to burn off the anger. He was thinner than he had been, thanks to his own refusal to eat on a few occasions, but what was left was muscle.

"Yeah, you're probably right. The way he makes them maim themselves, who knows," she shook her head, shifting to lean against the counter, her eyes on him. She found that in the short time that they'd been reunited, if they weren't fighting, she wanted to stare at him. Drink him in.

He shook his head. "Bloody stupid, proud move. Don't weaken your own assets, unless you absolutely have to. That sort of thing is just a waste." He reached out absently to tuck some of her hair back, and then grabbed the orange juice off the floor, turning to put it away.

Her chest clenched a little, but otherwise she managed not to react, just snorting a little. "I tried to tell him, last time we were here. He wouldn't have it."

"That's because he's an arrogant prick. But that isn't news to anyone, really." He closed the refrigerator, and sighed. "Alright. I should get to work." He didn't want to. He was tired. He wanted to rest.

She sighed, unhappy he was leaving. "Is there anything I can do?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Check in with Jim if you feel up to it. I got very clear instructions to leave him the fuck alone, but that's because he's looking into me. I don't think it applies to you."

"I don't care if Jim has something for me to do. If he does, he can tell me. I just wanted an excuse to follow you around," she said, opening up the fridge and pulling out the carton of eggs she'd laid eyes on earlier. She might as well get some protein into herself.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at that, before walking over to wrap his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head for a moment. "You could just come."

"Yeah, I guess I could. I don't know, I'm still disoriented. I forget what the rules are," she said, leaning back against him for a moment, setting the carton of eggs on the counter.

He laughed, pulling her hair to the side enough to kiss her neck. "You're second in command right now. There are no rules that don't involve your not fucking with Jim."

"Fuck, I am. What was that about you outranking me last night?" she chuckled, resting her head back against his shoulder. Not on it, because she wasn't tall enough for that.

"Well, you fell for it, didn't you?" he asked with a smirk, kissing her ear before pulling back. "You should eat, though."

"Yeah," she sighed, stepping forward and picking up the carton of eggs again. "Help me find a frying pan, will you?"

He checked all of the cabinets at his height, but found them completely empty, and it wasn't until he checked things within her reach that he was able to find pans. He handed her a cast iron frying pan.

She gave an amused shake of her head, taking it and putting it on the stove. "As soon as you're back to being head of security, you should add your scan to my door and move some extra supplies in here from your quarters. No point in us having to go back and forth for no reason."

He nodded a little. "Sounds good to me. I don't have any arguments. Do you have bacon?" He went to start digging through the refrigerator.

"I don't know, do I?" She chuckled, opening the carton of eggs and beginning to crack them on the counter and letting the egg whites and yolks slip out onto the cooking pan.

"Yes," he said, emerging victorious with a paper-wrapped package of thick-sliced bacon and finding another pan to start it in.

Ten minutes later they had a decent breakfast of bacon, eggs, and some rye toast. He set to it without much interest, but it only took a bite or two for him to find his appetite, and he dug in ravenously.

The two of them were a strange picture. Two people, sitting across from each other at a small table in an opulent apartment, one huge man, heavily scarred, and one small woman, almost entirely unmarked. Sharing a meal like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When Lorna was done, she sat back and let out a long breath. "You know, we don't have mobile phones yet. I hope they have a small stock in here."

"If this is all Jim's plan, I'm sure they have a large stock," he chuckled, standing and clearing their plates, walking over to the sink. It was strange to be doing this. Normalcy, after months of... Well, hell.

"Good, I hate feeling cut off," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "Especially when I'm literally underground. Of course, the downside will be that Vince will probably have my number. _Try_ not to get into a fight with him, won't you?"

He looked insulted. "Me? Come on, Lorna. I would never fight with an upstanding gentleman like Vincent Armetti. Especially not if he treats you like a human being rather than a particularly choice piece of pie calling him from a bakery shelf."

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "One of the reasons I left him is because he's incapable of viewing other people as real. He either places them on impossible pedestals or thinks of them as sub-human. Consequences of that sort don't sink in easily. That's why he's never been able to move on."

He shrugged. "All I ask is that he see you as a human being. If he does that, he and I will have no problems. If he fails to comply with that simple request... It is not my responsibility."

"He's like Jim, Seb, you have to remember that. He's just not... all there, in the empathy category. He won't disrespect me, he's aware of consequences that society taught him, manner-wise. But he'll talk about me in a way you won't like, I'm sure," she shook her head, letting out a tired sigh. "I just don't want him getting vindictive."

"I won't do anything he doesn't start. I promise," he said solemnly, setting a clean pan aside and drying his hands. "That's all I'm promising."

"That's all I can ask," she admitted, shrugging a little, and then pushing the chair out from the table and standing. "I'm going to go get into some decent clothes. If I'm going to follow you around like a lovesick assistant I should at least look somewhat the part."

"You could say you're escorting me to ensure I don't try anything while my clearance is pending," he said with a smirk, following after her.

"Mm, true. Much better look, too. All-black, threatening, probably some sort of fashionable combat boots. Those are probably in my enormous wardrobe, right?" She said, looking with interest towards the bedroom.

"My guess is that the entirety of several high-end department stores are in your wardrobe," he shot back, heading over to his drawer and pulling out a crimson shirt and slacks.

She followed in after him and went for the walk-in closet, which she'd really only glanced at earlier. She opened the door and took a deep breath, steeling herself against the onslaught of choices suddenly before her. "Fucking hell. What was the _budget_ for this? I spent several thousand on my wardrobe and this is far more."

"Hell if I know. Sure didn't come from our budget. Armetti probably funded it personally." He started buttoning up his shirt. "Just pick something out. It'll be fine."

"I know it will, I'm just actually looking forward to something for once," she scoffed, heading for what appeared to be the dress section, and picked out a curve-fitting black dress that could have been appropriate in an office, or at a funeral, and grabbed a pair of red pumps that caught her eye, and picked a bra at random from the astounding selection on a small rack by the door. It was likely Vince had picked them all out personally. If he hadn't had such good taste in lingerie, she would have refused to wear it out of principle. But Sebastian would benefit from it, so she didn't feel too bad. She returned into the bedroom with her picks and put them on the bed while she got out of the clothes she'd slept in.

He raised an eyebrow at the lingerie. "I'm torn between grateful and nauseated," he said with a sigh, considering the lace.

"I recommend smug, for your peace of mind," she said, getting out of her sleeping clothes and changing into what she'd laid out on the bed. "You get to see me in these and it didn't cost you a _cent."_

"Well, when you put it that way," he smirked, walking up behind her and sliding his hands over her hips, kissing the back of her neck.

She chuckled, leaning back against him for a moment before she stepped forward again and picked up the black dress. "I do kinda want that to be rubbed in his face. Just because he thought he could get away with this kind of extravagance."

"What sort of rubbed? The me thanking him sort of rubbed? Or the us fucking on his desk sort of rubbed?" He smiled.

"Probably the second followed by the first," she hummed, slipping into the both sophisticated and provocative dress and pulling her hair over her shoulder. "Zip me up?"

He smiled, pulling the zipper up slowly and then smoothing his hands across her shoulders. Christ, he had missed her.

She turned back around and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, then turning back around to get the pumps, bending to put them on and not being really surprised when they fit. She was pretty sure they were designer. They made the height difference between them a little more normal. "Are you ready to deal with all this?"

"You mean with evaluating the security of a fortress created by one of my least favorite people in the world, while on trial for treason and being guarded by you? Why the hell not." He smirked.

"Hey, I'm a fucking delight, and don't you forget it," she retorted, giving him a crooked smirk. "There are numerous perks to my presence. Would you rather me _not_ come?"

"Never said that," he smirked, offering her his arm before thinking better of it. That didn't exactly give the right idea about her guarding him.

She took it without any reservations. She didn't give a flying shit what anyone else in the network thought, even if they were strangers and American. Currently she was 2nd in command and hell if she wasn't going to take advantage of the ability to act however she wanted. She'd bashed enough heads for them to know to look the other way, and if they didn't, she would share the lesson. Not to mention that she wanted to reaffirm her bond with Sebastian in front of Vince, who was capable of developing delusions of a false future if she didn't nip it in the bud now.

She didn't seem concerned, and he shrugged, heading for the door. What an interesting pair they always made. An odd sort of intimidating. He was classically scary, but the tiny woman on his arm... she'd come into a power all her own. He smirked.

Once out of the room, she stopped, and pursed her lips. "You know, it's occurred to me I have no idea where we're going."

He just smirked and headed for the elevator. "I asked about the security room while I was being marched to my cell," he said sarcastically. "It's upstairs by the entrance. We'll start there."

"Sure," she agreed, waving her hand in a suggestion for him to lead. This wasn't really her gig. Sure, she had taken over hits for him when he'd been dead, but security had been left to people with a clue about the subject. "Lead away."

He did just that, calling the elevator. A few minutes later they walked into security, her calm and poised, him cold and unreadable. He walked over to the head desk, where a man with red hair sat looking over monitors. Seb put his hands on the edge of the desk, waiting.

The man looked up after what seemed to be ten seconds, swiveling in his chair a little to face him, and adjusted his square-rimmed glasses on his nose. His expression was unreadable. He didn't say anything for a moment, and then raised his eyebrows expectantly. "And you are...?"

"Colonel Sebastian Moran," Moran returned in an equally bored voice, an edge of danger hidden beneath. "Third in command of this organization. And _you_ are?"

The man didn't react much. "Ah," was all he said at first, and his eyes turned to Lorna. He recognized her, obviously. She would have been surprised if he didn't, working under Armetti. He considered her for a moment, calculating, and then looked back at Moran. "I'm Calvin Antony. I head the security for this facility. You're suspended. You can't be in here. Don't make me call in support."

Moran nodded a little at that, standing slowly as if to comply. Then, in a split instant, his hand snapped out and grabbed the man's throat, hauling him up and over his desk until his beet-red face was mere inches from Moran's. He struggled ineffectually, though the crash of office supplies drew spectators.

"If you were worth your salt, Mr. Antony, you would know that Moriarty has authorized me to perform an inspection of the security measures in this facility, under Ms. Harrison's watchful gaze. You would also know that insubordination of any kind would result in severe punishment." Slowly, he set the man down and released his grip, smile unfaltering. "But I am certain that such bumbling idiocies will be rectified almost immediately. Don't you agree?"

The man looked angry, sputtering and indignant for a moment, but it was clear he knew that he'd lost by the way his eyes darted back and forth, looking for a magic solution that wasn't there. Lorna stepped forward around the desk, plucked Carl's sleeves between her fingertips, and guided him up. "Okay, _bye,"_ she smirked, and pushed him towards the door, where Carl disappeared in between a couple of IT guys.

"Go about your business, everyone," Moran said, not bothering to look up as he walked around to turn his attention to the computer. There was a beat's hesitation, and then the gathered started to scurry off. He pulled up another chair, leaving the main one for Lorna, and sat down, starting to look over the system specs.

She sat down, scooting closer into the desk and scanning over it. She didn't really know what she was looking for, if she was looking for anything at all. After a moment she sat back again. "I don't have any idea what I'm doing."

He laughed, shaking his head a little. "Alright. Look here, this is the administrative overview. Which is already a problem. A computer with this level of access should be in an office on its own with a locked door. But this section is the building itself. Cameras and surveillance, doors and locks, systems controls- which is boring stuff like heat and lighting. Then there's this section- personnel and prisoners. Background checks and interrogation logs, etcetera." He started clicking through things. "There you go. Your room. Camera blackout zone except for on the windows and external leading doors. Annnd my room," he said with a smirk, opening the tab and rolling his eyes at the inch-by-inch camera coverage. "It's like they don't trust me," he snickered.

"It's like they don't _like_ you," she amended, with a little less levity than him. This place had no doubt been built before Sebastian had reappeared. To have cameras built into the whole room like this? If they'd rushed this, her untrained eye couldn't tell. "Looks like Vince was determined to give you the shittiest accommodations he could get away with. Do the cameras in either of our rooms pick up audio? Because if they do, there will be some choice things I'll need to be talking to him about, and only a few involve a security breach."

"Both do. Yours do not record, they're smart listening devices keyed to certain sounds- breaking glass, gunshots, power tools, a few other things. Mine are on a 24-hour audio reconnaissance." He glanced through a few other files. "Looks like that's standard for all the rooms in this block. They're varying levels of luxury-" he brought up the video of a fairly spacious room with nice furniture that had a similar camera set up to his own. "This is somewhere for people the network might want to keep an eye on. Me, for example."

"Except you know way too much for an average security guard to have access to that audio," she shook her head, eyes drifting over the rooms as she thought. "Is that not a problem?"

He shrugged. "If I was actually staying there? Certainly. And I'm pissed that Armetti didn't consider it. But as is? I'm staying at your place."

"I'm itching to tell him how displeased I am, let me tell you," she sighed, leaning back heavily in her chair. "But I suppose if you're staying with me I haven't got an excuse. We'll just have to avoid making the noises on the list. Anything we could hit accidentally? Besides - wait. How the fuck do we have windows? Aren't we underground?"

He nodded. "Yes. You didn't notice them before? They look out onto a central training area. At least in your room. Mine doesn't have any. It's supposed to give ambiance or some shit." He shrugged. "In my opinion it's a fucking security breach, but I can only fight so many battles."

"I was very tired. Still am. Didn't notice," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "Either way, if you want to we can have them boarded up. I don't need to observe training. And they don't need to observe _me."_

He nodded, and leaned back. "I'd appreciate that. Speaking of tired, I've been meaning to ask. How's the being dry going?"

"It's been going great until you just asked," she chuckled, then groaned a little. "I've mostly just been too _tired_ to think about it. Maybe it's partially why I feel like crap."

"Ah... Sorry," he said with an unusual spark of genuine ruefulness. "I won't mention it. Let me know if I can help."

"You got it," she agreed with a sigh, then sat up a little, returning her eyes to the screen. "Where's Jim's quarters? How are they being secured?"

He brought the screen up, examining the room. "Same video setup as your room on common access. You, Jim, and the chief of security alone have access to further video files, my guess- total coverage files in the event of some sort of emergency. The physical security is all up to par. Doubled walls with titanium reinforcement panels, doors of a similar caliber, no windows- evidently they weren't _that_ stupid..."

"Well, I have to assume that Jim was very specific with a least a few of the rooms, and that would definitely be one of them. Windows underground. Unbelievable," she muttered. "I'll try to get ahold of someone in the place to fix mine. Weird working in a place where I don't know anyone anymore."

He nodded in agreement. "I'll find someone," he muttered, pulling up the personnel files and skimming through 'maintenance' until he found a suitable carpenter. "Alright. Here. Seem alright?" he asked, leaning back and letting her skim the file.

She read over her briefly, but didn't see any red flags. Then she handed it over again. "Yeah, sure. Don't know him, so no grudges. Is that just like, an app on our phones? When did you have time to look for this stuff?"

He shook his head. "Just casting it to my phone. Another test- failed, by the way. No way I should be able to do that." He rolled his eyes. "The database is all on the computer, just checking it here. As for when I had time to look for it, look..." He pulled up the employee database again and selected a few categories. _Grifter, male, speaks: Korean_. A young man named Leo came up, and he turned the screen towards her. "Just need to know what you're looking for and the database does the rest."

She raised her eyebrows. "Damn. And.. what's our feeling on a very knowledgeable database like this one?"

He shrugged. "As long as I bury below a few more layers of security... It's fucking useful. I've been working to create something like it at the network... It's easier for such a small branch like this, with only a couple hundred people. But still, as long as it's properly protected... Nothing wrong with it."

She nodded. "Okay, got it. I think I should probably get around to learning this security shit," she said, shrugging one shoulder and rubbing the back of her head, a little sheepish. "In case you actually bite it."

"Well, let's not actually plan on that, but yes, it's not a bad idea," he agreed, starting to write down a few notes on a pad of paper he'd fished off the pile of office supplies on the floor. "To be fair, I don't know anything about running the grifting department, really, so..." He shrugged.

"Yeah, well, the thing doesn't need the grifting department to function," she pointed out, eyes on his writing but not really looking at it. "But I... considered what you said. That if it's a choice between you and Jim you can't be thinking about me. I can't ask that of you." She wasn't sure whether or not she was telling the truth to him, but she'd resolved to at least try not to insult him so badly.

He paused in his list of necessary changes, and turned to look at her, contemplating her, before shaking his head. "We'll discuss this back at the flat," he said, trying to avoid shutting her down. This just wasn't the place for this discussion.

She nodded. She hadn't really meant to bring it up here in the first place. She glanced at the door, just to make sure no one was there hovering. "Well, I'll just sit back and let you do your job for the moment, shall I?" She asked, leaning back in the chair until it began to lean as well.

He glanced at her for a moment, then nodded just slightly. "Won't be too long. I have enough to work with for now," he said as he turned back to his list, starting to write again. His tight, blocky script soon filled the page and carried onto the back. He finally set the pen aside and stood, tucking the note into his breast pocket and shutting the computer down. "That's all I need for now. I'll email this to Jim later. Let's go."

"Alright," she agreed, standing as well and tucking her hands into her pockets. "Shall we retreat to our hidey hole?"

He nodded, offering her his arm as they headed for the door, then the elevator.

* * *

Playlist: Cruel Youth - Diamond Days


	108. Little Addictions

He relaxed once they entered her flat again. Here, he could relax. Here he wasn't under scrutiny, wasn't awaiting trial... Here, he was just himself. Just Sebastian Moran, bodyguard and soldier. Nothing more.

She toed off her pumps to the side of the door and then walked in bare feet to more or less collapse into the couch, tired from the little activity she'd had. Yesterday she had been in captivity, though, so she wasn't going to apologize.

He took his shoes off and sighed, setting them beside hers and walking over to sit next to her, pulling her limp puddle of a form half into his lap, sighing in quiet content, relaxing back. It was good to just sit. To feel safe, to feel himself. He had spent too many months embroiled in espionage, sleeping with eyes half open, body tensed for attack.

He was used to danger, but not that sort. Danger from an enemy you could see, an enemy who knew him and who he knew. A delicate dance choreographed in gunfire and the light of concussive explosives. But Lorna's game was one he never wanted to play again. The guesswork of an unknown opponent, wearing a mask that required endless concentration to keep in place.

She shifted a little more into him to make herself comfortable and relaxed again, her chest warming a little. It felt good to just be able to rest with him with the quiet comfort of his strong hands in her hair. It was still so odd to have this again. "Have I said thanks?" She asked suddenly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for what, particularly?" he asked quietly, fingers turning the ends of her hair into a lopsided braid, for lack of something else to do.

"Getting me out. Us out. I know that you hate grifting, and you didn't have a choice, but still. Thanks," she said, giving a little shrug.

He was quiet for a bit. "About what you said, earlier..." He shifted until he could see her face. "You wouldn't try to grift me, would you?"

If she wasn't used to hard-hitting questions, she would have flushed. As it was, she didn't speak for a moment. She didn't know what to say. "I don't want to lie to you, Sebastian," she said eventually. "I won't tell you it hasn't crossed my mind, or that I haven't had to stop myself before. But I want to mean what I said. And I'm willing to fake it until I believe it's true."

He sighed, leaning back and considering the ceiling for a few minutes, sussing out what he wanted to say, and how to say it. He took a slow breath. "You're an addict, Lorna. On multiple levels. An alcoholic. A heroin addict. You have the personality, the chemistry... But I have seen you muscle through withdrawal over and over. So what I need you to do is get clean of me, okay?" He looked back down at her, eyes, for once, uncertain. Trying to put words together in ways that would properly lay out what was in his head. Not his expertise. "However that needs to happen. I need you to be able to stand on your own two feet independent of me. So the question becomes, how do you get to that point?"

She felt her stomach drop a few hundred feet. It was a feeling she had experienced before when being confronted about an addiction, but never this bad. She couldn't face being without him. She _wouldn't._ She sat up off him, chest seizing, unable to stand being in such a passive position during such a panic, and she stood, took about a step forward and sat on the floor, breath hitching hard. _No, no, god, I can't lose him again so soon, no, no, no..._

 _Shit._ "Lorna... What did I just do?" he asked, an edge to his voice, standing up and looking around the room out of habit, on edge. "Talk to me..."

She sat stock still on the floor except for her breathing, which she was just trying to remember how to do properly at the moment. Her fists were clenched against her legs, and her torso was tight and locked in place, panic still throttling her heart. "Please... _please,_ don't- don't leave me," she whispered, voice shaking, tears spilling from her eyes onto the floor, which she was unable to look up from.

"Did I say I was- Fuck, Harriso- Lorna- Fuck. I am not leaving," he sputtered, grasping around and trying to piece together what she had heard of what he'd said. "I'm not leaving. That isn't happening." He sat down behind her and pulled her onto his lap, tight in his arms. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I can't- I can't get _clean_ of you, not- not-" she got out in one breath before she had to suck in another one, "not... without you _leaving._ Don't, please don't." She pressed herself hard against him, trying to keep herself from sobbing and not really succeeding, too wracked with fear and the recent loss to react with any modicum of grace.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, enveloping her completely, massaging her back. "I'm not going. I'm not. I want to work with you until you are less dependent on me. But that doesn't mean I'm leaving."

"Yes it _does,"_ she protested, tears being mopped up by his shirt, her fingers gripping the fabric tightly. "There's no other way I get _clean,_ Seb. I go cold turkey. I don't- I don't know how to-" she cut off again, breath shuddering.

"Then you _learn_. We're going to figure this out, Lorna. But without me leaving. That's the end of it. Because I won't leave. And if we can't fix it, then I'll deal with it. I want you to be able to live without me because it would make me feel better about myself, about my purpose. But you are more important to me than any of that, and if it doesn't happen... Fuck it. I'm sticking around."

She took a deep breath, felt something unwind in her chest, some of the panic draining out of her at his words. It hadn't solved her fear completely, but anything felt like amazing relief after that. "Okay," she whispered, nodding a little, and sniffling, "Okay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just- freaked myself out."

"I didn't say that the way I should have. I scared you. I apologize," he said quietly, stroking her hair. "You know I'm terrible at that sort of thing."

"It's okay. I'm just glad you're not leaving," she said quietly, uncurling a hand from his shirt to rub at her watery eyes.

He sighed, trying to get his muscles to relax. So much for not being on edge. "This is what I'm talking about, though. You understand that, right?"

"Of course I do," she murmured, sighing. "I've known about this for a long time. But you're the best thing I've ever been hooked on. I cope with addiction by moving on to something else, but..." she shrugged. "You were the best influence in my life I'd ever had. I made my peace that there was nothing else for me. Even more so during your amnesia episode. I realized that I didn't care about anything, not if you were dead."

He grit his teeth just slightly, taking a breath. "I..." He took a breath, trying to come to terms with the blasé way she'd said that. How inconsequential it was to her that he was her only reason for living. "Look... I'm not going anywhere... But you understand that I think that's bullshit, right?"

"I didn't tell you for a reason," she mumbled, glad that she was all tucked up against him so she didn't have to look at him. "I knew you wouldn't like it. I knew it would influence what you did. So I thought it was better if you didn't know."

He nodded a little. "Easier maybe. Not certain about better." He tucked her under his chin, quiet again. He wasn't sure how to respond to all of this. He didn't know what he should do about it. What was the appropriate way to react? He felt, deeply, that she should be able to survive on her own without him. That was not remotely in question. But getting her there was a different issue.

She closed her eyes, just listening to his heart beat and his lungs breathe for a minute, the regular sounds soothing. "I want you to be able to trust that I'll be able to cope if you die. I don't want to put that pressure on you," she murmured after a little while. "I'll try to learn how. I really will."

He sighed, rubbing her head gently, fingers combing through her hair. "Okay," he said quietly. "I know this isn't a great time to bring this up. I know things are still raw."

She laughed hoarsely, nodding a little in agreement. "Yeah, I might be a little sensitive at the moment."

"Yeah, caught that," he said softly. "I'm not the best at this sort of thing."

"It's okay. I'm not either," she replied. "I'm just not good with surprises. Even at the best of times."

He laughed a little. Silence again, then, "Christ above, I just wanted to haul you into my arms when I came in with her... It took every ounce of self-control I had to stay away."

"I wanted that too," she said quietly. "It hurt, seeing you again like that. Almost indescribably so. But despite the fact that everything I knew was being turned on its axis, _again,_ I just wanted you. I just wanted this."

He wrapped around her a bit more, content to relax and enjoy having her back. "I'm going to enjoy killing her."

"We've said that many times," she snorted. "We still haven't killed your sister, unless I somehow missed it. Not that I wouldn't massively enjoy murdering Ines, but there's a bit of a queue."

"I've been a bit distracted from my sister," he snorted. "But currently, Ines is standing between us and the network. Actually, fuck it, I'm not going to kill her. Once we're back, I'm going to do to her what I _told_ her I was doing to Jim. That's fucking poetic."

She made an appreciative sound. "That's not a bad idea. I would publicly say we've killed her, though. The way she made Belgium turn coats like that... don't want any loyalists coming for her."

He nodded. "I'm fine with making her blind, mute, damn well unrecognizable, and stupid as kamikaze life insurance. Tell the world she's dead and leave her to rot in a cell."

"Sounds like a safe plan to me," she smirked, with dark humor. She wouldn't mind exacting a little of her own payback. Just to help remind herself Moran was _hers._

He was quiet for a bit, playing the events of the past few days over again in his mind. "Is it just me, or did Jim almost admit to caring about me on the plane?"

She was quiet for a moment, unsure of how much of Jim's spiral she could safely tell him. After a moment, all she said was "He cried."

There was a long, dumbfounded silence, at which point, he very calmly asked, "What the _fuck?"_

"I only saw the evidence of it afterwards, only once. But I know what someone looks like when they've been crying," she shrugged a little.

He shook his head a little, taking a slow breath. "Well. That's fucking terrifying. Remember when I was a scary bastard no one liked? Life was simple. Good times."

"Hey, at least you can defend yourself if he tries to kill you," she pointed out, "I couldn't defend myself when you tried to off me. He's not going to be able to throw you around if he's scared of his feelings."

He shook his head a little. "Maybe. Jim is hard to predict, and I've never dealt with... emotions... with him before. Brushed against their potential existence, certainly. The fact that I could was what gave me some control over him. But I may have gone too far."

She gave a small, helpless shrug. "Who knows? Definitely not me. Christ, I still can't believe I've been fucking the man regularly for a few months..."

"Mmm..." he said, careful not to let tone into his voice. "I wonder if that will be continuing."

There was uncertainty in the air now. "I don't know. You're back. I don't see that _he_ would want to."

He shrugged. "Who the hell knows. I never thought that he would... _cry_... either. But he did."

"He's always liked you better than me. But that's besides the point," she murmured, frowning a little. "Do you have feelings, either way? If I sleep with Jim."

He shrugged. "Probably best if I don't," he said, shifting her out of his lap and standing, before offering her a hand up. "What do you want for lunch?"

She frowned deeper, and didn't let go of his hand. "Sebastian, stop. That's not an answer."

"It's a reality," he said calmly. "I don't have a say in whether the two of you sleep together, and I don't have a right to demand otherwise. So best to remain neutral."

"You do have a say, Sebastian," she said firmly, tightening her grasp on his hand. "You do have a say. I can say no. Him fucking me isn't ownership, not like it is with you. It's anger, and grief, and pain. He doesn't need it anymore. Neither of us do. It can stop."

He considered that, then shrugged, expression still impassive. He thought about breaking her grip on his hand, but decided against it. "Look, Harrison, I honestly don't want to think about it, alright?" Because whatever she believed, Jim would get what he wanted. And for the moment, he was all out of the energy required to play these games. Ines had sucked him dry.

She sighed, and let him go unhappily, sitting again without saying anything else. Him not having feelings about it meant that, at the very least, he didn't _like_ it. So she wouldn't.

He headed into the kitchen, pulling out the makings of cheese toasties and tomato soup, immersing himself in the cooking.

* * *

It was the next day that Jim summoned Sebastian from his new offices. The rooms were to his specifications, down to the furnishings within, but he still wasn't _comfortable_ with them. It still rankled too much that his enemy was sitting in _his_ chair, sleeping in _his_ bed, eating from _his_ refrigerator. This place was only a hollow echo of his throne, and the gorgeous view was suspiciously lacking.

He'd spent his time alone working with what little information was now available to him to investigate Moran. Something that he'd done too many times in the past year. But the problem with Armetti's network was that it was very localized. The information coming in from the surrounding city was excellent, and rich in detail, just like the employee database he'd been perusing through, looking for a good custodian.

He decided that he could not trust Moran. Not now, not with the resources he had available. He simply didn't have enough to prove the man _innocent,_ and that was where the trouble lay. Years of faithful service could always be bought out, for the right price. Time was that Jim would have insisted to himself that Sebastian could not be bought; that he didn't have a price, floating somewhere above his head. It certainly wasn't monetary - that hadn't changed. Jim saw to it that the sniper was loaded with enough money to sink the Titanic for the second time. But times had changed. A woman named Lorna Harrison had entered his life, and the former statue-come-to-life had started to crumble at his hardest edges.

Jim admitted that he had his own part to play in the cracking of Sebastian Moran's stone façade. He'd pushed the man one too many times, had played one too many games, both involving and not involving the woman. Their bodyguard-boss relationship had shifted, the day that Moran had pinned him down and carved his initials into his chest. Absently, he lifted a hand to where they lay under his linen shirt, finger tapping against his chest in thought.

Once upon a time, Moran would have done anything he asked without hesitation. These days, he could see the gears grind in the man's head. And again, that was his fault, he accepted that. Didn't mean it didn't bother him. And it didn't mean that it didn't factor into the question of the man's loyalty.

So whether or not Moran had sold information for Harrison's life was indeterminable.

But his bodyguard was a very, very useful man, and he had gotten them back overseas, letting him escape a fate of being locked in his own basement.

He waited at his desk, mind preoccupied, until the knock at the door. "Come in."

Moran felt like himself for the first time in months. He had hunted down a barber that morning and gotten them to shave the hair on top of his head to its usual length, ridding himself of the fucking flop of blond that Ines had insisted on. Then he'd showered and dressed in his usual apparel, which Armetti had provided.

That alone was at a quality he was used to, presumably because Armetti knew that Jim wouldn't stand for his bodyguard wearing something that looked like it had been bought at a drug store. The only issue was that the clothes were to his usual measurements, which at the moment were too big for his rather leaner frame, despite the work he'd been doing to bulk back up. He'd get them tailored later that day. For the moment, Jim was waiting.

He headed for the boss's office, which was in one of the lower floors. It took him almost a half an hour to get through security, even though he was expected, which pleased him.

He entered when the boss told him to, eyes flicking over the office, looking for any potential threats, before he approached the desk, falling into parade rest. "You wanted to speak with me, sir?"

"I did," he said, looking over his bodyguard. Back to normal, for the most part. "I wanted to talk to you in regards to your suspension."

He nodded a little. He'd expected as much. "Have you reached a conclusion?"

"Not one you're going to be happy with," he snorted, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. "You're still suspended, but not completely. The fact is that I cannot clear your name with the information I can currently access. But you're too valuable to leave sitting around, gathering dust on a shelf. So I'm going to partially restore your duties, with a caveat. You're going to be minded, and it won't be by Harrison."

He kept his expression carefully blank, though his jaw tensed. What had he expected? "Who's the babysitter, sir?"

"Armetti's right hand," he said, opening up a file on his desk and pushing it towards Moran, revealing the face and dossier of a woman named Freddie Wilkins. "When you're on duty she will accompany you. As for your phone, I've had it jacked so it won't connect to anything outside this facility without going through an administrator's approval."

He picked up the woman's file and glanced over it. Then he nodded. "She seems an appropriate choice, sir," he said mechanically, though internally he was riled against the idea of a woman so many years his junior walking him around on a leash. "Can you give her some money for pizza, or do we have to eat leftovers?" Alright, so he was _mostly_ internally riled.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Stop whining. She doesn't have control over you. Her only power is to stop you from doing something she deems risky. Otherwise you may act normally. Unless you'd rather sit around with your thumbs up your arse..."

He took a slow breath, unclenching his teeth as best he could. "My apologies, sir. Thank you for the opportunity. Will that be all?"

"Tell Harrison I want to speak with her later. But otherwise, yes, you may go," Jim said, flicking his hand in dismissal towards the door.

He nodded, taking Wilkins' file with him and heading for the door.

Ten minutes later he was back at his tiny flat. He dropped the file on his counter and went to change, shifting into workout clothes before heading for the gym. He needed to punch something. A lot.

* * *

It was a couple hours later that Lorna was called down to Jim's office, which she would have had difficulty finding had it not been for the incredibly tight security that involved a search for bugs on all her clothes, and, oddly enough, even in her hair. When she knocked on his door, she felt significantly more ruffled than she had a few minutes prior.

Jim called her through, his hands steepled in front of him as he considered her. She was the most complex player in all of this. He had little doubt where her loyalties lay, and it wasn't with him. Still, she was also potentially the most useful piece he had on the board. His queen, as it were. "Have a seat, Harrison."

She did so, absentmindedly noting that the chairs were the same brand as the ones in London, only a little less worn. "How can I help you, sir?" She asked, raising her eyebrows a little. She looked and felt more rested, which she'd accomplished from a 13-hour stint of sleep.

"We need to discuss Moran," he said, sitting back. He watched her expression, and nodded a little. "So he hasn't spoken with you yet. I hadn't expected he would- he's probably off brutalizing someone in the sparring court. I've decided not to reinstate him. He'll be given his duties back for the most part, but only under supervision."

"I suppose I can't blame you for that," she sighed. "Did you appoint anyone particularly insulting or is he that angry he didn't get full privileges yet?"

"He's just that angry," he said with a small smirk. "I appointed Armetti's second in command, a very capable woman with a sturdy record. Nothing on Moran, but as near as we'll get, at least while here. Not the ideal match, but someone has to keep an eye on him. Which leads me to my next point. I want you to keep a careful watch over Armetti. This Ines woman is manipulative, and I wouldn't put it past her to use his obsession with you against us. Don't let that happen."

"The closer I get to Armetti, the easier it will be for him to be manipulated," she said, frowning. "He's not delusional, but I don't know if he'll be able to help feeling more strongly if I start becoming closer to him."

"Let him feel strongly," he said with a shrug. "I want him intimately familiar with the facts- from your mouth- of how his silence will keep you alive. And I need someone keeping him on the straight and narrow. Not to mention you'll need someone to spend time with besides Moran."

She raised her eyebrows a little at that, surprised. Was he limiting the amount of time she could spend with Moran? "And why is that again, sir?"

"Because from now until Moran is cleared, you will be doing your best to be a social butterfly and meet new people." His eyes bored into hers. "I'm not going to forbid your living together... yet. I don't think it's necessary. I think you'll find an appropriate amount of time to spend with a man on our watchlist to keep me convinced of both your loyalties. I trust I am making myself clear?"

She grit her teeth a little, eyes dropping from his for a moment, then shifting back up to meet his, just the hint of a challenge to them. "You want me to lie to you? That is not my normal behavior, sir. I don't socialize. If you want me to spend less time with Moran, fine, alright, I'll do my best, throw myself into the job more. But social? _Sir..."_

"This _is_ your job, Harrison," he snarled, expression suddenly dangerous. "I just had an entire network collapse under my feet. I do not intend to let it happen again. So dig up your inner extrovert and go _socialize_ , and keep a bloody ear to the ground. Am I _clear_?"

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Somewhere along the way, from the months of being trapped in an insane maze with him, to grief-fucking against the wall of his office, she'd lost her fear of him. Respect, she still had. But no longer was she afraid of what he could dole out. "Yes, it's clear," she said simply, voice expressionless. The same one she had used on Sebastian whenever he'd gotten particularly arse-like.

He could _hear_ the impatience, and had he not been so in need of loyal operatives, he would have put a bullet through her then and there. As it was...

"Moran made it a habit to have an attitude with me, Harrison. He paid dearly for that on many occasions. Consider that before you head down that road. You just got your scars all cleaned up." He looked back at his papers. "That will be all."

The reminder of the scars straightened her up a little, and she nodded, then stood. Then hesitated. "I apologize, sir, but... Will I need to be clearing time in my schedule, still?" _Is this arrangement still happening, Jim?_

He didn't look up. "I'll inform you if you need to. Otherwise, don't. Now go."

 _Well that's a bloody helpful answer._

She turned and left without another word, dissatisfied and irritated, but didn't sigh until the door shut behind her.

Moran was waiting for her when she got back, with a dinner of french dip roast beef sandwiches. He pulled the potatoes out of the oven as she walked in, and glanced over. "Well. You look about as cheerful as me. What happened?"

"Well I got told to A) Socialize, B) Keep Armetti in my good graces, and C) Only clear time in schedule for fucking him if he _informs_ me, so I'm a little bit irked," she muttered, toeing off her shoes and heading over to sit at the table, rubbing a hand on the back of her neck. "How fucking indecisive is that answer? Jesus."

He snorted, setting the potatoes on the table and returning with the baked sandwiches, handing her a spatula to serve herself. "Sounds like Jim. He doesn't want to box himself into a corner."

"No fucking kidding," she muttered, serving herself with movements just short of angry. "He said he isn't going to make us stop living together _yet._ So not only do I have to worry about those things, but I have to string Vince along even further. I'm pissed."

"Join the club," he agreed with a small snort, sitting down and taking the spatula once she was done. "I understand his motives in all this, but it's still just as annoying."

"Yeah, same," she said, shaking her head and digging into the meal he'd prepared. She'd had a couple of his home-cooked meals since she'd had him back, but she still took a moment to stop and savor it. At least she wouldn't have to give him up, at least not yet. "It's weird, how reluctant I am to start grifting again. Hits corrupted me, goddammit."

He smirked a little at that. "Did you expect any different?" Another addiction, though one he shared and was a bit less worried about. His little addict... Oh well. He'd fix it somehow.

A thought struck him out of nowhere, and he swore quietly, leaning back and closing his eyes, hand gripping his fork until it bent.

She tensed a little as he practically convulsed, worry and fear springing through her immediately. "Sebastian? What's wrong?"

"I'm an idiot," he muttered, slowly setting down the mangled fork so that he didn't throw it across the room. He stood, but realized there was nothing to do and, after a moment, sat back down. "Keira... Ines will take revenge on Keira."

She wasn't surprised. It had already occurred to her. But she didn't know Ines, didn't know what lengths she would go to. "If she's smart, she ran when we did," she said quietly. "If not... All the more reason to take the network back."

He stared absently at his food, no longer hungry despite being starved after his workout. Still, he reached out and started eating again. He needed to put weight back on. He shoved the Keira issue aside for when he could consider it with more privacy.

"I'm sorry, Sebastian," was all she said, her voice quiet, and she returned to eating too. She hadn't realized that he cared that much for his daughter.

He hadn't realized, either. In fact, that was half the issue. He was angry at himself for being so focused on Lorna and Jim that he forgot about his daughter. And he was angry at himself for caring- after all, Lorna and Jim were his priorities. But the idea of his daughter undergoing Ines's wrath...

Fuck it. He did care. Not so much that it was Kiera, as it was that she was someone he had a duty to protect and he was failing. He didn't care, he was just angry.

 _Right. Logical._

He ignored his own mental eye rolling and cleared his plate, jamming it in the sink and heading into the living room. He didn't feel like doing dishes at the moment. He'd deal with it later.

She finished a few minutes after he did, not in such an angry rush. She followed in his steps into the kitchen, and there she began doing the dishes. It was something that Moran usually did, with his obsessive need to keep things neat, but it was obvious he was upset. So she would keep things neat for him. She didn't mind. Any small comfort she could give him was worth it.

He did his best to be back to normal by the time she came out of the kitchen. He wished he had his guns to clean, but they were probably somewhere in Ines' possession.

She followed him out into the living room once she was done and sat on the sofa, leaving enough space between them that he could decide whether or not to initiate contact. Her stomach felt weird. She hadn't noticed when she'd been worried about him, but now that she wasn't, it seemed off. She must have picked up something on the plane. She sighed.

He didn't hesitate to pull her up against him. He might have been pissed at himself, but hell if he was going to let that put space between him. Everything that had happened in the last months had been to make the distance between them smaller.

 _And to save Jim and the Network_ , his mental voice reminded him warningly.

 _That, too._

She happily rested her head on his shoulder, and didn't break the silence. It was such a balm, having him close again. She could still barely believe he was there. Alive, unharmed. The loss of him had hurt so _badly._

She seemed to melt into him, and he relaxed slowly, taking a sniper's breath, calming himself down. _Get a hold of yourself, Moran..._

He pressed his nose into her hair, taking a slow breath.

"I'll do my best to keep an eye on the woman watching you," she murmured, warm and comfortable in his embrace. "I trust Armetti, up to a point. I don't know about his people."

"Watching the watchers," he murmured quietly, sighing. He slid a hand up her back, massaging the back of her neck gently, absently. He turned his head, pressing his lips to the skin behind her ear, taking another slow breath. "My skin's a little thin at the moment," he said quietly, apologetically.

"It's okay, mine is too," she replied softly, finding his other hand with her own and pulling it into her lap. "Just about different things. I miss the days when we suffered _together._ Wasn't that fun?"

He laughed, and shook his head. "No, not at all." He was quiet, before finally saying "I know it's early, but I'm tired. I'm gonna lay down. Coming?"

"Sounds dandy to me," she agreed, not moving. Too used to him picking her up.

He didn't disappoint, shifting and hauling her up into his arms and carrying her into the bedroom, setting her down gently.

She waited for him to get into bed after he put her down and then snuggled back into him, glad she was wearing at least vaguely comfortable clothes, because taking them off seemed like too much of a hassle right now.

He curled up around her, closing his eyes and holding her close. When he thought back over the years, he couldn't really pinpoint a time when "fucking aggressively and carrying on" had changed into "curled up together sleeping without a thought to sex," and he decided not to think too much on it. It would just add to his current anger at himself.

She fell asleep quickly, still easily influenced by the warm safety of him that she had missed so much, had spent so much energy trying to recreate in their too-empty bed.

He listened to her breathing slow, and went back to evaluating the situation. He would need to acquiesce to his handler. It was the only way he'd be able to get anything done, and he wouldn't be able to get rid of her until they had the network back.

* * *

When she woke again, it was with a stomach ache, and there was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. She groaned, burrowing further into Moran.

He woke from his doze, and frowned. The clock still read that it was still very early morning. She normally wouldn't be awake for hours yet. "Hey... you okay?"

She made an unhappy sound into the crook of his neck. "I think I'm getting sick. Stomach hurts. And I just feel... gross."

"So you cuddle _closer_. Thanks," he said sarcastically. He shifted away and sat up. "I'll find some pepto."

"Okay, sorry," she muttered, pulling the covers up closer to her. She didn't feel _awful,_ not yet, but she could tell that it was on the horizon and approaching at a moderate rate.

He sighed at that, reaching out to push her hair back gently before heading into the bathroom. He scoured the medicine cabinet before returning with a bottle of viscous, painfully pink liquid. "Ready to drink fuschia-flavored chalk?"

"Yeah," she sighed, sitting up. "I've never minded it too much. In my mind, anything beats cough syrup."

He laughed a little. "I used to get drunk off of cough syrup in high school. We go back a ways." He handed her the bottle.

She chuckled, unscrewing the cap and pouring herself a serving, then swallowing it down like a shot. "I didn't even consider doing that. _Hate_ the stuff. Makes me gag," she snorted, smacking her lips a little at the tacky taste left in her mouth, and screwed the bottle back into one piece before handing it to him.

He set it aside and climbed back into bed, pulling her back into his arms. "If you throw up on me, I will kill you."

"I'm not _nauseous,_ not right now at least," she muttered, closing her eyes again with a sigh. "Just ache."

"Hopefully you just ate something off," he sighed, pulling the blanket up around her.

"Everything I've eaten was provided by you. Either you're very strategically poisoning me, or I'm getting sick. We did just travel, it's not unheard of. I'd actually rather be ill than have food poisoning," she shook her head, beginning to regret never changing out of her clothes. She wanted to be in pajamas, but now she was tired and mostly comfortable.

"Maybe I just finally got sick of you and put arsenic in your potatoes," he suggested, laying down properly and shifting her back against his chest. "Try to get some more sleep."

"Okay," she sighed, forcing herself to relax all the way and try to ignore the discomfort in her guts. She managed to drift off a few minutes later, aided by the sound of his steady breathing.

He closed his eyes, too, not overly concerned. A few minutes later, he was asleep.

* * *

Playlist: Panic! At The Disco - Always


	109. Infection

She woke up again and didn't feel any better, but she hadn't expected to. There was always some irritating bug from traveling, ready to be picked up. She didn't move, just waiting for Sebastian to wake up.

He did a few minutes later, and registered the change in her breathing. He opened his eyes and glanced at the clock. Just past seven in the morning. "Bloody disorienting, being underground like this," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes and sitting up a little. He glanced her way. "How are you feeling?"

"No better, but that's about what I expected," she murmured, shrugging a little. "Not a big deal. You can just make me soup or something. Canned is fine, though. Harder for you to poison."

"How does that make it harder to poison?" he asked incredulously. "We need to work on your idea of security if you think canned soup is harder to poison." He stretched and rolled out of bed, scratching his head a little and heading for the kitchen. "What kind of soup?"

"I'd be suspicious if you put something in my canned soup. Not so much if you were cooking," she refuted, getting sluggishly out of bed and following him. "And chicken is good."

"That's assuming you're watching the whole time," he shot back. "It might be _marginally_ more difficult, but hardly worth noting."

"Leave me alone, I'm sick," she protested, looking at him resentfully as she passed the kitchen and went to collapse on the couch.

"Alright, fine," he snorted, finding a can of chicken noodle soup and opening it and pouring it into a bowl, then putting it in the microwave.

She fell into silence, closing her eyes again. She felt drained, weak, like she hadn't eaten in awhile. But she wasn't particularly hungry.

He came over a few minutes later with the bowl of soup and a spoon. "Poison free, I promise," he said with a small smile.

"Thank you," she said softly, eyes open, and took it from him, lifting up her knees so she could rest the bowl on top. She began eating, movements slow.

He watched her quietly, a hint of concern around his eyes. "Need anything else...?"

"I don't know," she sighed, about halfway through her soup. "I think I'm okay for now. Do you have to work today?"

He nodded. "I need to at least make an appearance," he sighed. "Meet this... woman. But I won't be gone long."

"Okay," she murmured. "Good. I don't want to have to threaten her for taking up too much of your time."

He smirked. "Jim told you to leave me alone anyway," he reminded her. "Get some sleep. Call me if you need me."

"Yeah, alright," she rolled her eyes a little, finishing up her soup and bending to put it on the floor by the couch, then became more horizontal on the sofa, already tired from her brief sitting up. Ugh, was this the flu?

He left quietly, dimming the lights behind him and closing the door softly. Then he headed off to find his new handler.

* * *

Freddie Wilkins was in the staff lounge, sitting at the community dining table and drinking a slightly stale cup of coffee over the newspaper. She looked tired, and was. She'd stayed up too late with her work the previous night. She wished it had been partying.

He walked over to her table, eyeing her up and down quietly. "Wilkins. Stand up."

Her brown eyes looked up without her head moving, emotionless. "No."

He nodded slightly at that, before reaching out and grabbing her collar, hauling her up of her chair to foot level and letting go, leaving her the choice of standing or dropping on her ass.

She landed on her feet and immediately leaned back to kick him in the chest, moving him away from her, and the next second she had her gun on him. "Moran, at the moment I control you. Lay your hands on me again and I _will_ shoot you."

He stepped back to cushion the blow, unconcerned, and considered the gun with amusement. "Go ahead. Shoot me. I'll laugh from hell while Moriarty dismembers you." He made a _carry on with it_ motion.

She lowered the gun from his head to his leg, shifted out, and fired, the bullet just barely grazing his thigh before making a hole in the floor. "Test me again."

He flinched, but that was all, before he took two steps forward, until her gun was almost pressing into his skin. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, for her ears alone. "Let me make something very clear. When James Moriarty believed I was dead, he put the safety of the network at risk in order to pursue my killers. He overturned heaven and earth to find them, and when they came knocking on his front door, he let them in, so that we could fuck them more thoroughly. So now that he has me back, you ask yourself- do you really want to put yourself in his sights next? You have two choices. You accept that I am in control of our working relationship- no matter what it says on the tin- and you agree to do what I say, or you shoot me. Make your choice. I don't have all day." Then he reached up, flicked her nose, and smirked, waiting.

She grit her teeth, looking for a leg up, a way to win. She couldn't threaten Harrison unless she wanted Armetti to take a finger from her, and she didn't want that, no matter the ideas of her colleagues. She took a slow breath. "Remind yourself that I control your future. I'm supposed to watch for treason. You don't want my vision to be clouded by _anger."_

His smirk widened at that, and he nodded in approval. "Good approach," he said with another nod, not backing down. She hadn't shot him. That was a victory. "And reasonable. So let's put it this way instead. If I am reported to be a traitor, what happens? Moriarty has me executed. Then he either takes back the network and leaves your branch here to wallow in its obscurity, or he doesn't, in which case either wallowing or execution, depending on how interested Ines is in finding you." He tilted his head, relaxed. "And if you suspect me of being a traitor, then that is exactly what you should do. However. If I come up clean, _then_ what happens? Either Jim fails to take the network back- obscurity and execution again- or we do take it back. At which point, the second in command of our great criminal network knows your name. Maybe even thinks you're worth something, if you took the time to prove that to him. And who knows where that puts you. So again. It's up to you."

"You can't buy me with promises of power, Moran," Wilkins said archly, her hand still tight on the gun. She was seriously considering lifting it up just to fire it right next to his ear, out of spite. "I will act how I will act, and you need to deal with it."

"I'm not trying to buy you," he said, shaking his head. "What I just said will be true, regardless of your actions. That's the way of life. I was just reminding you to consider it. As well as the fact that, like it or not, I outrank you. You're here to babysit, and that's fine. Watch closely. Look for me to act a traitor. I encourage it. But I'm in charge, and unless it violates Moriarty's orders, you will do what I say. Understood?"

She fumed in silence for a moment, stubborn and unwilling to admit defeat aloud, and then she holstered her gun again. It was the only admittance he would get out of her.

He nodded slightly at that, stepping away to a reasonable distance. "To work, then." With that, he headed for the hall.

* * *

A few days later, and Lorna discovered while Sebastian was at work that she could no longer keep any food down. When she heard the door, she was on her knees in front of the toilet, sweating and haggard, her head aching and her stomach roiling.

He came in a few seconds later, following the groans, and knelt quickly. "Hey. What's going on?" he asked quietly, eyes evaluating as he quickly took her pulse.

"I've been throwing up off and on for like, four hours," she said hoarsely, her eyes shut, elbow propped on the toilet seat. "Started the second I tried eating breakfast."

He frowned, reaching out to press a hand against her skin. "You're a little warm... I'm taking you to the infirmary, just to check in. It could be a bug, but I don't want to chance it being something worse." He scooped her into his arms and stood, gritting his teeth as his leg protested. Wilkins' shot had been that of an expert, and though he hadn't shown it around her, the graze had been enough to slow him down a little. He was getting old. He headed for the medical center.

She didn't argue; she was dehydrated, and weak, and she didn't _enjoy_ feeling that way. Her dignity could survive a trip through the halls carried in his arms. "This might be one of the few times in my life I _haven't_ protested going to the infirmary," she muttered to him as they stepped into the elevator.

"Yes. Which is half the reason we're going." He shifted her enough to punch the button for the elevator. "I don't recall giving you permission to get sick."

"Oh, I gotta fill out a form now? When was _that_ memo?" She mumbled, giving him a bit of a look. "I didn't ask to get sick."

"I know," he sighed, stepping out of the elevator once the doors opened and heading swiftly for the infirmary entrance. "Just relax. You're fine."

He walked past the front desk, calling to the nurse on duty, who quickly rose to lead them to a back room. He set her gently on the cot, then stepped back, watching carefully as the nurse got to work taking preliminary readings like temperature and asking quiet questions.

The nurse frowned a little as he took her temperature. "You said you've been throwing up?" He asked, looking down at the thermometer reading.

"Yeah."

"You've also got a low-grade fever. If you start experiencing any other symptoms, alert someone immediately. It could just be your average flu, but it could also be a multitude of other things. We'll run some tests after we get some fluids into you."

He watched quietly as they hooked her up with a hydration IV, personally checking everything before they injected it, much to the annoyance of the nurse.

She was silent for a minute while she was fussed over, and then lurched, jerking over the side of the bed to grab the trash can, which she dry heaved into.

He stepped forward, brushing the nurse aside. One arm slid around her shoulders, supporting her. His other hand pushed her hair gently to the side, holding it out of the way. He waited until she drooped, exhausted, in his arms, and eased her gently back onto the bed, setting the trashcan back in place.

She felt and probably looked awful, paler than usual and just a little sweaty. The nurse looked vaguely sympathetic but mostly seemed to be going over a list in his head. Lorna had done her best not to Web M.D. her symptoms, and this guy wasn't making her feel any safer.

The nurse muttered something about 'waiting out the hydration' and took his leave. Moran grabbed a chair once he left and sat, eyeing her up and down slowly.

"Jim's not going to be pleased," she muttered a few minutes later, after she'd spent some time looking around the room. Typical infirmary, besides the sky blue walls.

"Jim can stuff it," he retorted, reaching out to absently take her hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Really gross," she replied, sighing. "Awful, mostly. Can you smother me a little so I just can go to sleep?"

"Sorry. Given my current precarious security clearance, I have a strict no-smothering policy." He gave a wan smile.

"What use are you then," she joked, though without much energy. "God, I'm tired. And I ache. Not sure if it's just from throwing up, though."

"Try to get some sleep," he suggested. "The hydration is going to help."

"Yeah, okay," she murmured, letting her eyes shut with a small sigh. She wanted to be in bed with him, but holding his hand would do.

She was restless for a while, but eventually she relaxed and drifted off, her hand going slack in his. He let it go and sat back, considering her quietly.

 _She's fine. Just the flu._

But his gut was telling him something wasn't right.

* * *

A few hours later, the nurse came back in to take blood, and looked to Sebastian for permission to wake her up. "She should be hydrated enough to run some tests. Would you like to wake her, or should I?"

Despite his desire to be the one to wake her, he wasn't going to show more weakness than he had to here. He just nodded his permission to the nurse. "Go ahead."

The nurse nodded and stepped past the sniper with the look of someone very reluctant to be putting his back to someone this dangerous, and gently touched Harrison's shoulder. She stirred, somewhat unhappily, and squinted her eyes open. "Blood work," he said, holding up the vial in his hand. She begrudgingly held out her arm.

The next few hours blurred together lazily. Test after test, and no results, good or bad, despite Moran's increased irritation. He heard "We're running a second check" and "These things take time" one too many times, barely resisting the urge to hurl a doctor through the glass window of the room. He restrained himself, barely, for his shaky reputation's sake, pacing when Lorna slept, and sitting beside her when she was awake.

The lack of any conclusive test was starting to worry her. She wasn't afraid of dying, but dying by some unknown disease? That was unpleasant. Another hour, another test coming back, this time declaring her free of meningitis, which was nice, at least. She looked at Sebastian and sighed. "What the fuck is going on with this, Seb?"

"Hell if I know," he snarled blackly, before glancing at her guiltily and softening his tone slightly. "No one's telling me anything, and I can't tell if it's because they don't know, or I don't have clearance." He reached out for his coffee, taking a sip. He'd been awake for twenty-two hours at this point. A little caffeine was welcome.

"They would tell me. Or they would tell Jim, and Jim would tell us. I don't think they know," she shook her head, eyes on the door, concerned. "That's not a good sign."

He shrugged. "It could be any one of a dozen things. Including a bad test. You're fine." He gave her a smile. "Just got some weird virus. Give it a day. You'll be fine."

"I hope so," she sighed, squeezing his hand a little. "Have you slept at all?"

He shook his head. "I will if I get tired. You worry about you." He sighed. "Speaking of Jim, I should fill him in."

"Yeah, you should. Though I can't imagine he hasn't found out by now," she replied, lifting her free hand to rub the dark circles under her eyes.

"I know. But he'll be expecting a report. I'll go the next time you sleep." He reached out to grip her hand.

"You can go now, it's alright. I can spend half an hour alone," she smiled weakly. "There are other people here, if I start to feel too alone."

He shifted slightly, glancing at the door, then sighed. "I need twenty minutes. Don't let them give you _anything_ until I get back," he said firmly.

She raised up her hands a little. "I won't, I won't. If it makes you feel better you can summon Vince and he'll watch over me."

"Oh, yes, that will make me feel _much_ better," he snorted. "I'll be back." He stood, heading for the door, and then the elevator.

She sighed and shut her eyes, deciding to try and rest while he was gone, though she knew she wouldn't fall asleep.

Two minutes later he was outside Jim's office. He glanced over himself, straightening his slightly rumpled shirt, and then knocked.

"Come in," he said, looking up from the documents on his desk. He knew that knock. What was with Moran, that he would risk coming without being summoned?

He stepped in, closing the door behind him and looking at the man behind the desk. It grated on him more than he wanted to admit that there was such a cool look in his employer's gaze. For almost a decade he'd given Jim everything he had, and now he was reduced to the level of the rest of the scum of the earth. "Sorry to bother you, sir. I just wanted to give you an update on Harrison."

"An update on Harrison? Why, is she incapable of speaking for herself?" He snorted, raising his eyebrows.

He straightened slightly, eyeing the other man. Odd. He genuinely didn't seem to know. It appeared no one had bothered to inform him. He was torn between being pleased that the system was flagging without his input, and apprehensive what was likely to be a displeased reaction on Jim's part regarding this lapse. "I'm sorry, sir. I thought you would have been informed. Harrison is in the infirmary with the symptoms of a rather aggressive flu. So far all tests have come up negative."

Jim froze for a second, jaw tightening, and then he picked up the glass of water on his desk and hurled it against the closest wall, silent except for the shattering of glass. "And why the _hell_ does the infirmary here think they're a regular fucking _pediatric office?_ I wasn't informed. Inform _them_ patient privacy is a children's tale I will read to their offspring if they do not do their _fucking jobs._ " His hands clenched into fists for a second and then he laid them flat on the table, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "And how sick is she?"

He watched the display, cautiously impassive. "By all appearances, she isn't good, sir, he said quietly, once Jim relaxed slightly. "Again, no tests are giving positive results, so they aren't sure, but..." He sighed and shrugged. "I don't know, sir. I have a bad feeling."

He lifted a hand to rub at his eyes. "Jesus Fucking Christ. This is bad timing. Tell Armetti to get a specialist in here. I need this solved as soon as possible."

He nodded his quiet agreement. "Of course, sir. Right away." Then he hesitated, uncertain. On the one hand, he didn't want to highlight how he benefitted from this situation. On the other hand... Jim might need him. "If you end up needing a hand, sir... Let me know. I'll comply with whatever additional security measures you see fit."

He was silent for a moment, forehead resting on his fingertips, considering. Moran wasn't Armetti; he couldn't be trusted solely on the basis that he would never betray Harrison. But he was close. "I will contact you, if I need your assistance. Be on alert for it."

He nodded, firing off a casual salute. "If that's all, sir?"

"That's all. You may go. Oh, and Moran," he added, picking up the documents, "I will be done with my review in a few more weeks. So you know the timeline."

He narrowly avoided a heavy sigh. "Thank you, sir." He left quietly, and headed back for the elevator.

Lorna, meanwhile, was steadily trying to ignore Vince, who had appeared a few minutes ago and was arguing with a doctor in the corner. She was relieved when the argument traveled outside.

Armetti was in the lobby when Moran entered the infirmary, arguing with a doctor, and he hid a smile, relishing the opportunity that this presented.

"Vince! I wanted to congratulate you," he said cheerily. "And you as well, Dr. Hertz."

The doctor was wary, but Armetti was impatient. "What could you possibly want to congratulate me on, Moran?" He snapped.

"You've both reached record levels of incompetence," he thrilled, clapping them each on the shoulder a bit roughly. "Moriarty was positively _elated_ at your staff's decision not to inform him about the condition of his second in command. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if he rewarded you both personally."

"Fuck off, Moran," he growled, "Now is not the time for this. Ream me _after_ she's on her feet again."

"No, Vince, actually, why don't _you_ fuck off? Moriarty wants you to bring in a specialist immediately. I wouldn't delay. Something's put him in a bit of an off mood." He brushed past them without another word, heading for Lorna's room.

Lorna opened her eyes as he entered, looking slightly relieved to see him. "Thank god. I thought you were Vince."

He smirked. "No, he's skulking off with his tail between his legs," he smirked, sitting down in his chair beside her bed.

"Oh yeah? Why's that? You get to yell at him for something?" She snorted, quirking an eyebrow at him.

He gave the flicker of a smile. "No one informed Jim you were ill," he relayed calmly.

"Oh god," she muttered, rubbing her forehead. "This network is a mess."

He snorted in agreement. "But it gave me a good excuse to rip Armetti a new one, so there are upsides." His expression sobered. "They're bringing in a specialist."

"A specialist in _what?_ Negative-testing cases? I mean, lord," she muttered, waving her hand a little.

He snorted. "Difficult cases, sure. Bloodwork. Or viruses. I don't fucking know. That's Armetti's job, and God help him if he doesn't do it well." He rubbed at his eyes. He needed more coffee.

She looked over at him, frowning slightly. "You ought to get some sleep, Sebastian. The lack of sleep is starting to show."

He sighed, considering her, then shifted in his chair, leaning his head against the back of the seat and closing his eyes. "Wake me if anything seems off or the specialist gets here. Or if they want to run another test, or give you something."

"If anyone even sneezes, I'll wake you up, don't worry. Not that I think you'll sleep through that, but," she smirked, giving a tiny lift of her shoulders.

He flipped her the bird lazily, and shifted a few more times until he found relative comfort for his large frame in the comparatively tiny chair. Two minutes later, he was asleep.

* * *

The next time a nurse came in for testing, she shook her head, pointing at the dozing Moran, and the woman beat a hasty retreat. She managed to get him about three and a half hours sleep before she had to say his name. "Sebastian. The specialist is in the building."

He woke slowly, for once, dragging himself to consciousness, allowing himself that luxury because there was no hint of danger in her voice. He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the harsh hospital lighting.

"Okay," he said quietly, sitting up and stretching out a little, his back cracking. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugged a little. "I dry heaved a few times into the trash can, so the same. At least I'm not dehydrated anymore."

He looked her over carefully, but then nodded his satisfaction. "Good. This specialist passed security? Who ran background checks?" He stood.

"I don't know, Wilkins, I guess. Probably someone already in our registry. I'm sure no one will stop you if you double-check it," she said, looking towards the door.

He sighed, and then stood, nodding. "Be right back," he said, walking out into the hall and looking around for the specialist with eyes slightly bloodshot with weariness.

The specialist was talking to the doctor that had been running the majority of Lorna's tests. He was an unusual looking doctor - he was tall and physically fit, in his mid-fifties, and cut a broader, more imposing figure than most doctors. Of course, anybody with any common sense, no matter how big they were, looked up when Sebastian Moran entered a hallway. The doctor cut off as the specialist left him behind and moved to meet Moran. "Mr. Moran, correct? It's my understanding you're watching over my patient."

Moran gave a cold, toothy grin, extending a hand and only responding when he had the man's fingers in his steely grip. "I think you'll find," he said, applying firm pressure, "That _you're_ treating _my_ charge. And you are?"

For such a physically imposing person, he looked surprisingly cowed. "Apologies, Mr. Moran. My name is Phillip Shelby. I'm a specialist in identifying diseases."

He nodded, releasing the man's hand and relaxing slightly. "Someone get me the security evaluations on Dr. Shelby," he said, without breaking eye contact with the man. "Meanwhile, you can evaluate the tests that have already been completed, the data we have so far, and familiarize yourself with the situation. If you pass my evaluation, I'll allow you access to Harrison."

Someone to the side of Moran scurried off in a hurry. Shelby, on the other hand, looked just a little bit surprised at the level of caution that was being applied, but nodded. "Of course. I'll start immediately."

He let the man be led away, and took the security evaluation as it was handed to him, glancing through it for discrepancies or errors.

Ten minutes later, he was satisfied, and sent for Shelby. "I'm satisfied, doctor. This way."

The doctor nodded, Harrison's file in his hand, and followed. "Glad to hear it, Mr. Moran. I've read over some of what is here, and you'll be pleased to know that at the very least we can begin to rule things out."

"Excellent. What sort of things?" he asked, pausing outside of Harrison's door.

"Poison, first of all. Too many antibodies in the blood, for instance, and she's testing negative for arsenic, cyanide, the usual suspects. If someone had tried to kill her through botulinum toxin she would probably be dead already, or partially paralyzed, so that's not it either. There are a couple minor diseases we can knock off the list just by the symptoms, but, ideally, I want an MRI. At the _very_ least, I want X-Rays done, and immediately. I want to make sure there are no foreign bodies or unusual swelling," the doctor listed off, incredibly business-like. He had worked with this organization many times over the years. Business-like was safe.

He nodded, motioning to a nurse who was standing nearby and dispatching him to get the technicians for both machines prepped. Then he opened the door, and lead the doctor inside.

Shelby walked over to Harrison, giving her a professional smile. "Ms. Harrison. My name is doctor Phillip Shelby. I'm a disease specialist, I'll be evaluating you to see if we can't find out what's bothering you."

"Fantastic," Lorna said hoarsely, not much in the mood for bedside manner. "Do whatever the fuck you need to do to get me to stop fucking vomiting."

He nodded, glancing at Moran. "How soon can I get those scans?"

"X-ray should be ready now. MRI within the hour." He walked out and spoke to a nurse, never letting Shelby fully out of his sight. A moment later two nurses entered with a gurney, transferring Lorna carefully under Moran's hawkish gaze.

"Well, this is all slightly embarrassing," Lorna muttered as she was passed from one cot to the other, and Shelby gave a sympathetic smile.

* * *

The X-ray process itself was annoyingly tedious, but she suffered through the various different poses and lead blankets for fifteen minutes, and then she was wheeled out again. It was another five before Dr. Shelby returned to the hospital room, x-rays in hand. He looked slightly... put off.

"Alright," he said while setting up the x-ray viewing light on the wall. He was smiling again, with the look of someone who didn't really feel like smiling but knew it was polite. The first x-ray he put up was a shot of her chest. There were the normal bones and dark shapes of her lungs and heart, and she couldn't discern anything else.

The doctor, however, pulled a pen out of his pocket and pointed to a small, paler spot, right up near her heart. "I don't know what this is," he said frankly, looking back at them, pen on the x-ray. "It shouldn't be there. My first thought would be a tumor, a cancerous growth, maybe, but considering the symptoms, the size of the foreign object, and sudden appearance of the symptoms, I don't think that's what it is. Have you undergone any surgeries recently that could explain for this?"

Moran went cold as he studied the image. His fist opened and closed a few times, and he took a slow breath, thinking. How many times had she been under Mycroft's knife? He'd known then that there was a chance that something had gone in, but he'd never checked.

 _Idiot_.

 _You aren't sure yet._

He took a slow breath before he spoke.

"It's... possible. Do you have any other explanations?"

"There's a slim chance that this could be a congenital defect of some kind, but without previous medical records I can't say. The fact is, it's unlikely," he said, putting the pen back into his pocket. "And if it isn't what's causing her symptoms, we'll need to keep looking. I'm starting to widen the scope. Considering very rare diseases, genetic testing, even radiation screening. What countries have you visited recently, if any?"

Lorna rubbed her eyes, trying to process how she felt about all this, and sighed. "India. Otherwise, I've been in London." _Locked up with rabid animals._

Moran was quiet for a moment, then turned to Harrison, waving Shelby off. The man faltered, confused, before the sniper turned and snarled _"Go!"_

He left.

Moran turned back to Harrison once the door closed. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking Mycroft bioengineered a disease, put it in a time capsule, and now I'm going to die very unpleasantly," she said calmly, looking up at him, her face weary. "What are you thinking?"

He was silent for a moment, before he sighed, sinking into the chair slowly. "I think you're right," he said quietly. He interlaced his fingers, looking at his hands. They were white-knuckled with tension.

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. She couldn't figure out how she felt about this. She wasn't worried about dying, that had never scared her. But this wasn't a bullet to the head. She didn't know how much worse this could get.

Her stomach twisted suddenly. "Seb..." she said, her throat closing up. Her grey eyes were on him again. "Jim was under the knife, too."

The thought had already occurred to him. He was fairly certain he'd actually fracture one of his own knuckles, his grip was so tight. "I know," he said softly, tiredly, the tone at odds with the tension in his body. He looked up at her after a moment. He had failed. He had one purpose in life, and he had failed. He stood suddenly. "I need to get him down here for evaluation. Then we'll know."

"Okay," she said, slightly unhappy. She knew it was necessary, but him leaving her side right now was hard to bear. How much time did she have with him? "Hurry back, please."

He gave her a look that suggested he doubted her sanity for thinking that he would do otherwise, and headed out of the clinic. He was in the elevator two minutes later, heading up, contemplating how best to address the situation. Finally, however, he was out of time. He knocked on Jim's door firmly, and waited.

Jim was not expecting another interruption, so he was _slightly_ irritated. _"What?"_

He walked in, letting just enough tension show through for the reader to immediately pick up the urgency of the situation. "Sir, I need you down in medical immediately to run some tests. I'll explain en route."

The tension was rolling off the sniper in waves, in a way that made him sit up straighter in mild alarm. He hadn't seen Moran looking this way, outside of a deadly situation, for years. He stood. "Begin immediately," he said, voice sharp as he rounded the desk.

"X-rays revealed what appears to be a foreign mass near Harrison's heart," he started as they headed for the elevator. "The specialist we brought in believes it to be surgically implanted. My- and Harrison's- immediate thought was Mycroft."

Jim dragged a hand over his face, and then raked it through his hair. _"Fuck,"_ he said simply, as they reached the lift. "I was under the knife less than she was, but even once could have been enough. Fuck."

"Hence my desire to get x-rays of your chest as quickly as possible," he said, stepping in and jamming the button for the infirmary floor. "You haven't exhibited symptoms yet. We may have a leg up if you do have something."

"Perhaps. Depends how hard it is to cure," Jim said grimly, his hands in his trousers pockets. "Has Harrison been deteriorating?"

He hesitated, evaluating his response. "She hasn't been improving, but deteriorating is too strong a word. She's..." he sighed. "I don't know, sir. If I'm being honest, this is beyond my ability to accurately evaluate, and the specialist is still working. I haven't mentioned Holmes yet. I wanted to get your approval first."

"Don't mention him by name. Tell him the circumstances, otherwise. The better informed he is the better he can make sure Holmes doesn't kill us both without even lifting a finger," he said sourly as the doors opened, and he stepped out. The people around them moved away, like there was an air buffer in between them.

Moran nodded, already motioning one of the nurses forward and snapping crisp orders to prepare the x-ray techs once more, and to inform Shelby that Moran and Moriarty were waiting in the small consultation office 'at his leisure'. This was said with a slightly dangerous tone, and the man scurried off. Moran led the way to the office, holding the door for Jim. "It will be a few minutes before they're ready with the x-ray machine."

Jim nodded, moving to sink into one of the chairs in front of the desk, eyes skimming over the contents of the office, face bored. He was anything but. A capsule planted inside his body, waiting to go off any moment. He was literally a time bomb. What were the chances that whatever had been implanted was contagious? Slim, but possible. "Moran, I want quarantine protocols enacted on anyone who has come into contact with Harrison."

He glanced at the boss, and raised an eyebrow. "Since when? That could be everyone on base, if you mean the few days before she got sick. Within the last couple of days it narrows slightly, but still includes me, Armetti, all of the medical staff, our specialist..."

"I mean the medical staff. If it's contagious and began spreading before that, then it's too late for us to do anything. But if not, I rather only one floor of the base get deathly ill instead of the entire facility being wiped out without anyone ever knowing," Jim quipped, irritated. "I want contact limited, where possible, between departments."

He nodded in agreement, pulling up his phone and drafting a station-wide email. "Understood, sir."

Shelby entered a moment later, looking flustered and uncertain, though he was trying to disguise it. It was clear from his expression that he knew who Moriarty was. "It's an honor to finally meet you, Mr. Moriarty..."

"Fantastic," he said snidely. "Can we get onto the bit where you check whether or not I've got a time bomb tucked up next to my ticker, or am I going to have to call the cleaners down here for a new _mess?"_

Shelby glanced at Moran in wild confusion, and the sniper had mercy, if only for expediency's sake. "I believe the implant may have been made by an enemy we encountered last year. If that is the case, then Mr. Moriarty may also have one."

The man nodded quickly. "Of course, come this way- have the techs been informed? Of course they have, my apologies, this way..."

Jim stood and followed, rolling his eyes dramatically at Moran as he did so. "Finally."

* * *

A half an hour later, they were looking at an eerily familiar mass on Jim's x-ray, and Moran was gritting his teeth.

"We can't risk an MRI," Shelby was saying. "We have no guarantee that whatever it is is made of MRI safe materials. If it isn't, one of you could end up with a serious injury."

"So if we want to take a look at it, you have to cut one of us open," Jim said acidly, arms crossed over his chest as he stood there. He was in no mood to sit. "Do we have the technology available in here to snake a camera through one of our chest's?" _Harrison's,_ he didn't say. Moran looked agitated enough.

The specialist nodded a little. "Yes. But I'm not a licensed surgeon. I'm assuming you have one on staff?"

Moran nodded, muscles like coiled springs. "We can prep Harrison for surgery within the hour," he said quietly. He wasn't going to waste time pretending there was a chance Jim was going under the knife.

"Get it done. I will find some room down here to entertain myself in," Jim sighed, still frowning at the x-ray. "I assume you'll be loathe to leave her side beforehand. That's fine. I have Armetti."

He flashed his canines in an annoyed growl, but didn't argue, just stood and left for Harrison's room.

She had been trying to nap for a little while, and failing, so when the door opened she opened her eyes, too. Sebastian. He looked upset. "Hey," she said, quietly.

He stepped in and closed the door behind him quietly. "Hey." He walked over and sat down, taking a breath. "It's in Jim, too. Lorna.. we have to get a better look. We're going to prep you for surgery. We need to get a camera in and see what's going on."

She took a deep breath, lifting the hand that wasn't connected to an IV to rub her eyes. "Fuck. Okay. They're not going to try and take it out, right? Who knows what shit that would do..."

"No," he assured her softly. "They're just going to look. Nothing else."

"Okay, good," she muttered, exhaling slowly. "When are they cutting me open?"

"As soon as they can," he said quietly. "Prep begins now. It's actually helpful you haven't been able to keep anything down. We won't need to pump your stomach."

"Delightful," she sighed, closing her eyes. "Certainly hope this doesn't kill me."

"It won't," he snarled. "It's just a small incision. You'll be fine."

"Yelling at me isn't exactly inspiring confidence, Seb," she said softly, her eyes closed still.

He grit his teeth, then sat back slowly, taking a slow breath. "You'll be fine," he said more softly.

"Better," she chuckled, opening her eyes finally and looking over at him. She reached a hand out for him.

He considered it, before reaching out and taking it in his. "Don't make me feel what you felt," he said warningly, voice still soft. "Don't you dare."

She snorted a surprised chuckle, trying to blink back the tears that were threatening to fill her eyes. "I wouldn't dream of it, don't worry."

He stared her down quietly, then nodded just a little. "You give up too easily, Lorna," he warned quietly. "You don't get to give up here. It isn't an option."

"I know," she whispered, squeezing his hand, "I know, really. I wouldn't do that to you. Don't worry," she insisted, and trying to sniffle without making any noise. She kind of succeeded.

He nodded, gripping her hand and standing. "I need to get someone to start prep," he said softly.

"Alright," she murmured, squeezing his hand once more before letting it go, her hand falling back to the bed.

He walked out of the room, found the nurse he wanted, and sent her in to start getting Harrison prepared. He considered going back in, but wasn't eager to confirm Jim's snide remarks, and went to find him instead.

* * *

Playlist: Digital Daggers - The Devil Within (Piano Version)


	110. Not Letting You Go (Even If It's Easy)

Jim had found himself an empty office to sit in, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. He hadn't bothered turning the light on. He only needed to think.

He stepped in, knocking lightly on the doorframe. "Harrison is being prepped now, sir. Is there anything else you'd like done?"

He didn't move. "No," he said, calmly. Some part of his brain was trying to remind him that he could lose his third within the next hour, but he was steadfastly ignoring it. "I don't think there's anything to be done until we know."

He nodded a little and turned to go. "Let me know if you need anything."

"I won't, not until the surgery is done. One way or another," was all he said in response.

He nodded and left quickly. Jim was unnerved, and that was, itself, unnerving. He took a slow breath, in and out, before heading back to Lorna's room to wait.

Lorna had been rolled into the surgery theater, muttered one little prayer/swear under her breath, and then the anesthesiologist arrived and she was put under.

* * *

She came to, panicked.

Her eyes weren't really cooperating with her just yet - probably something to do with that _light,_ good _god,_ so she took a moment to assess why she was feeling this way. Had she forgotten to turn off the stove? Why was her heart racing so?

She blinked, forcing her eyes to focus past the blinding white light - on... blue. Baby blue. Little squares of it. Surgical masks.

 _Oh no._

She felt something shift inside her chest, and she screamed.

Moran was watching. Had observed every move from the corner of the operating theatre, dressed in the same blue scrubs (which barely covered his large frame, short at the wrists and ankles.)

Her scream was one he had heard before, and one he never wanted to hear again. The mix of agony and terror usually brought on by torture.

The surgeons leapt into action, crisp orders flying about complex chemical names that even his trained ears had trouble following. That may have been, however, because his eyes were locked on her face- rent with terror- as she started to thrash on the table. He didn't hesitate, just leapt up and pressed through the crowds his hands finding her shoulders and holding her down. "Harrison," he barked, his tone an order which brokered no argument. "Hold still."

It was a struggle to even process what Sebastian had just said to her, let alone obey, her lungs hyperventilating of their own accord, panicked breathing around the oxygen tube down her throat, nails scraping against the metal of the table, another, rougher movement in her chest, and she couldn't help it, had to _move,_ arched off the metal slab, shouting, panting, trying to get a hand free to wrench the tubes out of her fucking trachea, and failing that made a fist in the nearest thing it could find - one of their shirts, balled up in her violently shaking hand - the only thing keeping her from fighting them tooth and nail was the surefire knowledge that it would only make it hurt _more,_ and she felt like there was a fucking alien in her chest cavity.

He didn't know what he'd expected, but he wasn't surprised when she kept thrashing. A note of panic was entering the voices around him, now. He pressed down on Lorna's shoulders more firmly now, keeping her pressed against the operating table. Suddenly one of the surgeons stepped forward and started pulling the tube out of Harrison's throat as fast as he could, trying to clear her airway. The lead surgeon was doing the same with the camera line, while assistants injected painkillers and held the struggling, screaming woman down.

She gagged on the tube, coughing uncomfortably, ineffectually, and then it was clear and she took in a gasp of air. The oxygen helped to clear her head a little - and she was fairly certain she was probably going into shock anyway, so things were now just a little farther away, just a little quieter, and she could feel the cold oozing up her IV arm. Oh good, they were trying to put her out again. She didn't know whether or not she was still screaming, couldn't tell over the ringing in her ears, but then it didn't matter. She passed out.

She went slack, and everything went silent. Only two things kept Moran from grabbing the scalpel and cutting the throats of everyone here. The first was the knowledge that there would be no one to replace the doctors, isolated as they were. The second was the solid rhythm of Lorna's heart monitor.

"Would someone care to explain," he said with dangerous calm, picking up the scalpel for effect anyway, "what the _fuck_ just happened?" A snarl entered his tone.

"I can discuss it once we have her stitched up," the head surgeon said, his voice still strained, and one of the quicker-thinking nurses handed him the tools required. "Until then, I think it's best if I focus. Please, don't get in my way, sir."

He had to reevaluate the risk-reward of gutting the man then and there. Instead he stalked out of the room, the door slamming behind him. He was powerless in that room. But here... two steps later he had an unfortunate lab tech in his grasp. She screamed for all of a third of a second before he rammed the scalpel through her jugular, pinning her to the wall with it and killing her instantly. He grabbed her hair to hold her up and removed it almost all the of the way, only the tiny blade still embedded. He pulled it downward, then, splitting her skin open wide from neck to pelvis, before removing the scalpel and slicing the same line down her face, meeting with his first. He traced the whole line twice more until he severed muscle tissue and her bowels came spilling out, and then he let the body drop. He was splattered with blood over the scrubs, hand dyed red.

He stepped back. The room around him was eerily silent. He tossed the scalpel on top of the body almost casually, and went to the observation window of the operating theatre, watching calmly now as they stitched Harrison up.

Five minutes later the surgeon came back through the doors, pulling off bloody gloves. He froze as he saw the mutilated corpse on the ground, but this was a man who had worked fifteen years stitching up the worst of the criminal world, and doing the occasional autopsy on them, so where a normal man might have puked, he instead only felt cold deep in his gut, a warning to be cautious and quiet. He walked into the observation room, and pulled off the surgical mask. "Mr. Moran. I just had some blood drawn for testing, but she seems to have woken up mid-surgery from an inexplicable surge of adrenaline. It wasn't too little anesthesia. Three of us were in the room when the dosage was agreed upon, and none of us thought twice. Once the footage from the camera is downloaded and the test is back, we'll know more."

He nodded, offering a bloody, gloved hand to the surgeon calmly. The man hesitated, but took it, shaking. Moran didn't let him pull away, gripping his hand so tightly that the man winced.

"I just wanted you to know," he said, still gentle, "That right now I'm considering cutting off each and every one of your fingers, and sewing them back on backwards. Now, I'm not much of a surgeon, but I'm sure that after three or four fingers of experimentation I'll have some sort of system." His grip tightened. "But maybe I won't have to learn. Maybe you'll impress me with the best goddamned work I've ever seen. What do you think?"

In that moment, the surgeon was very aware that this was the most dangerous man he'd ever stood in front of, and he nearly lost his lunch. "I'll impress you, sir."

He nodded, releasing the man's hand and motioning for him to leave, before walking into the surgeon's showers to rinse the blood off and change.

* * *

When Moran got out, the surgeon was waiting. He too had changed, but much more hastily. He had a folder in his hand. "Sir. I was correct on the sudden surge of adrenaline in her system. We haven't had time to get a tech analyst down here to review the footage, but to our eyes... The pod releases something as the camera approaches. I suspect it's a sort of defense mechanism. Removing it will be difficult, if it is sensitive to metals."

He took the files, looking through the notes and the stills from the video. He nodded his agreement. "Theorize. I want possible solutions in an hour." He handed the file back. "Where is Harrison, and when do you expect her to wake up?"

"She's back in her room. She should wake up in the next half hour," he replied, checking his wristwatch. "My team and I will be working in the meantime. See you in an hour, sir?"

He nodded, waving a dismissal and going to find Jim.

He knocked in the door of the darkened office. "Sir...?"

"She's alive, then. I suppose it's some comfort that the surgeons here aren't seamstresses in disguise," Jim drawled, sitting in the dark corner, his back against the wall. It was more comfortable for him. And he knew that no one besides Moran would find him. "How did it go?"

"Horribly," he said, stepping in and closing the door. "She woke up when the probe was half a meter into her chest. Preliminary theory is that the device had a proximity detector which released a shot of adrenaline when the probe breached the perimeter.

He muttered a half-formed swear, lifting a hand to rub his eyes. "Get the tech department, see if they might have some sort of remote to turn that off. I'd prefer to stay under, when it's my turn."

He glanced at Jim with a raised eyebrow. "You understand that as your bodyguard, I can't authorize a surgery this risky, not until we understand it further, correct?" he asked.

"Of course I do, Moran," he snorted. "I haven't lost my mind. Doesn't mean mistakes can't be made in the future."

He nodded just slightly. "Very well. Then unless you need something, sir, I'm going to check in with Harrison personally."

Jim just made a slight wave with his hand, already returning to his thoughts.

He ducked out soundlessly, and headed for Lorna's room.

She lay on her bed, looking pale, bandages forming a small lump around her chest beneath the thin sheets.

He sat down to wait, watching her quietly. He dared to hope that she wouldn't remember, but luck hadn't exactly favored them lately.

When she awoke again, it was with less panic. But her breath still caught raggedly in her throat, and she tried to sit up immediately, and regretted it. She thumped back onto the bed, eyes screwed shut, a hand going to chest, clutching the blankets just below the bandages until her knuckles were white. "That wasn't a dream, was it." She said in a strained voice, taking a shuddering breath through her nose.

He reached out a hand to her shoulder when she tried to move, not catching her quite in time. He put his hand over hers. Her skin was hot against his. "No, it wasn't," he said softly. He leaned forward, wishing that he could just bundle her up into his arms and keep her safe. "I'm sorry..."

She nodded a little, in acknowledgment, because she couldn't quite summon up any words at the moment. Waking up to find people _in her._ As if she needed to add vivisection to the list of things she had nightmares about. "What happened?"

He took a long, slow breath, letting it escape through his teeth. "The mechanism has a proximity sensor," he said quietly. "It sensed the camera and released a flood of adrenaline into your system. That's what woke you up." He looked at her hand. "But they're working on a solution. I've made certain that they're properly motivated."

She nodded again, and swallowed. It hurt. Her already vomit-abused throat was now rough from having a tube yanked out of it. Christ, how many more operations like that would she have to endure before this was all over? Anything they wanted to try, they had to try on her. Jim wouldn't undergo the surgery first - that was insane. "So they still don't know what's wrong with me."

He gripped her hand a little tighter, then let go before he hurt her. "...No. But they got some information," he said gruffly. He sat back, hand finding the arm of the chair. The wood creaked beneath his angry fingers.

"Calm down, you're giving me proximity anxiety," she snorted, opening her eyes and looking at him. "I'm worked up enough for both of us."

He looked at her for a moment, then took a slow breath and nodded, forcing his hand to relax. As helpless as he felt, she was more so. This, he could do. He closed his eyes, gathering himself, and when he opened them again he was a sniper, calm and collected. "They're doing their best. That isn't going to happen again. You aren't going to wake up like that again."

"I better fucking not," she muttered, lifting her hand from clutching the blankets to rub her eyes tiredly. "Things I wanted to avoid in my lifetime: vivisection-nightmare fuel."

He nodded his agreement. "I know. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. We're going to fix this." He didn't know what else to say. What else did he have?

"Can we relocate to my quarters? I hate infirmaries. It's not like they're doing all that much for me here," she sighed, looking around the stark blue walls. "You can dress wounds, and they can always visit me. I rather dry heave in comfort. Oh, that's going to suck with stitches. Ask them to give me something anti-nausea."

He nodded. "I'll tell them to give you something. As for relocating... No. It's too risky. We have no idea what is going on," he said firmly. "I can bring you things from your room if you like, but if something goes wrong, the extra three minutes from your quarters to here is unacceptable."

She sighed, but didn't think about arguing. He wasn't going to budge on it. "I don't need you to bring me anything. I just... didn't want to be _here."_

"Neither do I," he sighed. "But neither of us has a choice." He glanced at the door, and then stood up and closed it, drawing the curtains over the windows. Then he walked over and sat down again, this time a bit more relaxed, a bit more exhausted. "Damn fishbowl," he muttered.

"They've got to have a room without windows. Especially for us," she grumbled, glancing at the curtains. "Fuck, this sucks. Can I just have a _normal_ six months? For _once?_ Goddamn."

"They have a room," he snorted tiredly. "Jim is in it, sitting on the floor with all of the lights off. I have decided to leave that alone for the moment."

"Fuck that shit. He has his own office to sit in if he wants to. Where's the phone? I'll text that son of a bitch a picture of my fucking stitches," she grouched, trying to root around the nightstand without twisting her torso at all.

He reached out to grab her hand. "It's an office, not a medical room, you couldn't be there anyway. I was kidding," he said quietly. "And he's still Jim. I know you aren't afraid of him, but that doesn't make him any less lethal. Don't be afraid of the wolverine, certainly. But respect that it can still rip your throat out. You'll live longer."

She gave a bitter laugh. "Seb, I'm probably the safest I've ever been from Jim. I'm the only guinea pig he has. He kills me, and he's the one who has to undergo every new thing the surgeons come up with. For right now, he'll deal with my shit," she chuckled, lacing her fingers through his.

He rolled his eyes. "You don't think he's capable of holding a grudge? Look, I know you have no sense of self-preservation, but do _me_ a favor and don't blatantly piss him off for me, okay? One of us in his sights at a time is plenty."

She made a face at him. "Leave me alone. I'm too tired for reason. M' groggy as all hell. What painkillers did they give me, in there?"

He smiled as she groused. Fighting spirit was good. Then he sighed. "No opiates. I was very clear on that subject," he promised. "Acetaminophen, combined with some topical numbing agents. Unfortunately the options are rather limited."

"That's fine. As long as it's anything but opiates," she shook her head. "I don't need to trigger the already-still-kinda-there heroin craving."

He nodded a little. "I understand. Anything else that I may not have thought of?" He ran his thumb over the side of her hand.

"I don't know," she sighed, rubbing at her eyes. They felt crusty. "Just - _ask_ them if they have a room without those fucking windows, yeah? I'm not keen on being observed, either."

He nodded a little, standing. "I'll speak with them. Are you sure you don't want anything from your flat? A book or something?"

She gave a weak shrug. "I haven't lived there that long, Sebastian. It's not really... _mine._ There's nothing there I'm attached to."

He nodded a little, and left without any other comments, going to see about finding out about a windowless room. He glanced at his watch. The surgeons had thirty-two minutes.

The surgeon found him again with five minutes to spare. "Sir, I have a proposal prepared for the next surgery."

He looked over from his discussion with a nurse about accommodations for Harrison, waving the woman away. "Oh? Do enlighten me."

"We assume the pod has a metal detector. Otherwise any injury could have killed her, traumatic or not. We'll take it out, or at least examine it, with ceramic tools. We don't have everything we need here, but we can send for them. It will be an invasive surgery."

He listened quietly, though the muscles around his eyes tightened just slightly at the last sentence. "What are the risks?"

"There's the risk that the pod has a more dangerous fail-safe than just inducing an adrenaline shock to the system," the surgeon sighed, "But I can't know without having it in my hand. And there's also the risk that the fail-safe could be physical instead of hormonal. It's... located very close to her heart."

He took a slow breath, considering that. "I want you to run every scan you deem safe before the operation. Ultrasound if you can manage. Take more x-rays if that's all you have. Get someone from tech down here to take a look at it, and I want a tech defusal specialist standing by during the actual procedure." He considered for a moment, then nodded slightly. "Get this done as quickly as is safe. Hell knows what this thing is doing to her system."

He nodded, running a hand over his dapper silver hair. "Doctor Shelby has concluded that what's happening to her isn't like the adrenaline, it's not hormonal. He's beginning to run more exotic tests. Parasites, for instance. We should know by tomorrow."

He nodded. "Delay surgery until those results come in at the very least," he decided, then turned to go.

He took a quick self-evaluation as he walked back to Lorna's room. He was exhausted. Fatigue was setting in. The few hours he'd gotten hadn't been enough. Still, he wasn't going to sleep until he was sure Harrison was stable. The immediate solution was caffeine and food. He barked an order as he passed someone in the hall, and sent whoever it was- intern or surgeon, he didn't particularly care- scampering for coffee and some sort of sandwich.

He entered Harrison's room quietly, closing the door behind him softly in case she was sleeping.

She shifted tiredly, cracking her eyes open to see who was coming in. She was pleased to see it wasn't another nurse. "Hey," she rasped.

"Hey," he said, shutting the door behind him soundlessly and walking over to sit in his chair. "So I have good news and bad news. What do you want first?"

"Bad news," she sighed. "I rather end the conversation with a silver lining."

He nodded a little. "They need to do invasive surgery to deal with this thing," he said quietly, evenly. "They don't know what else it's capable of. But, good news, they know what triggered the thing, and they have a plan for dealing with it. It has a metal detector, so they're going to use ceramic surgical tools to prevent it from triggering again." He reached out to take her hand in his, absently spinning the ring on her third finger. "And the specialist is looking into what might be causing the rest of your symptoms. They've eliminated further hormonal issues as a possibility."

"Jesus. So I'm going to have open heart surgery nine months after they scrubbed all the scars off me? Fun shit," she muttered, eyes on her hand in his. She was glad she didn't have to go through this without his support. "I better not wake up again..."

"You won't. Not until you're supposed to," he said quietly but firmly. "As for the scars, we can get that one fixed too. I'm rolling in money, remember? Not an issue." His tone made an attempt at playful, but fell slightly flat.

"I guess it's an excuse to go back to India," she joked weakly, squeezing his hand. "We can finally be the serial killers we always wanted to be."

"Hey, speak for yourself," he snorted with a small smile. "I've been a serial killer. Remember New York? Two percent crime increase." He smiled a bit and gripped her hand. "You feeling alright?"

She snorted. "I feel like I haven't slept in three years. I'm just... Worn out. My throat hurts. My chest hurts. I don't know."

He nodded. "Alright. Try to get some sleep, then. I'm going to see about getting a spare cot in here so that I can get a couple hours, too."

She laughed softly. "Sebastian, you can sleep in the flat. I can survive being alone for six hours."

He eyed her suspiciously, then shook his head a little. "I want to be here if anything changes." In truth, it was more for him than for her. There was no way he would be able to sleep in the flat, uncertain if at that very moment she was coding, and he was about to receive an urgent phone call. Or worse, an exhausted, defeated one. He stood. "Get some sleep. I'll be here." He headed for the door to see about a cot.

She just made a quiet, sleepy sound, rolled over, and passed out a few seconds after he had left the room.

He had a cot a few minutes later, and fell asleep before they had even brought sheets for it, sprawled out with his hand closed around the space where the knife under his pillow usually rested.

* * *

Ten hours and another inconclusive test later, and she was undergoing prep for surgery again. She went under with bated breath. Who knew if she would wake up again.

Moran was in the operating theatre again. Jim was missing in action, but he wasn't concerned. The boss had been pacing the small room he had been in like the madman he was. It didn't surprise Moran that he had disappeared.

His focus now was on Harrison as she went under again. What if this was the last time he ever saw her?

He took a slow breath, the heat of the exhale accumulating beneath the surgical mask. _Don't you fucking die on me._

The surgery went well at first. They cut through her sternum alright, though the surgeon had gritted teeth over the bonesaw - they'd been banking on the fact that a ceramic blade would be good enough, in order not to set the pod off, but the mechanical workings of the saw had to be metal. But it went alright, and the doctors let out a collective sigh of relief.

Once inside her actual chest, they all just took a minute to consider how best to remove the pod, now that they could see it with their own eyes. That was about the time things went wrong.

The surgeon had her hand inside her chest, fingers around the pod. They'd determined it wasn't fixed to her by any discernible means. The doctor pulled. And this time, she was the one to scream.

At first, no one knew what the fuck had happened. Sebastian took an immediate step forward, body tensing, ready for- what, exactly? What could he do, here in this room of instruments he only vaguely understood, observing a procedure he understood even less. He was suddenly homesick- or something akin to it- for the simplicity of roofs and his sniper rifle.

Still, he stood there, expression revealing none of his emotions, stony and unmoving as always save for his hawkish gaze, following everything.

The surgeons, nurses, and technicians, however, were suddenly in a tizzy, trying to evaluate and respond to whatever had just happened. No one was panicking- they were far too experienced for that- but not a millisecond of time was wasted.

A second surgeon- a man- stepped in to help the first, who was clearly in pain. The man and woman both worked around the woman's right hand, which was suspiciously unmoving, but hidden from Moran's view by the lip of Lorna's chest cavity.

He stepped forward slightly, but it still took him an endless four seconds to even begin to understand the situation. He attributed the slowness to the fact that- in the red, liquid, pulsing, complex mess that were Lorna's internal organs, it was nearly impossible to see the foreign blood.

Once he saw it, however, his stomach dropped.

The surgeon's hand had been carved into by a wicked-looking curved blade, with jagged, serrated teeth. Blood was pouring through the carefully applied triple-layer of gloves, into Harrison's body. A nurse had stepped forward with a sponge and bowl, and was doing his damndest to contain the substance, but there was only so much he could do.

Sebastian tuned into the chatter around him, absently filtering in the information. The blade was a spring-trap of some sort. It had been aimed to slice through Harrison's heart, but had instead caught the surgeon's hand on its way. It had grazed the heart, though by some miracle it hadn't punctured it. Removing the surgeon's hand ran the risk of letting the blade continue its course. To complicate matters, the blade was barbed like a fishhook, and firmly embedded in the bone of the woman's hand. Removal would be traumatic, and possibly introduce further foreign matter to Harrison's already-weakened body.

The majority of personnel were now all crammed in around Lorna's chest, half of them working on the lead surgeon's hand, half of them working on limiting the damage to Lorna's body, mopping up the blood that they could see and assessing what could be done about the nick in her heart. "We're going to have to take the pod out to proceed," one of the nurses attending to the surgeon said in a strained voice, and someone made a rushed noise of agreement. There wasn't a benefit to waiting. Only more damage would be done the longer they waited. But nobody seemed willing to make the first step, in case there was a second trap.

He looked around at those gathered, saw the hesitation, and made his decision. There was a time for intimidation, for orders. This wasn't it. He stepped forward, shoving people out of the way with his shoulders until he was at the table, ignoring protests. He held out his gloved hands. "I'll do it," he said calmly, locking eyes with the lead surgeon, daring her to hesitate further. "Tell me what to do."

"Take out the pod," the surgeon replied, voice relatively steady considering she had a blade embedded in the bones of her hand. "I need to stop bleeding into her. If it has a second fall back trap, there's nothing we can do about it right now."

He didn't object, just reached in, closing his hand quickly and tightly around the device. If something went off, he wanted it contained as much as he could manage in his grasp, and not in Harrison's body. Nothing happened. He nodded to the surgeon, and started lifting slowly, the surgeon moving her hand with him to prevent further injury. They stopped short less than an inch up. "Something is tethering it to her rib cage," Moran said, voice unwavering. "Someone get a look, figure out what it is and how to deal with it."

The nurse that had stepped back to give Moran room squeezed forward again, bending down to look into Harrison's chest cavity. "There's a wire attached to her Inferior Vena Cava. It looks like it's looped around. I'm going to need wire cutters," he said, standing back up and looking towards the nurse whose job it was to hand other people tools. "Do we have those in ceramic?"

The woman nodded, already in the process of handing over the necessary tool. "This is the only set, though. Nothing smaller."

Moran had gone stalk-still as the man had spoken, suddenly grateful for his steady sniper's hands. Christ, it was around her vein? Knowing Mycroft, the wire would tighten with pressure. Good job he had been going so slowly, and that the surgeon beside him had had the good sense not to just yank her hand out when injured. Lorna would have bled out in a matter of seconds. _Don't sneeze..._

The operating theater was still a whirl of activity, keeping Lorna alive and unconscious, but his focus was on the nurse, who was using a mirror for reference as he carefully slid the wire cutters into place. He held his breath, there was a quiet _snick_ that Moran imagined he could hear over the din of beeps and urgent orders, and the nurse withdrew. "You should be clear. Move slowly."

Moran nodded, and lifted again, at a snail's pace, the surgeon once more lifting her hand, her face pale with pain and shock.

The instant they were clear, someone was putting a bowl beneath the device to prevent further contamination. Moran set the device into the bowl, and stepped back again, fading into the wallpaper, his eyes on Lorna as the team seamlessly moved into repairing her injured heart.

One of the nurses kept back from the team, shifting to flip open the metal of Lorna's medical chart, smearing it red. "Someone get me Dr. Chakrabarti's blood type, _now._ If she's not Type O, we're going to be experiencing problems very soon."

"I'm not," Chakrabarti called from where she was sitting in the corner, a nurse working on disabling the spring of the pod. Her voice was strained and hoarse, but determined. "I'm A+. We're going to see a transfusion reaction. Monitor for warning signs of renal failure, hypotens- _augh-"_ she broke off as the nurse shifted the pod at her hand, apologizing. The other surgeon took up where she had left off without blinking.

"Hypotension, renal failure, and DIC. Those are our concerns right now, people. I want plasma on standby, we may need to make an emergency transfusion."

There was a bunch of rushing about as the surgeon stopped speaking, and the operating theater went from being relatively still to bustling. "Mr. Moran, I'm going to need you out of my operating theater, please," another surgeon said as he passed, pulling off his bloody gloves to exchange them for new ones, to keep things sterile. "We'll alert you as soon as something happens. You're only slowing me down."

He wanted to argue. To point out that while they'd all be standing around with their carefully-gloved thumbs up their asses, he'd been the only one to step forward and do anything.

But any second wasted could cost Harrison her life. He left without arguing.

He showered and changed as quickly as he could, hardly paying attention. He walked over to the operating theater observation window, but being able to watch but not interfere was worse, he found, than not knowing at all, and he quickly left, entering the hall and starting to wander aimlessly.

* * *

Playlist: Arcade Fire - Put Your Money On Me


	111. BFFs

Jim had been out and about to get water, which was the reason he saw the sniper. "Moran," he said, just loud enough to be heard. The man looked lost.

His head snapped up at the sound of his name, and he immediately straightened, trying to bring himself back together. "Sir. How can I help you?"

"What's the situation? I haven't heard anything in a while," Jim raised his eyebrows. It was very quiet down here. Empty halls. He hoped it stayed that way.

His shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. "There have been... complications. There was a spring-loaded blade in the device that was deployed when they attempted to remove it. It should have cut through Harrison's heart, but it caught the surgeon's hand instead. Preferable, but Harrison got a shitload of incompatible blood in her system. They're trying to mitigate side effects now."

Jim dragged a hand over his face, letting out a sigh through his teeth. "Tell me they at least know what's making her fucking ill."

He hesitated, then shook his head. "No. Hopefully the device will give us some answers," he said quietly. "And you, sir? Any symptoms...?"

He shook his head in return. "Not that I'm aware of. I would have alerted one of the medical personnel." Then he fell back into silence, his eyes boring a hole into the wall over Sebastian's shoulder. "I'm sick of Holmes having the upper hand."

"Agreed," he said quietly. He suddenly felt every second of his week without more than a few hours' sleep at a time. "I'm sorry, sir. I never should have let this happen."

His eyes shifted to Sebastian again, deadly sharp. "What does that mean, Moran?"

He met Jim's gaze, and somewhere he knew he needed to tread carefully, but extreme fatigue was making that voice quite a bit quieter than usual. "Just what I said. I should have found a way to stop this. And I'm not fishing Jim, I'm just fucking complaining, okay? I couldn't have done anything, but I'm tired and angry and powerless and she's fucking _dying in there_." He snarled the last bit, and then took a breath, rubbing at his eyes. "Sorry, sir. I'm not in a good state to be discussing anything right now."

Jim slid his hands slowly into his pockets, considering the sniper in silence for a moment. The danger was mostly gone from his eyes. Perhaps if he hadn't been fearing for his own life he would have snarled back, but now... now he needed Moran caring. And he had to admit that there was a strain of anxiety woven into the complicated mess of his brain, linked to the well-being of that woman, who had served as some kind of link to the man they had both lost. "If she dies... do what you must. Just don't jeopardize me."

"I would never jeopardize you, Jim. I never have unless it was my only option." He considered the other man for a moment, then gave up on pretenses and leaned against the wall, sliding to sit on the floor. "But I know you don't believe that, so unfortunately you're just going to have to wait and see what I do."

He snorted, and moved to lean his shoulder against the wall. Sometimes he had to wonder how they'd gotten here. He and Lorna would never have been kidnapped from that party if he hadn't pulled her aside to ream her for leaving her initials on Moran's chest. Or if he hadn't fucked Moran in that alley. Or a hundred other million things that came together in a spectacular fashion to produce the shit-show they were in now. "Sometimes," he started, without really knowing where his words were going, "I think I'm almost as bad as Sherlock."

He glanced up, then. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean, and wasn't sure he should ask, so he just waited. He missed the old days when he could read Jim easily.

"I used to mock dear old Sherly, for keeping people... _around_ him all the time," Jim sighed, running a hand through his hair. The gel he had put in it almost 48 hours ago was starting to give up the ghost. "And then you die. And I lose all my superiority in the matter. If I didn't know what it did to me I would kill you again, just to prevent it."

He was surprised at that, and too tired to keep the expression entirely off of his face. He took a breath. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Go ahead," Jim said, giving a slight flick of his hand out of his pocket.

He nodded slightly, composing his thoughts, then standing slowly, meeting the other man's gaze. "I miss you, Jim," he said finally, exhaustion clear in his tone, his stance, his expression. "I have given you the better part of a decade of my life. Every day, everything you asked that I could deliver. I have kept you alive through the thick of it. I have served time in prison for you, I have been shot for you, I have been tortured for you, and I used to be the one man you actually trusted. Things got fucked up. I understand that. But I was proud to be your second, sir. And I hate the fact that I lost that just because the universe decided to give us shit." He shrugged, and fell silent.

He hated how much that worked. He hated that he wanted to drag the man over by the collar and kiss him, because _god_ he'd missed him too. Had missed him so much he had fucked a woman alone for the first time in ten years. Had grown an attachment to her, loathe as he was to admit it, just because she had traces of Sebastian all over her. It was one of the few times in his life that he was unsure of what to say, or do. "I... Fuck, Tiger, it's not like I _enjoy_ stringing you out, putting you on bloody probation - but what the fuck _else_ am I supposed to do?"

The nickname, after so long, gave him courage. "Trust me," he said finally, straightening slightly. "Not because it makes sense, not because the numbers tell you to, not because of any sort of logic. That's trusting probability. Trust _me_ , James. Trust our friendship. Because you know what? Fuck it. You're my friend. Whether you like it or not."

He stood waiting, then. For a bullet or for agreement, he had no idea.

 _Friend._

That was too much emotional affection for somebody like him. He'd been called 'friend' sincerely probably once in his entire life. He just stared for a moment, and blinked, and stared some more.

"You're reinstated," he said finally, and did a very un-Jim-like clearing of his throat, looking away.

It was his turn to stare, then. And blink, and stare again.

He knew not to push it further. To just nod, and murmur a quiet "Thank you, sir," and let Jim have his space in a moment of unheard-of vulnerability.

He knew all of that, but still, a second and a half later, he had crossed the hallway between them and done something he had never dared to do. He pulled James Moriarty, ruler of the supposedly free world, into a bone-crushing hug.

Jim stiffened like a cat planning its escape. He put up with the hug for about two seconds before he gave Moran a very reluctant pat, clearing his throat again. "I feel like that's enough, Moran."

He nodded, releasing the man and stepping back, a pleasant grin on his face, the first in nearly a week. "I'm surprised I got that much, boss. Thank you." Then he glanced down the hall toward the infirmary, and the smile faded. "I should get back."

Jim nodded, following through on the motion with a flick of his wrist. "Go. Keep me updated."

He nodded, turning to go, then glanced back. "Anything out of the ordinary, boss.. tell me right away." Then he headed back down the hall.

* * *

Lorna woke up in a different room, to the slightly unsteady rhythm of a heart monitor. Oh, Christ, she hurt. She groaned, shifted a little. Fuck, why did everything hurt so much? Her chest, sure, that made sense, but her stomach, her arms, her legs, her _head._ She felt utterly sick.

"Easy," came Moran's hoarse voice. A hand hovered over her shoulder, but didn't touch unless necessary. "You're alright, Lorna. Stay still."

"What the fuck did you guys _do_ to me, run me over with a mack truck?" she got out, though it was hard. She felt like she was on heroin withdrawal and the flu and had been punched in several different places.

He withdrew his hand when it became clear she wasn't moving. "Things got complicated," he said quietly, eyeing the tangle of tubes going into and out of her at various locations. "But you're fine now." It was the second time he'd said something of the sort, probably because it had been his mantra since the surgery. He stood. "I need to tell them you're awake," he explained quietly. "I'll be right back.

She didn't say anything in response, just concentrating on breathing through the pain, though judging by the tube up her nose, it wasn't a big deal. She didn't try to lift her head to get a better idea of what was happening to her torso. But she got the feeling she was hooked up onto a lot of machines.

He returned a few minutes later with a relieved-looking Shelby. "Ms. Harrison. Good to see you awake," he said brightly, walking over. "How are you feeling?" He started glancing over the readouts on the screens beside her. Moran returned to his chair, rubbing absently at the rough beard he hadn't bothered to shave.

"Awful," she muttered, a little resentfully. She was still confused. "What _happened?"_

Shelby sighed, and turned to her, apparently satisfied with what he saw on the displays. "The pod had another defense mechanism- a spring-loaded blade, of sorts. It went off when our surgeon was inspecting the device, and almost cut through her hand. It would have killed you, if it hadn't hit her first. It was aimed at your heart." He paused for a moment there, letting her absorb. "While we were trying to get her free, a good deal of her blood entered your system. You had a hemolytic transfusion reaction- in short, your body started fighting against the foreign blood, which made your hemoglobin levels skyrocket and your blood pressure dropped rapidly. Your body responded by triggering massive clotting all over your system to attempt to stop what it perceived as blood loss. We call this disseminated intravascular coagulation, and it's why you're so sore." He glanced at his clipboard, and at the display again. "But that has all been dealt with. Your body is fine in that respect. As for your illness... We're still working on a solution. But for now, I want you resting. You've been unconscious for nearly four days. Your body is trying to recover."

"God, really?" She groaned, lifting a heavy hand to rub her crusty eyes. Four days? Yeah, she could believe that. She felt like she'd been crushed under a rock until ten minutes before she'd woken. "How's Jim?"

Shelby's gaze flickered to Moran, who nodded his tired approval. "He started exhibiting similar symptoms to yours fifty-two hours ago," Shelby admitted. "We're discussing options."

She nodded, tired of speaking. It was so much effort. She hurt so _much._

Shelby glanced at Moran again, then said softly "We could try more effective paink-"

The haggard-looking Moran was on his feet in a second, moving with surprising speed. He grabbed the smaller man by the back of his collar like a wayward kitten, opened the door to the hall, and chucked the specialist out into it. He slammed the door behind him, then took a slow breath and deflated slightly again, walking back to his seat. He pushed a hand through his hair. It was an odd color, not quite his usual blond and patchy in places. He'd done his best to dye it two days ago, and it had gone rather awry, but he didn't feel like dealing with the streaks of silver that had appeared at his temples. He leaned his elbows onto his knees. "Sorry. He's been recommending opiates for days. I've been recommending he shut up."

"Why? Aren't my addiction issues on my records?" She sighed, looking over at him. She frowned a little. "What's up with your hair?"

"They are," he sighed. "But apparently he believes that small quantities would dull the pain without triggering your addiction. Which is idiotic, but I've been putting up with it because he's useful." He ignored the hair question.

She didn't have the damn energy to bother to pursue a question he wouldn't answer. So she just shook her head a little, heaving as big of a breath as she could manage, with the pain and the tubes and the stitches. "Doesn't he know that alcohol addiction can be triggered by a few drops, even after ten years? Idiot fucker. Heroin is way worse."

"I know that. And you know that. But he seems to be convinced. I don't care. He's the only person we have who has a chance of figuring out this..." he waved a hand over her. "Whatever the fuck this is. I've made it clear that if he does anything to bother you, I will kill him. You're fine."

"Okay," she rasped, letting her eyes close. Fuck she was exhausted. And she'd already been unconscious 4 days.

"Get some sleep," he suggested quietly. "I... may not be here when you wake up. But I'll do my best."

She frowned a little. "Where will you be, then?"

"Running the network," he said tiredly. "Jim reinstated me as his second, and with you and him out of commission, I'm the only one holding the reins."

"Jeez. Well, congratulations and good luck, I guess," she snorted, rubbing her eyes.

"Yeah, thanks," he said sarcastically. "Enjoy your sleep, you lazy arse. You're stealing all of mine." He leaned in, kissed her forehead, and then stood, heading for the door.

She watched him go, a small pang in her chest, and then she closed her eyes and passed out hard.

Moran waited for the elevator doors to close before wilting slightly, leaning against the lift wall and reaching up to rub at his eyes. He needed to shower, shave, and sleep, but the Network was on autopilot at the moment, which was a horrid idea.

He stepped out of the elevator and headed for Jim's office at a zombie-like pace but stopped when he saw the woman leaning against the wall outside. He straightened immediately, sharpening, his hand drifting for his gun. "Adler. What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"Moriarty rang for me. I thought it best if I didn't drag my feet," she said, giving Moran a once over with a critical eye. "Didn't he _tell_ you? Things must be more chaotic than I thought."

"They're fine," he said gruffly, scanning into the office and motioning her in behind him. "Take a seat," he said, walking around to Jim's chair and grabbing his own laptop from where it sat central. He flicked it open and logged into the security servers, pulling up the background checks and sorting by date. There at the top was Adler's. He sighed, looking through it. His eyes kept blurring, and he had to rub them to focus. "What the fuck were you doing in _Siberia?_ "

"I was managing a problem in the grifting department when shit hit the fan," she said, examining her blood-red painted nails. "It took me to Siberia. When I got wind of the coup, I thought it might be better to wait out the worst of it where I was... _Inaccessible."_

He sighed. "Not a bad move," he admitted, putting the laptop aside. "What did Jim hire you for, precisely?"

"That time?" She asked archly, eyebrows raised again. She wasn't ever in the business of making things easy. "Jim hired me because you were presumably rotting in some coffin, and dear old Harrison was required to take over your post. Ooh, and she _was_ a mess. _So_ touching..."

His gun was in his hand and aimed at her with surprising speed, but his expression was casual. "I want to be clear as we are starting out," he said quietly. "I am exhausted. I haven't slept properly in more than a week. The only two people in the world who _aren't_ on my shit list are currently down in the infirmary, and I have precisely _zero_ time or patience for bullshit. If you decide to continue being unhelpful, I will shoot you now, and save myself the trouble. I don't have any problem with that, and honestly, Jim is a little too occupied to get pissed at me for it."

She raised her hands in surrender, looking tense and a little intimidated, but still somehow poised. "Fine, Moran, be that way. Jim hired me for the same reason as he did then. There aren't enough hands around to help. So he hired a pair of unquestionably discreet ones."

He nodded a little, lowering the gun but keeping it in hand, resting on the table. He didn't feel bad about pulling it, though perhaps he should. His patience had evaporated off a long time ago. "Fine. We are short staffed, I can't deny that." He glanced at his laptop and clicked a few times, before scanning his thumb and painstakingly entering a long password one-handed, cursing under his breath when he mistyped the first try and had to enter it again. "There. I've given you access to our current reports and overviews. Do some reading. There's an office free for you two floors up. J34. Your number has been sent out to the departments. You are officially on call. Congratulations." He stood. "Focus on familiarizing yourself with our situation. Contact me immediately if any situations arise. I'll be in the infirmary getting some sleep." He motioned toward the door with his gun casually. "You're dismissed."

She looked like she wanted to roll her eyes but was too in tune with her sense of self-preservation to allow it, and instead just nodded and stood, making her way to the door without any fuss.

He watched her go, and when the door closed he collapsed back into Jim's chair slowly, putting his hand over his eyes and taking a slow, shaky breath. He felt overwhelming... _relief_.

He dismissed the feeling a moment later, disgusted with himself. He was a soldier. A sniper. The best there was. He could have carried on on his own as long as was needed.

Now, though, the too-short-by-far cot in the infirmary sounded like the most wonderful place in the world. He stood again, exited the office and locked it carefully, and headed for the lift. Maybe now he could get a solid five or six hours in.

* * *

Lorna woke up again an indeterminate amount of time later. She could see a clock on the wall, but she'd never read the time before she'd passed out, so it meant nothing to her. If it was correct, it was late at night. Impossible to tell, in this room, but a couple of the lamps in the corners of the room had been turned off. She shifted a little, uncomfortably, and caught a glimpse of Sebastian, seemingly asleep on his cot. He looked far too big for it. The door handle clicked, and she looked over as it opened, revealing Vince. He looked just as haggard as Sebastian.

Armetti stepped in and closed the door very quietly behind him, turning to look at Lorna. He seemed surprised to see her awake, but then offered her a tired smile and walked over, sitting down in Sebastian's chair. "How are you feeling?" he asked, voice soft.

"Like shit," she said back, even quieter. It was easier to whisper. Required less effort. And she didn't want to rob Sebastian of sleep, no matter how unlikely it was that he wouldn't wake up to the soft sound of voices. "I don't know what day it is anymore... You don't look so hot either."

He shrugged. "And you somehow look as beautiful as ever." He reached out to take her hand in his. "We're working. As best we can. We will solve this," he said firmly. "You'll be fine."

She gave him a wan smile. "Thanks," she said quietly. She'd had the flu, once, while she was with Vince. He'd waited on her hand and foot for a week. Then it had seemed appealing. Now?

"Has anything happened, while I was out?"

He sighed, sat back a little, but his hand remained around hers. "Adler is here. Moriarty brought her in to assist Moran," he said softly. "It's Tuesday, by the way. Five days after your surgery."

"Fuck, really?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes with the hand plugged into the IV and heart monitor. "Jesus. I hate her. But if it takes some of the strain off Sebastian, whatever. I'll take it." She glanced down at his still form, at the other end of the room.

"Mm..." was Armetti's response. He sounded less than thrilled. There was silence for a bit. "I'm... I was... glad to hear he was alive. You must have been thrilled," he said softly.

She looked back at him, eyes a little softer than before, and she gave him a kind of rueful smile. "Yes and no. Not the best way to find out. But I was still... relieved."

He nodded, squeezing her hand. "You love him." His voice was neutral, but he had never been good at hiding his emotions from her.

She sighed, looking away from him, her eyebrows drawing together slightly. "I thought we talked about this in New York, Vince... I have for years. That didn't change."

"New _York_ changed," he insisted. "We had that conversation, but I turn that night in that room over and over in my head. You were... _Ethereal_. A primal hunter, a goddess, with the power of life and death and the bridge between clenched in your hands. And after you finished with that woman, you turned to me... It was like we had never been apart."

She looked down towards Sebastian again, worried that he was hearing all of this. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have in front of him. But she wasn't going to risk waking him up just to deal with this. She closed her eyes for a second, taking a breath, then opened them again and looked at Armetti. "That was what you asked for, Vince. You asked for it to be like it was, in the old days," she said steadily, though some deep, dark, forgotten part of her was hurting. Couldn't he move on? "I gave you that much. But that was all it was. It will never happen again. Now that I've committed to some.. some warped version of _monogamy,_ I won't betray it."

He dropped her hand, sitting back slowly. "Right," he said stiffly. "How silly of me." He took a slow breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them, they were sad, but he was smiling. "You always have been such an artist as a grifter. I shouldn't have let myself get carried away. My apologies."

"I'm sorry," she said, voice soft, a frown on her face. "I'm sorry I can't give you what you need from me. But, Jesus, Vince... Even if I don't die in this bed, you've got to get over me. It's been nearly a decade since I left New York the first time. I don't want you... _usable_ to me. Easily manipulated. I'm your weak point like nothing else. You would give away _everything_ for me. Hate me, if you have to, but there are few people in the world I'm tired of yanking around, and you're one of them. I'm sick of hurting you, Vince. You've done too much for me."

He pushed a hand through his hair, and shook his head a little. "I'm sorry, Lorna," he said quietly. "I can't do that. I don't even wish I could. But I'll do my best to keep it from affecting you." He reached out and took her hand again, pressing it to his lips gently.

Moran's cot squeaked as the sniper shifted, and Armetti looked over. "I should go," he said, looking back to Lorna. He stood.

She nodded, tucking her cold hands under the covers. "Alright. I'll see you around, Vince."

He turned for the door, and then hesitated. When he turned back, his expression was conflicted. "Lorna... If he ever..." He glances at the sleeping Moran, and then back to her. "...dies, again... I hope you will consider me as an alternative to suicide?"

Something in her chest clenched hard at that suggestion, a resounding, disbelieving _NO._

Nothing, nobody, could fill the void Moran left behind. Certainly not Armetti. A man she'd never truly loved.

"Sure, Vince," she said, lips twitching up a little. A passable lie.

He studied her face a little, then nodded just slightly, and left without another word.

The door clicked shut, and Moran waited less than a second before he let go of the laughter that he had been suffocating himself to contain.

"Jesus," he managed, wheezing, a few seconds later. "It's a goddamned soap opera."

She let out a mildly exasperated sigh. She was too tired to find anything amusing, let alone this. She wasn't surprised he was up. "Shut up, Moran," she said wearily, rubbing at her closed eyes.

"I mean, did he just quote Humperdink in earnest seriousness?" he muttered to himself, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Eventually the chuckles calmed. It was mostly the exhaustion anyway. He raised his head and looked over at her. "You alright?"

She opened her eyes just enough to give him a look, which went from him to the machines all around her, and then closed her eyes again. "I don't know," she said, sarcastically.

"Not what I meant," he snorted. He walked over, considering her, then reached out and very gently nudged her arm with his hand. "Budge over. My bed fucking sucks."

She scoffed a little - he would have about as much room on this bed - but moved over nonetheless, unable to pass up the warm comfort of him beside her. She didn't answer his question, or say anything. She didn't know what to tell him. It hurt, somehow, severing that one last fail-safe, that one last safety line to a permanent harbor. And any reminder, any implication of his death stung like nothing else. Now that she'd experienced that feeling, it was the thing she feared most in the world.

He climbed into the bed, very carefully putting an arm around her and tucking her close against his chest for the first time in more than a week. He took a slow breath, savoring the feeling. He'd missed her. And some part of him was afraid he wouldn't be able to do this much longer.

She never got over how soothing it was to be tucked up against him, the feeling of safety settling deep in her chest. She sighed, leaned into him, and sank into a doze.

He lay there for a few minutes, appreciating the moment, but it wasn't too long before he fell asleep, as well, resting well for the first time since this had all begun.

* * *

She woke up to Shelby standing very awkwardly over them, a folder in his hands. He cleared his throat, obviously unsure how to treat her when she was snuggled up to the most dangerous person on base. "I have news."

* * *

Playlist: Florence + The Machine - The End Of Love

A rare song for Armetti


	112. Immediate Consequences

Moran woke as the man spoke, jolting up and ready to fight before he realized who it was. Shelby had gone white, but cleared his throat. "Speak," Moran said after a moment, motioning impatiently for the man to continue.

Shelby managed to gather himself enough to nod, and opened up his folder. "It's not viral or bacterial. It's some type of parasite. From what I've gathered, it's likely been bio-engineered. It's been so difficult to spot until now because it's probably been reproducing in one of her organs. Most likely her liver. It's only just now entered her bloodstream."

Moran closed his eyes, taking a slow breath. _Perfect. Because her liver needs_ more _stress._

He opened his eyes, and met Shelby's gaze. "How do we fight it?"

"Medication. I'm currently testing samples of her blood with different medications, to see if any of them work. If they don't, we'll need to come up with our own," Shelby sighed, and Lorna sighed too, rubbing her eyes. _Great. Parasites. Gross._

He nodded just a little. "Let me know the instant you need anything. I'll get it as quickly as I can. Is it possible to test whether the same thing is affecting Moriarty? I wouldn't put it past the person who did this to use two separate sources of illness."

"I'm doing more invasive blood tests as we speak, to see if there are traces of it in his blood yet, if he does have it. But without a liver sample it's difficult to diagnose," he said.

He nodded a little, and stood out of bed, rubbing his face. "I'll be in Moriarty's office. The moment you have anything, call me. Keep me updated."

"Yes of course," the doctor nodded, stepping back to give Moran room. Lorna was a little dismayed that he was getting up. Her space heater was leaving.

"If that's all..." Moran said, glancing at the specialist as he pulled on his jacket.

"Yes, that's all," Shelby nodded, ducking his head as he stepped out of the way. "I'll keep you updated."

He nodded, and glanced at Lorna one more time, before heading out the door. He needed to shower, shave, change clothes, and eat. Then he would relieve Adler.

He left and she shut her eyes, ignoring Shelby. She didn't want to think about anything. She didn't want anything to be real.

* * *

He got the call almost ten hours later. He had been trying to work, but mostly he'd been talking himself into staying in Jim's office and not going down to sit beside Lorna again.

 _You're the only one steering this ship. You need to get work done._

But the call interrupted that. He barely listened to ten seconds of the flustered Shelby before he hung up and ran for the stairs.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded as he stormed into the infirmary less than a minute later.

"Nothing's _happened,_ she just became unresponsive, for seemingly no reason," Shelby said, frustrated and close to stammering, not looking up from the medical chart in his hands, which was freshly printed. "She fell asleep and now she's not waking up. I can only assume the parasite has moved to her brain. What it's _doing_ there, I can't say. It won't show up on a brain scan. For fuck's sake, the only way they diagnose cerebral malaria is through blood smears," he huffed, running a hand through his hair.

"Well then what the hell are you standing around talking to me for?" Moran snarled. "Go! Figure out a fucking cure!"

Shelby didn't even bother to respond, still not looking up from his clipboard as he turned on his heel and headed for the lab. He was too busy to be scared of Moran.

He didn't linger, heading immediately for Lorna's room. He stopped short at the door to see Armetti standing beside her bed. "What the hell are you doing here, Corleone?"

"That's not funny," he said, eyes remaining on Lorna's face. God, she was beautiful. "I imagine I'm here for the same reasons you are."

"I'm not here because I'm stalking her, so I'd have to disagree. Get out, Armetti. She wouldn't want you here." He walked over to put a firm hand on the slimmer man's shoulder.

He stepped out from the other man's grip, eyes landing hard on Moran's face. "I'm not stalking her, Moran. I have just as much a right to be here as you do. Just because she _prefers you_ doesn't mean she loathes me," he snapped. "And don't touch me, please. I'm fairly certain I promised her the last time she was here I wouldn't fuck with you, and I'd _hate_ to break a promise."

"Oh yes, I remember that," Moran sneered, straightening a bit to lord his height over the other man. "Lorna, dearest," he paraphrased in a whimsical voice, pressing his hand over his heart. "If your beloved Moran should perish, I do hope you would consider _me_ an alternative to suicide- I mean really, Vince, Humperdink?" He laughed.

Vince grit his teeth, his hands curling into fists at his side. "You think I could have said that to her in any other form without her being disgusted? Sometimes the only way to win with her is to quote a movie she likes. Oh, but I guess _you_ don't have that problem. She's too busy being _abused_ by you to think for herself. Your relationship is _sick."_

He stiffened, nostrils flaring, the amusement draining out of his eyes. "And why is that, Vince? Because I'm not mooning after her despite her clearly worded attempts to ward me off?"

He let out a humorless laugh. "No, because until recently you could see the scar of where you tried to _slit her throat,"_ he hissed, still pretending amusement, and looking a little deranged because of it. "Because you used her, threatened her, said whatever you wanted to her, and she would still go crawling back. I try to respect her choices - oh my _God,_ do I try - but staying with you? Developing a twisted addiction to the shit you do to her? I don't approve."

He smiled again, then. "Well guess what, Vincey-boy? No one gives a fucking sparrow fart about your _approval_ , _least_ of all Lorna. Which is what makes you angry, isn't it. It's not that I rough her up, it's that _she doesn't care_ ," he snorted, shoving a finger roughly into Armetti's chest with a sneer. "No matter how much _worse_ I seem than you, no matter how _good_ you are, she always thinks _I'm_ better. And you, in your religious little world, you can't accept that she's wrong about anything, can you?"

Armetti smacked his hand away belligerently, fury on his face. "Of _COURSE_ I can, you piss-ant! She's wrong about _you,"_ he snarled, poking a finger right back at Moran, pushing into his chest. "I don't _care_ what she thinks of me. I'm fucking _selfless_ like that. I care that you'd fucking kill her if it meant saving your own skin!"

His expression darkened when Armetti hit him away, his fist clenching, but he bared his teeth in a rough impression of a smile at the man's accusations. "I have done things that your stunted little mind can't fathom to keep her safe. What have you done, hm? Cried into your coffee? Jacked off to a box of tampons she left behind a decade ago?"

"Oh, _things,_ okay, now I'm convinced," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure they weren't very far out of your way. What, did you stab her _only a little?_ Hm? Just admit you don't love her, Moran. You're _shit_ at pretending."

He tensed, ready to attack, but then he really smiled. "It doesn't matter if I do or don't," he said, voice oily with content. "I don't give a fuck if you believe me. The point is she never loved you like she loves me, Corleone. And she never will. She thinks you're pathetic."

He grit his teeth harder, jaw muscles jumping. "I _know,_ fucktard," he snarled, pushing Sebastian again, the fury in his chest egging him on, "I _KNOW_ she loves you more. It _hurts,_ but I can _fucking accept that._ What I _can't_ accept is you taking fucking _ADVANTAGE_ of her. You're scum, and you don't deserve her. _Anyone_ would be better than you."

He caught Armetti's hand this time, gripping it painfully tight. "Watch what you touch, little man," he whispered. "Maybe for you, but she likes me best. I could do anything I damn well pleased. Maybe I will, just because of this conversation, Vince..." He was steaming, and he wanted the man in front of him to suffer. "Maybe I'll give her a nice black eye for you to admire, since you seem to think that's all I'm good for. Would you like that, Vince, baby? Maybe some bruised ribs, a chipped tooth or two? She can tell you she fell down some stairs."

There was one advantage that Vincent Armetti had in the combat world, and that was the fact that he had been born ambidextrous, and had been trained to use it.

He didn't say anything else, too enraged to speak, but his free hand swung around his back and yanked out a carefully concealed knife, which came back around to his front in an upward slanting slash, aiming for Moran's wrist.

He saw the flash of the blade and was already moving, dropping Armetti's hand and twisting out of the way of the knife. He hadn't gotten around to getting a gun again now that he was reinstated, but it only took an instant for him to grab a pair of medical shears off of the small desk in the room, countering with the sharpened steel.

Vince swore and caught the back end of the shears with his knife, and attempted to flick them out of Moran's hands.

He was surprised by the man's skill, the sheers wrenching in his hand, but he didn't waste time on surprise, stepping back and evaluating again. There was someone at the door, sounding alarmed, but their words didn't penetrate the thickened air between the two men as Moran adjusted his grip on the shears, slipping his fingers through the handle for a better grasp as he stepped in again, trying to get outside of Armetti's knife arm so that he could get a clear shot at his neck.

Vince switched hands as Moran looked for an opening, cutting off one avenue of approach and then purposely opening another while the other man still didn't have a full grasp on his skill. He took another wild slash, in the process opening up a hole in his guard at his left leg. _Take the bait, you son of a bitch._

Moran watched the other man carefully. He didn't seem very used to this sort of combat, which was where the sniper had the advantage. The gangster slashed at him again, and overreached. Moran snarled, stepping in and driving the shears deep into the man's soft thigh and ripping outward, feeling muscles part.

Armetti let out a sound that could only be described as a yowl, but still kept his head even as his leg buckled, hand latching onto to Moran's wrist, the knife hacked wildly at it, and the finger in the way fell between them.

His hand exploded in pain, and he knew immediately that he had made an idiotic error. He didn't focus on it, though, even as his hand fumbled the shears. Armetti was suddenly below him, and the agony in his hand told him exactly where the knife was. His knee came driving up hard, colliding with the other man's temple, and would have come again, had the only voice that he obeyed above all else broke through the fury.

Jim's voice was livid as he roared, " _Stop. This. Now."_

Moran froze, then shoved Armetti hard, giving himself time to take enough steps back that any further aggression would be clearly the initiative of the other man. He looked down at his hand, trying to assess the damage, and his stomach dropped.

 _No_...

"What the _fuck is this,"_ Jim snarled, taking a couple of steps into the room, a very nervous nurse rolling his IV stand behind him. Armetti was curled up on the floor.

"A disagreement, sir," Moran said tonelessly, his eyes flickering to Lorna to ensure none of her medical equipment was disturbed, then to Armetti, bleeding, on the floor. There, next to him on the tile, was his _fucking finger._

Jim snorted, observing the amount of blood presently in the room, eyes disinterested until they landed on Moran. On his hand. He grit his teeth. "I'll discipline you once you've received medical attention. Doctors, please."

He nodded mutely, walking forward to pick his finger up off the ground and resisting the urge to kick the prone man savagely in his wound. He wasn't going to forget this.

The knife had caught his finger just above the second knuckle, and he examined the two-inch severed digit for just a moment. His trigger finger.

He walked over to the gathered crowd of medical personnel, and held up the stump. "Whoever is going to be reattaching this had better get their ass in gear."

One of the surgeons stepped forward. Not the one whose hand had been caught- word was that it would be months before she could practice again, if she ever could- but her male counterpart. "Sir... It's inadvisable to reattach in a situation where only one-"

"I don't care," Moran said, voice surprisingly calm. "It's going back on. _Now."_

Nobody seemed willing to argue with the bleeding mountain of a man in front of them. They just exchanged wide-eyed looks and then the surgeon gave a rather tense, uncertain nod, and pulled a box of gauze out of his pocket, and got to work. Jim watched from a few feet away, his mind racing, analyzing scenarios, outcomes, and the odds of success for the surgery. It wasn't good.

Moran walked with them as they lead him to a back room with a small surgery table for dealing with smaller injuries. The anesthesiologist said something about numbing the area and restricting nerve response, he watched the needle enter his skin, and slowly everything below the elbow went numb. His chest relaxed as the pain eased, and he watched as one group started identifying blood vessels and nerves in his detached finger, and the other started cleaning and preparing the stump on his hand. Despite himself, the pressure and prodding of his finger stump turned his stomach, and he turned his mind quickly to other things. Harrison. How Shelby was doing with his research... He would send someone to ask, but was worried about interrupting the specialist's workflow and wasting precious minutes of his time.

Jim only stuck around long enough to direct someone to take care of Armetti's injury before he stepped out into the hallway and threw up, purposely (if childishly) aiming for the shoes of the nurse who had followed him around with the IV stand. Then he decided to go lie back down again.


	113. Remedy

Shelby was sweating in the lab. He'd turned up the heat in the room, out of the chance that it would speed up the reactions on the slides in front of him. He'd already determined that as long as he didn't directly inject the stuff into his veins, it would be difficult for him to be infected.

* * *

Two hours later, Moran watched as the surgeon finished wrapping the last of the bulky bandages around his finger, which kept it completely immobile. He listened carefully, for once, to the aftercare instructions. That finger was his life. He needed it back.

He thanked the staff quietly as he stood, earning a wave of confused, fearful glances, but didn't bother explaining, just walked out into the hall. He felt sick, weak, and his arm was still numb, but he knew he shouldn't- _couldn't_ \- delay this further. He raised his right hand, caught himself just in time, and lowered it again, knocking with his left hand on Jim's door.

"Come in," Jim said, just short of weakly. Moran's surgery was done with, then.

He opened the door awkwardly, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. He took a moment to evaluate the man on the bed.

 _Fuck. We need to fix this._

Then he walked over quietly. "You said you wanted to speak to me after I'd received medical attention, sir."

Jim snorted, looking over the man. "I did. I want to know why the _hell_ you picked a fight with Armetti. Of all the people here, he was the third most loyal, because of how he moons over Harrison. And now you've lost the use of your most important finger, and he'll have to use a cane for the rest of his life. What. The _fuck."_

He grit his teeth, and took a slow breath, trying to decide how best to answer. Finally he settled on "I became emotional, sir. It negatively impacted my judgement. I apologize."

Jim let out a short laugh, rubbing his eyes. "At least you're fucking honest, I suppose," he snorted, shaking his head. "Normally, I'd threaten you with punishment similar to what just happened to you, but I'm stuck in this infernal bed and you've had a big enough loss that you'll suffer without my aid."

He swallowed back the urge to say something sarcastic, and just nodded a little. "Shelby is working on figuring out a cure as we speak, sir," he said, shifting the subject. "With any luck, you'll be back to normal in a few days."

"Shelby sent me an update while you were in surgery. He said he thinks he's close. He's managed temporary paralyzation of the parasite. Once he can get it to stick, it will be easy to flush out," Jim informed him. The subject change hadn't been well done.

He nodded a little, then took a slow breath. "Sir... You need to hire a replacement bodyguard," he said finally, stiffly. "I can function administratively, but at least for the time being I am incapable of defending you to an acceptable capacity."

"What's Armetti's second's name? Wilkins or something? If you approve her, I'll take her," he said, his tone much less happy than it had been a minute ago.

He nodded just slightly, feeling completely vile. "She's capable, sir. I'll inform her of the change. Will that be all?"

"Yeah, that will be all," Jim replied just short of snide, flicking his hand dismissively. He'd already been mad. Now?

He walked out of the room, and closed the door softly. Then, with equal silence, he made his way to Lorna's room, closing the door behind him and sitting beside her bed. He didn't know what to feel. He was exhausted, in pain, furious... But underneath all of that was something he hadn't felt in a long time- if he had ever felt it.

He felt defeated.

* * *

Shelby came into Harrison's room 24 hours later, triumphant. "I have medication that should work," he said, without waiting for anything.

Moran looked up from where he'd been dozing in his chair, and it took him a moment to process what he'd said. "Are there risks?"

"For once, no," he said, grinning. "I've had plenty of her blood to test it with. Her blood reacts normally with it. If for some reason the medication doesn't work, which it should, no harm done."

"Do it," he said immediately, sitting forward, head swimming a little with the sudden movement, an effect of the painkillers they'd put him on. "Now."

He nodded, stepping forward to the IV and finding the valve to plug the solution in, and did so with satisfaction.

He watched quietly, waiting for a change with baited breath. "How long should it take to see a change, do you think?" he asked quietly.

"Considering she's in a coma, it's hard to say. We'll monitor the number of parasites in her blood as time passes, but I wouldn't expect her to wake up for at _least_ 12 hours, and that's a generous estimate."

He sat back slowly, disappointed, but nodded. "And the soonest that we'll know if it was effective?" he pressed tiredly.

"Three to six hours, most likely," he replied, slipping his hands into his coat pockets.

He nodded just a little, eyes on the thin, pale woman in the bed. "Any word on whether Moriarty has the same parasite?"

"It's definitely similar; I have someone trying to figure out right now if they're exactly the same. If they're not, we'll need to try and keep on our toes." Shelby kept all thoughts on the relationship between the two other people in the room stuffed in a back drawer in his mind.

He nodded just slightly, and then stood. "I need to go deal with the network. Let me know the _instant_ you know anything more."

"Of course," Shelby nodded, and let the ex-sniper exit the room before he followed, and went his own way.


	114. Giving With One Hand

Lorna woke up, and was groggy and confused. Where was she? What was happening? What were these machines making noises about? She muttered something unintelligible and shifted, looking around with blurry eyes.

Moran watched her stir, his breathing purposefully slow and steady to keep his heartrate down, despite the fact that he felt like the organ was in his throat. Shelby had texted him a half an hour ago that Lorna was stirring, almost a full day after the specialist had administered the cure. He reached out awkwardly with his left hand now to take her right in his, gripping it gently as her eyes flickered open, confused.

"Hey there..." He said quietly.

They landed on him and had trouble focusing, but she knew his voice. "Hi," she said, with difficulty. Her throat burned from disuse. "What... What's going on?"

"You're getting better, that's what's happening," he said with a small smile. "Shelby found a cure." He gripped her hand a little at that. "Take it easy. You're going to feel rough."

"How... How long was I _out?"_ She muttered, blinking and managing to clear her eyes up a little, but they were still shockingly uncooperative.

"About forty hours," he said softly. "It could have been a lot longer. We got lucky." He watched her blinking, and glanced at Shelby, who was waiting quietly by the door, ready to intervene if anything went wrong. "Everything seem alright?"

"Yeah, I just feel confused. And bad. Gross," she muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

"What kind of gross?" he pressed. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It wouldn't be unlike Mycroft at all for something else to happen now.

"I don't know, just... Gross," she muttered, shrugging a little. "I can't describe it. A lot of shit has happened to me."

He glanced at Shelby, who was looking over the screens connected to her. The specialist nodded just a little. "Well, your vitals are looking good, and you're awake, which is good, I'm told."

Shelby spoke up for the first time, watching the woman blink a few more times. "How is your eyesight, Ms. Harrison?"

"Kinda fuzzy," she replied, blinking again. "Why, is this not normal? Is something wrong with it?"

"It's fine," he assured her gently. "Not unexpected. It will clear up. The fact that you're communicating clearly is a very good sign. I'm just going to ask a few questions to assess how you're doing. Can you tell me what four times twelve is?"

"Uh... forty-eight, I think?" she frowned, looking unsure. "I'm not really great at math, that's probably not the best line of questioning to see if I'm okay..."

He smiled. "That's correct. And it's alright, just need to trigger that portion of your brain." He started in on a list of quiet questions, most of which Harrison answered easily, and nodded his satisfaction. "Excellent. Right now I'm not seeing any signs of lasting brain damage, and her vitals seem fine. I'll leave the two of you alone. Call me if you need anything. Ms. Harrison, there's a bowl of ice chips beside your bed. Perhaps you can try a few of those if you're feeling up to it. I'd like to see how you do with actual food and water."

"Yeah, sure..." she muttered distractedly. Her eyes were on Sebastian, now that her vision was slowly coming together. He looked... different. Slightly unhappy, beneath the surface. Had something happened to Jim, while she was out?

He took his leave. Sebastian waited for the door to close before turning his attention back to Lorna. His bandaged hand was tucked inside his jacket. "It's good to have you back, you asshole. Don't ever scare me like that again." But he was smiling.

"Hey, not like I had a choice in the matter," she retorted, rolling her eyes a little. It didn't make her nauseous, which was a nice change. "What about you? What's wrong, you don't seem happy."

He shook his head. "It's fine. Let's focus on you. Ice chips, for example." He released her hand and grabbed the cup, passing it her way. "Take it slow at first."

She nodded, taking it and tilting a few chips into her mouth, and crunching them up dutifully. She didn't have the energy to question him further.

He watched her carefully, but she genuinely seemed to be improving. He was relieved. "I should go let Jim know you're awake," he said after a minute. "That the treatment worked. I'll be right back." He stood, arm still tucked away, and headed for the door and Jim's room.

She nodded and watched him go, then closed her eyes to rest.

He knocked on Jim's door quietly, half hoping the man was asleep. He hadn't gone to see Jim since his debriefing after the accident.

Jim was awake, however. "Come in, Moran."

He took a slow breath, then squared his jaw and opened the door, stepping inside. "Harrison is recovering, sir," he said immediately.

"Good," he said immediately, looking very ill himself. "How soon are they planning on taking this blasted pod out of my chest?"

He sighed, walking forward. "I have the bomb squad dismantling Harrison's device and learning everything that they can, but it's been slow. Holmes wasn't looking to make it easy. There's supposed to be a report on my desk by this afternoon."

"At least that's something," he muttered, somewhat impatiently. "I'm bored of being in bed."

He nodded just slightly. "We'll fix this as quickly as we can without endangering your life. If you like I can bring you your laptop and anything else you would like, if you would prefer to work."

"Yes, I would prefer it, so long as the doctors don't give me that _look,"_ he said irritably. "You know the one."

He smirked a little. "I'll warn them that the _look_ will be rewarded in kind. Anything else?"

"No, it's nothing you'll allow me to have," Jim shook his head. "I'm sure you're dying to go back to Harrison."

He stiffened just slightly. "I may not be able to guard you currently, sir, but you're still my primary concern," he said levelly.

Jim gave him a level stare. "You threw away your position and ability because you got emotional about that woman. I suggest you make it worth it."

His eyes flickered, then, and for a moment there was fury. For just that moment, he considered how easy it would be to kill Jim. Lying there, weak and immobile, near death... he could smother the man and no one would be the wiser. He could step into control of the network just like that.

It flashed across his mind in a heartbeat, more images than actual comprehensive thought. Still, he shoved it aside almost immediately, and took a slow breath. "It was not my intention for that to be the outcome, sir, and that never would have been my conscious choice. I'll endeavor to fix it as quickly as I can."

"I know that you didn't do it purposely. You're not an idiot. But it's what happened. Which makes you _kind_ of an idiot," Jim snorted. "Don't get worked up. I'm angry enough. I don't really want to see your maimed mug right now."

"Of course, sir," he said softly. He tilted his head just slightly, a hint of deference. "I'll leave you be."

Jim didn't say anything in response, just waved his hand and returned his attention to his thoughts.

He stepped out, closing the door behind him. He knew he should go back to Harrison, but now that she was in the clear, he found he wanted to be anywhere else. Instead, he left the infirmary, and headed for the lift and the gun range.

* * *

Two hours later, he had emptied more clips than he could count into the target at the end of the range. The place was empty, had been since he had ordered everyone out after his first round had ended up half off of the target completely. Now he was exhausted, furious, and looking at a sixty-something-th spread that looked just as bad as the first.

He emptied the next clip in just seconds, letting out a roar of frustration that echoed around the empty range for long seconds after he'd fallen silent. He set the gun aside with a hand that shook slightly with fatigue, and sat slowly on the ground, taking slow, even breaths, his eyes red.

* * *

Lorna didn't know how much time passed before the door opened again. Oh. Another nurse. Great.

The woman peered in nervously, carefully, seeming to relax just slightly once she realized Lorna was alone. She laughed a little and stepped in all the way. "I brought you juice, Ms. Harrison. If this goes well we can try applesauce," she said, walking over and offering the woman a small bottle of orange juice.

"Great, something that doesn't taste like vomit," she said, though wasn't able to really work much tone into it. "Give it here."

"Right, sorry," she tittered, opening the bottle and handing it over. "I'm a bit nervous after everything."

She raised her eyebrows. "After everything? It seems like it would be fairly quiet, with the two of us bedridden."

"Three," she corrected absently. "Armetti won't be up and about for a long while. A month, at least, Mark was saying."

Her brows furrowed. "What? What the fuck happened to Vince?"

The woman looked stricken. "No one has- I... No offense, ma'am, but I shouldn't... it's not my place." The woman was pale now, and made a quick exit, letting out a startled shriek as she almost bumped into Moran on his way in. She scurried away and he stepped in, closing the door behind him, hand beneath his jacket again.

"Hey. Trying juice, I see?"

She didn't answer, just looked at him suspiciously. "What happened, Moran?"

He walked over to sit next to her, and considered lying, but how long did he expect to run this game? "Armetti and I had a fight."

She pressed her lips together and let out a breath through her nose. "About what, and how bad?"

"What else? And... Not great. He'll use a cane for the rest of his life." He opened and closed his left hand.

Her jaw tensed and released twice in succession and she nodded. "Okay. Are you alright? Vince isn't exactly a harmless little lamb."

He hesitated, swallowed, and cleared his throat. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then slowly withdrew his bandaged hand from his coat.

She reached out to gently take his heavily wrapped hand, frowning in confusion. A broken finger? Why would he refuse to tell her about that? But... Why would it be wrapped in gauze like that?

Her eyes hardened as her grip softened, teeth clenching. "I'll kill him," she said dangerously, eyes on his hand. "I'll fucking kill him for this."

He didn't respond, just pulled his hand back, tucking it away again. He felt sick, and he couldn't meet her gaze, his eyes on the monitors across the bed like they were suddenly the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

She reached for his other hand, needing to touch him, make sure he was alright. He wasn't, she could already tell. But still. "I'm so sorry, Sebastian," she said, voice gentler. "Can I do anything?"

He didn't quite grip her hand back. "No," he said quietly. Then he closed his eyes. _She's almost just died, idiot. Get a hold of yourself._

"No," he said again in a different tone, opening his eyes again and gripping her hand and giving her a faint smile. "It's fine. I'll adapt. I always do."

She gave him a rather worried smile in return but was relieved enough that he was smiling at all. When he'd temporarily lost his eyesight, it had been bad. But losing his trigger finger? Oh, Lord.

He straightened up a little and then sighed. "I should go. I have a meeting with the bomb squad to discuss removing Jim's implant. And you need to rest."

She nodded, squeezing his hand and reluctantly letting him go. "Alright. Hurry back."

He nodded, stood, turned to leave, and then turned back. "I'm no longer Jim's bodyguard," he said after a small silence. "Armetti's second has taken over the position. I'm just administrative now." He shifted. "Just thought you should know."

She nodded, face only vaguely sympathetic. She knew if she appeared to care too much it would only sting him. She didn't want that. "I'm sorry," was all she said, softly.

He shrugged. "I don't care. It's just.. You're third in command, you should know." He left without another word, walking through the infirmary quickly, not changing path for anyone. He entered the lift and punched the button for Jim's floor, taking a slow breath as the doors closed.

Lorna took a deep breath after he was gone, struggling to hold back tears. Vince had taken the second most important thing from him. She was going to give him _hell_ for this.

* * *

Armetti eyed Lorna's door apprehensively. He shifted slightly in the wheelchair, wincing and trying to get his weight off of his injured thigh. Then he reached out and knocked.


	115. Separate, But Better Together

Who the hell bothered to knock on her door at this point? "Come in," she said, frowning.

He took another breath, then reached out and opened the door, pushing it open and wheeling himself in rather ungracefully. "Hello," he said hesitantly, trying to feel out where she was in her emotions toward him.

Her eyes were steel on him. "Who the hell do you think you are?" She snapped, fingers clenched in her bed sheets.

Right. Not good. "I came to apologize," he said, wheeling in a little further and closing the door behind him with a bit of an awkward shift and a wince.

She let out a strained breath. "You came to _what?"_

"Apologize," he said softly. "I understand why you're angry with me. I'm sorry for upsetting you."

She sat up, even though it really hurt. "You're _sorry?_ Oh, that's _funny."_

He looked at her worriedly. "Take it easy, please, you shouldn't be moving around so much." Then he raised his hands. "I'm not here to fight, Lorna. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

"What does that fucking mean?" She snapped, "What the fuck were you wrong about? I want _details."_

He grit his teeth a little, recoiling from her fury. "Everything happened quickly. Hotly. It was an explosion, Lorna. I just want you to know that I wasn't intentionally trying to hurt you. My actions were a result of passion. Not malice."

 _Passion._

That stung. He'd done this because of _her._

She exploded off the hospital cot and lunged at him, yanking a whole mess of machines with her with a cacophonous crash.

He let out a startled cry as she half-tackled, half-fell on top of him. He caught her, wild-eyed, as sensors screamed and a monitor fell and shattered.

She managed to punch him twice before the door slammed open and a pair of nurses came in, wide-eyed and shocked at what they saw, and pulled them apart, Lorna still screaming curses at him, and raking her nails down his cheek.

He fended her off, but went no further, still shocked, accepting the blows as they came and the gouges in his cheek like they weren't even there. He watched as she was hauled off of him, eyes wide, gasping in pain from where she had put pressure on his leg. "I'm sorry," was all he said. And then again. "I'm sorry, I am so sorry..."

Two nurses wrestled Lorna back onto the bed while another wheeled Armetti into the hall.

"Keep him _out of my room,"_ she snarled as she was pinned back down in bed, the orderlies hooking her back up to the machines, and then asking her to lie still so they could check her stitches, which hurt to high heaven, so she went mostly still, even if she was still stiff as a board.

* * *

Moran arrived just more than a minute later, his face a bit flushed from running down the stairs. He walked over, ignoring the nurses, and studied Harrison quietly. Then he met her gaze, eyes closed off, difficult to read, waiting.

Hers flitted up to his, and then back down, to the wall in front in her. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to worry you."

He glanced at the nurses, who were finishing up re-wrapping her torso, and flicked his hand. They left quickly. He waited for the door to close, and then sighed, and sat beside her on the bed, reaching out to push a hand through her hair gently. "You're alright?"

She closed her eyes briefly at his touch, then opened them to meet his. She nodded. "No permanent harm done. I'm okay."

He took a slow breath, shaking his head. "What happened?"

"He tried to apologize to me. And suggested that he was overtaken by passion," she said quietly, calmly.

He nodded just a little, and didn't bother commenting, just pushed his fingers through her dry, limp hair again. "Well, tackling him probably could have waited until a few more days after open heart surgery. Just saying."

She gave a quiet snort. "You're not wrong. It would have been nice if he'd waited a few days."

He rolled his eyes, but leaned in to kiss her forehead, resting his against hers a moment later. "Please just... focus on getting better. I'm tired of worrying about you."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, giving him an apologetic look. "I'll try. Promise."

"Good," he muttered, kissing her properly and then leaning back. He pushed a hand through his hair, smoothing it down. It was longer than he liked. He hadn't gotten a haircut since a few days after they'd gotten to Armetti's, and needed one. Half for the length, half to get rid of the off-color blond disguising the grey. "Get some rest."

"Okay," she murmured, smiling at him. She missed his company. His normal company. "Take care of yourself while I'm unable to."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm fine on my own, thank you very much," he snorted. "I'm not the one who almost died."

"Hey, you've had your turn plenty of times," she retorted, making a face at him. "You're not always the picture of health, believe it or not."

"Yeah, I'm aware," he said, a bit more bitterly than he intended. He shook it off quickly, gave her a fast smile to counter the tone, and stood. "Sleep. I'll talk to you later."

"Alright," she agreed, smiling softly. "I'll see you."

He left quickly, heading to Jim's room and knocking.

Jim was on his laptop, and he wasn't keen to be interrupted. "If it's not interesting, _go away."_

Moran rolled his eyes and stepped in. "Your surgery's tomorrow, sir."

Jim didn't look up, just picked up the smartphone by his side and held it up, shaking it. "I have a _phone,_ you know, in case you'd like to join me in the 21st Century. I don't need to be receiving cute little _calling cards_ like we're living in Victorian England," he rattled off, eyes only sliding away from the screen once he'd finished. "I suppose the bomb squad's finally got their act together, have they?"

"Yes, sir," he said a bit stiffly. "I apologize. I'll leave you be." He left without waiting to be dismissed, taking special care not to slam the door. The moment it was closed, however, he was ploughing through the infirmary, ignoring anyone in his way and sending at least one person who failed to move quickly enough tumbling. He ignored the lift and took the stairs, down the levels to the barren flat that Armetti had assigned him. He stepped in, and slammed the door so hard that it creaked in protest. He stood there for a moment, catching his breath, waiting, and then he let out a roar of rage and grabbed the shitty couch that was near the right wall and hurled it across the room, watching it crash with a satisfying explosion against the far wall.

The television was next, then the chair.

* * *

It was another week before they let Lorna get out of bed, and even then she was only stuck right down into a wheelchair, but she would take the limited mobility over none at all, as she had been starting to get a little stir crazy stuck in the same room for days on end. The staff seemed to think that this wasn't a big enough occasion to warrant calling down Moran, however, so she wheeled herself into the lift by herself, excited to be returning to a place with real furniture and non-fluorescent lighting. She texted him, after she'd leaned forward to hit the button for their floor.

 _I've got wheels. Do they have like a garden or something down here? I'm going back to the flat but I'm really starting to crave some fresh air. LH_

He got her text, but it took him a few minutes to respond. He'd needed to wash up. He took one last glance at the woman on the table- the one he had dissected after the surgery, more than two weeks ago. He'd had her frozen, and took her out to play, occasionally. It was nothing like fresh meat, but no one had struck his ire enough to justify the kill. Or, rather, to justify the kill to Jim, when they had such limited staff. _Plenty_ of people had annoyed him enough to justify the kill to himself, this week. Nearly all of them.

He admired the woman for another long moment, reaching out to trace his fingers along the lettering- his words- lovingly carved into her arms. He was working his way along her whole body, which he'd reassembled and sewn back together with the care of a mother making a quilt. The letters were much prettier than the ones on his own body, since he had the advantage of seeing, and a scalpel, and sanity (mostly).

He washed his hands, then picked his phone up off the table and texted her back. _On my way. I think there's grass on the training ground._

He returned his cadaver to the morgue freezer, and headed for the lift.

 _I'll meet you there, then? LH_

She returned to the flat to change her clothes, which was a five-minute process filled with much swearing and grinding of teeth, and when she finally collapsed back into the chair and took a deep breath, she was glad to be sitting.

He was waiting at the entrance to the training grounds when she rolled into view, and offered her a smile. "Hey there, wheels."

"Hey," she grinned, wheeling up closer to him, and looking up the extensive distance to his face. "You know they didn't even train me on how to use this thing? I've mowed down hundreds of passerby."

"I doubt that. That would require some mass. You probably bumped into them and left them wondering who let a butterfly in." He walked around and grabbed the handles of the chair and pushed her through the open door into the training arena.

"Oh, look, the pale imitation of sunlight," Lorna smirked as he rolled her in, but judging by the only slightly sad grass on the ground, the fresh breath she took in wasn't entirely imagined.

"You should have worn a bathing suit. You could get a tan," he said dryly, heading for a tree riddled with bullet holes, overshadowing a fairly lively stretch of grass. He locked the wheels beneath it, walking around to offer her a hand out. "Or should I just lift you out?"

"My legs are fine," she chuckled, and took his hand, letting him help her up. "What's the plan here? Rolling around in the grass or ravishing me against that, frankly, _abused_ tree? Because anything past some light petting I think my stitches might protest against."

He rolled his eyes, sitting down and pulling her gently into his lap. "No. I just wanted to relax." He wrapped his arms around her gently.

She settled back against him with a contented sigh, pleased to be back in the familiar and comforting (if very hard) embrace. She'd missed his contact. "It has occurred to me that we haven't fucked since you came back from the dead," she hummed conversationally, resting her head back against his shoulder. "When I'm better, I hope you know I expect there to be dents in the wall, if not physical bruising."

He hesitated, but then nodded. "Dents. Got it," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"Cool, we can ruin your flat and then do a walk of shame back to mine," she smirked to herself. She was a little pent up, energy-wise. When she spoke again, though, her voice was quieter. "How are you doing?"

"Let's just stick to your flat," he said absently, combing the fingers of his left hand through her hair. "I'm just happy to have you back."

"I'm happy to be back," she murmured, finding his other hand and resting hers on his.

He winced a little as his bandaged finger twinged under her touch, but didn't pull away. "Jim's recovering well."

"Good. It's time for us to be healthy again," she sighed. "How was his surgery?"

"Seamless," he said quietly, and then fell silent, eyes on the training hall. He could feel her warmth against her chest, and it was calming in a way that nothing else had been in a long time.

She snorted a little. "That's a nice change. I've really missed a little peace and quiet. And Jim being whole. Makes our lives easier."

"Sure," he said softly. "I'm looking forward to it." His voice was flat.

She shifted a little, glancing over her shoulder at him. He was very much not looking forward to that. But what the hell could she say? She sighed. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too." That, at least, was very much the truth. He felt marginally happy for the first time since Armetti had cut his finger off, just having her there.

"Can we get takeout in here?" She asked after a minute, curiously. "I'm kinda sick of jello."

"No," he said with a small chuckle. "They aren't risking security so you can have Chinese. But I can..." He trailed off, and then said "We can call the kitchen, have them make something. Jim does it all the time."

"That would be nice," she murmured, ignoring his slip. He wouldn't want to dwell on it. "Though I doubt they can do sushi."

"I doubt you would want to eat it if they could," he agreed, holding her a bit tighter.

She was happy to be held tighter. She craved it. She shut her eyes, sighing in contentment.

He tucked her under his chin, and tucked his knees up around her, closing his eyes. He took a slow breath, which stuck slightly in his aching chest. He pressed his lips together and took a slow breath through his nose, his eyes burning. It was _so good_ to have her here, to have her alive and safe. This was the lowest he had been since he had joined the army, but she was making it just a touch better, and that was all the difference.

She hoped that no one walked in on the training square, purely for their sake. If someone caught Moran during something as tender as this, _they_ would be tenderized, and badly. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he said softly. To his horror, his voice broke slightly, and he stiffened, before clearing his throat and just holding her closer. He hated this. _Hated_ how vulnerable and uncertain he felt.

Again, she didn't remark on it. It would have been pointless. Part of the reason they'd ever learned to live with one another was that they had learned how to let things go.

He was grateful she didn't comment, but some small part of him wished that she had. He wanted to keep this mess hidden, didn't want her seeing, but part of him... Part of him wanted her to come charging in and.. _fix_ this somehow. That was wishful thinking, though, and he didn't let it go far. He'd gone soft. Add that to the list of reasons he was no longer nearly the man he used to be.

She was silent for a few minutes longer before she spoke again. "Sebastian... I remember realizing I couldn't grift anymore. This is eating you up inside, isn't it?"

He had gotten out of the habit of being around a grifter. Thinking too loud could get you in trouble. He was quiet for a few moments, processing. It was his decision. He could blow her off, pretend everything was fine... or take the offered hand. He decided on something in the middle. "I wouldn't say it's been... ideal..."

She snorted. A hedge answer by him was as good as admitting it outright. "You can admit it to me, Seb. It's okay. I won't love you any less." Her voice was mostly gentle. "We'll learn how to deal with this."

He was quiet again, carefully choosing his words, putting them all in order before he spoke. "I don't have a point anymore," he said finally, voice low. "I can't shoot, I can't protect Jim, or you, I can't even fucking _cook_. Lately I haven't done a damned bit of thinking that has kept anyone or the network safe, I've just been playing the prisoner and waiting around with my thumb up my ass, going grey. And if I'm not being a lumpabout, I'm actively making things worse. I thought I had Jim's trust again but now I lost it along with my finger. I'm completely... pointless."

"You can't shoot, but that doesn't automatically mean you can't protect us anymore," she shook her head, "As head of security with a plethora of sniping experience under your belt, you know better than anyone how to protect us. Just because you can't shoot a gun as well as you used to doesn't mean your hand-to-hand or knife training went to shit, too. And that's not even getting started on the fact that you _still have another whole hand._ I broke my right hand a long time ago, while I was still figuring the world out, and I learned how to do everything with my left hand. It sucked, and took almost as long as it took for my hand to heal, but it was possible." She paused for a moment, debating what the effect of her last words would be. "And... Let's face it, Seb, without you around, Jim and I kinda fall apart. You're more than your aim."

He was about to object to all of that. Point out that there was a difference between learning to write and use a spoon left-handed, and relearning a skill that had taken him _years_ of constant practice to perfect. But that all got side-railed by her closing statement. He processed it for just a second, and felt the hair-trigger inside of him snap. He grit his teeth. "Fuck that," he growled. " _More than my aim._ What, I get to sit around being a trophy wife for you and Jim? 'Oh! Darling Sebby is alive, he brings me such happiness-'" He uncurled from around her slightly, heart picking up pace, trying to decide if he needed to get up and move. "I have spent the _entirety_ of my life making myself someone powerful, dangerous, someone to be feared, and if you think it's going to make me happy that you and Jim can get your rocks off over the fact that I'm still _breathing_ -"

"Whoa, whoa, hey," she said as he shifted under her, tensing up too and gritting her teeth a little when it hurt. "Seb, please, that's not what I meant. Yeah, okay, it's fantastic that you're alive, but if you weren't who you were, that wouldn't mean anything! We know you're deadly, and that hasn't changed! For fuck's sake, you've never even come at me with a gun. You haven't been a religious sniper in years. Watching over Jim took too much precedence. You _are_ more than your fucking aim. You're emotionally important to me, yeah, but you've kept me alive through not shooting way more often than not. You can cause just as much damage."

"For fuck's sake, no I can't!" he snarled. "Look at the past- what- year? Two years? You and Jim were in that _fucking_ maze, and then not two months later Ines has me- That's my _goddamned job_! Protecting you, protecting Jim, protecting myself so I can do the first two. And all I've done is fail, and fail, and fail a- _fucking_ -gain!" He did shift her off his lap now, carefully, but the instant he was free he leapt to his feet, needing to pace, to _move_. He was ranting now, words escaping him in a tirade. "I failed to keep the network secure. I failed to keep the two of you secure. Be it security, strategy, information, physical confrontation- And this-" He whirled on her, held up his bandaged hand accusingly, "Is just the icing on the _cunting cake._ I'm getting old. My body and mind are slowing down. You see this?" He grabbed a fistful of his badly-dyed hair. "I'm going fucking grey. Couldn't even fix _that_ right, but beside the point. The old Jim would have put me down like a dog years ago. And _should_ have, too, but you and him, in your _godforsaken sentimentality_ , are going to keep me puttering along no matter _how_ many times I prove my _utter incompetence_ , because it makes you _feel better_!"

She took his rant with a mostly blank face, the only expression on it in the form of her eyebrows, which were furrowed just a little. She kept herself sitting up by propping herself up with her hands behind her, ignoring how it stretched her chest. "It's not your fault that Jim is a blind idiot, sometimes," she said, when he'd finished, her voice slightly acidic. Not towards him, but towards Jim. "We were only in that maze because Jim fucking dismissed you. Because he had beef with me he wanted to settle in fucking public. Our misfortune is the result of fucking _geniuses,_ Moran, not your incompetence. You did so well for so long because Jim attracted people as smart as you and I. But what are we supposed to do against _Mycroft Holmes,_ or people like him? If Jim isn't as engaged in his own protection as you are, you can't account for everything that might happen. Jesus, Seb," she sighed, tilting her weight so she could rub her eyes. "What would putting you down do? What would that accomplish? You're irreplaceable. Even now."

"I'm not irreplaceable," he said, more quietly now. He felt tired. "No one is irreplaceable. I wasn't as good as I got when Jim first hired me, it took seasoning. But I'm not going to be around forever, and I _loathe_ the idea of withering away in mediocrity until some moron with a knife realizes I'm slipping."

"So what solution do you have instead?" She challenged, raising her eyebrows at him. "Say someone gets hired to replace you. If _you_ couldn't protect us against Holmes and his ilk, this greenhorn _could?_ And what if you feel like you're withering away in mediocrity? What are you gonna do about it? Are you going to kill yourself? Just sit around and let it happen? Of course you're fucking not. So what is it going to be?"

"I don't _know!_ " he half said, half shouted. "What the hell am I supposed to do, Lorna? I could start training a replacement, but Jim wouldn't allow that in a million fucking years, not after everything that just happened. He isn't going to want new blood anywhere _near_ him. So where does that leave me? Doomed to increasingly brutal failures? I mean, we're hiding in a hole in the ground while you and Jim play ding-dong-ditch with death! What _more_ can I _possibly_ fuck up?! I for one am not interested in finding out!"

"This isn't you, Sebastian," she said, shaking her head a little. "This is defeatist. You cannot possibly take responsibility for everything that's happened. You're the second most dangerous man I've ever met, after Jim, and even still you're only one person, and even still, you're only one player. Jim and Mycroft are queens, in a chess game, and we're pawns. Maybe, occasionally, we get upgraded to bishops, or rooks. But we're outclassed, and there's nothing we can do about it. We're here because Jim failed to take care of himself. You giving up? That's not going to help."

"I know it isn't!" He shot back angrily. Then, more quietly, "I know. I fucking _know_." He pressed his good hand to his face, rubbing his eyes. "I am just... so tired of getting fucked over and not being able to do anything about it. And then fucking _Armetti_ goes and takes the _one_ thing I have left. He killed me, Lorna. He fucking killed me. It's just a matter of time."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking away. "I know. I've always hated the feeling of helplessness, you know that. I'm sorry."

"Don't.. it's not..." He sighed, looking up at her, and then walked back over, lifting her gently back into his lap. "It isn't your fault. Don't apologize. I'm being an idiot. I'm just... tired."

She sighed as she leaned back against him, the tension released from the tight line down her chest. "I'm still sorry this happened. I wish I'd been awake. It wouldn't have happened."

"If you had been awake, we wouldn't have started it," he said with a small smirk. "It isn't your fault that we're idiots."

She rolled her eyes, snorting. "I know you wouldn't have started it if I'd been awake, that was my point. Fools. Can't leave you alone for a minute."

He smiled just a little, kissing the top of her head. "To be fair, I was provoked. He still has the nerve to exist in my presence."

She scoffed out a laugh. "I _told_ you you're bigger, that's not enough for you?"

He was quiet for a moment, then said, "He was standing there, watching over you, like he had some sort of... of claim to you," he said after a moment. "And I was already feeling like shit for letting this happen, and seeing him there, in my place... I told him to leave. He didn't." He traced a circling on her thigh with his thumb. "He thinks I abuse you. That you stay because you've got some sort of Stockholm syndrome or some shit. I didn't take that very well."

She sighed, hand settling on his arm, so she could touch him without disrupting his movements. "I didn't think he was that delusional," she murmured, a little troubled. "I should have seen it."

"I mean..." He was quiet for a moment. "I have tried to kill you."

" _Years_ ago," she scoffed, indignant. "That's not enough."

"I mean, to be fair," he said with a chuckle, "that usually is a dealbreaker." He kissed the top of her ear.

"You're lucky you're so hot and I'm so tolerant," she smirked, squeezing his wrist. " _So_ hot."

" _So_ lucky," he retorted, smirking. What the fuck _was_ it about this woman? Twenty minutes ago he'd been miserable. "I might have trashed my flat. So theoretically, once you're feeling up to it, a few more dents wouldn't make much different."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Jesus," she chuckled, "Well hey, it will stop us from needing to make our place less livable."

"See! Bright side," he said, kissing the side of her neck, now, just exploring, relishing the fact that she was alive and warm and recovering.

"Hmmm," she hummed, just relaxing back against him with her eyes closed, pretending that they were under a warm sun, and that she could hear birds. She'd missed his gentle touch. Every single one from Jim had been angry.

He smiled as she relaxed, his good hand shifting up to comb through her hair, his stubble- he hadn't bothered to shave in a few days- occasionally brushing against her skin as he traced curious paths with his lips, focusing just on that, trying to relax.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, just enjoying each other's company, but she didn't stiffen when she heard the door open and voices filter in. Sebastian would do that enough for the both of them.

He let out a soft groan, pressing his forehead to her neck. "Please let them fuck up enough for me to kill them," he muttered. "Please."

"I guess we'll see," she muttered, cracking her eyes open as a group of three walked out onto the grass, guns in their arms. They hadn't noticed them yet.

Moran raised his head to observe the three. They were security, that much was clear, though he didn't know their names offhand. He snorted softly. "Observant lot," he murmured, making no move to change position, waiting.

It took them a minute to finally spot them. When they did, they started laughing. "Look at the lovebirds, snuggling up in the training ground," the leader called out, waving his gun a little.

"Right, I think that counts," he said with a smirk. "Thoughts?"

"No, no, I want to hear what else they have to say," she smirked, as the group approached, obviously making crude jokes amongst themselves.

"Hey, buddy, you interested in sharin' or somethin'?" The second one asked, grinning at the two of them. Americans. Mostly unfamiliar.

Moran laughed then, feeling delight down in the recesses of his soul. _Christ... I'm going to have a fresh toy. Lovely._

"No, not really, but I'm sure she can make her own decisions. What do you think, luv, any interest in these upstanding citizens?" he asked, stepping around her name, enjoying the apparent anonymity provided by the idiocy of their assailants, at least for the time being.

"What, pick one of these lumps when I'm already wrapped up in this much muscle? No thanks," Lorna snorted, smirking up at the trio. They seemed to be beginning to grasp the severity of their mistake. The leader wasn't having any doubts, however.

"Then I guess you should'n'a taken up a spot out here, then, huh? Why don't the two of ya scram so we can actually use this patch of ground for what it's meant for?"

"Now, I'm looking at our odds, Harrison," Moran hummed, loud enough for the three to hear. "Three well-trained but _painfully_ idiotic security goons, one of whom hasn't had more than two weeks with his gun, judging by the way he's holding it-" the fellow on the left shifted slightly at that, looking more uncertain- "Versus you, freshly out of the infirmary, and me, injured as I am. I don't know about you, but I am _loving_ our odds..." he said, voice full of relish, giving the leader of the trio a cold smile.

"I might rip my stitches open but I could definitely put at least _one_ of them on the ground," she hummed in agreement, drumming her fingers rhythmically on her stomach. "And the other two I'd fend off with my razor-sharp tongue-slash-wit. I mean, in some alternate universe where you were struck by lightning and hadn't already taken care of them."

"Lightning underground," he said with a laugh. "You sure about that wit?"

The leader was clearly irritated that they weren't impressed with his bravado, but the other two were backing off. Moran shifted Lorna out of his lap and then stood, offering her a hand up. "You do not _know_ how much I've been wanting to kill someone this week," he said to her conversationally as the three took an instinctive step back when they saw his height.

The first man stepped forward again, hefting his gun a little more firmly. "Listen, faerie, I don't know who you are-"

"Oh, that's obvious, believe me," Moran said with a smirk, before grabbing the gun with his left hand and twisting it down harmlessly to the ground as the man fired in panic. His right elbow hit the man's temple like a pile-driver.

" _Oooh,"_ Lorna laughed as the man dropped like a sack of rocks, and the other two shouted, jumping back in surprise as the gun went off. They weren't going to fight at all - they were the type who fell apart once their leader was down. Lorna leaned back against the tree, and laughed as the first one broke rank and turned, stumbling as he began running away.

"Nah, not going t' chase him," Moran sighed, accent thicker now. He hefted the dropped man's gun, raised with his left hand, and prayed to his Irish ancestry that he didn't fuck this _one_ shot up. The report was simultaneous with the running man's collapse, and he allowed himself a small smile, despite the fact that it was clear he'd only hit the man's leg from the scream of pain and the way he started crawling away. Moran nodded in satisfaction, then eyed the other man, still standing there, gun in hand but not raised, looking uncertain.

"Now, you have two options. I'm perfectly content just killing _him_ ," he said, nodding to the man on the floor. "To be honest, he was the source of my annoyance. But as I recall, you had one or two nice little jabs in there, as well. So, you can have your go with me, and I'll kill you, or you can put your gun down, come over here, and I'll cut your ear off, and you can walk away."

The man looked paralyzed with uncertainty, and Lorna didn't blame him. Biting the bullet and allowing your ear to be cut off over the high risk of being killed? Difficult decision to make. "Oh, _fuck,"_ he muttered, seemingly to himself, and dropped the gun at his feet, and started muttering the swear in repetition under his breath as he approached.

"Good little lamb," Moran said with a smile. "Give us your knife, then." The man hesitated, then pulled the tactical knife from his belt, carefully handing it over handle first. Moran took it from him, and motioned to the ground. "Kneel, please, and be aware that if you try anything I will leave you so maimed your own mother wouldn't recognize you."

The man took a deep breath and then dropped to his knees. If he moved slowly, he would only lose his nerve. He was still swearing under his breath. He screwed his eyes shut, his fingers clenched in fists on his thighs. Lorna watched, with a grin on her face.

Moran walked up behind him, feet on either side of the man's legs. He reached down, cupping under the man's chin with a soft, almost lover-like touch, smirking as the man flinched. He pulled the man's head backward, bracing his head against his own thigh. He considered taking the man's nose for a moment, but decided that he didn't need to deviate and take the man's story from 'just but terrifying punishment' to 'unjust attack worthy of vengeance'. He preferred the network to have an air of fear, not disgruntlement.

"Which do you think, Lorna?" he asked, bandaged fingers caressing along the man's throat. He touched the cold blade to the man's left ear. "Left?" He switched sides. "Or right?"

"I think the left," she said conversationally, looking down to pick at her nails. "Just feels better, you know?"

The man whimpered.

"Mmm.." he hummed in agreement, turning the man's head to give himself a better angle, and putting the knife in place. "I must admit, he's a very resigned little sod," he said cheerfully, and, bracing the man's head, sliced upward.

The scream was the best thing he'd heard all week.

She laughed as the ear fell to the ground, smiling in pleasure at the red welling of blood from the sliced skin. She'd forgotten how much she liked blood outside of a hospital setting. "Well, he took that like a man, didn't he?" she chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest.

Moran nodded, smiling, and leaned over the shaking man to look at his name-badge. Karsky. "Alright, Karsky. Free to go. No, leave the ear, good boy, it isn't yours." He smiled as the man scrambled away. "Remember my face now, Karsky. I'm Sebastian Moran, that's Lorna Harrison. Second and third in command of Moriarty's network, in case you're still struggling." He considered the bloody knife, mouth watering, but he had no idea what sort of illnesses the man might have. "So perhaps show a bit of respect next time. Off you go. I need to kill your friend here."

Karsky managed a pained nod, reluctantly left the ear where it was, and got up for real, pressing a hand to the bloody side of his head, and walked away, beginning to cry. Lorna appraised the man at their feet, still unconscious. "How are we going to kill him?"

"An excellent question," he sighed, turning his attention away from Karsky and sitting beside the unconscious man on the ground. "I'd really love for him to be awake." He prodded the man in the septum with the knife, and he came to with a strangled cry of pain. " _There_ he is," Moran hummed, pressing the knife against the man's jugular. He went stock-still. "So. Thoughts?"

"I don't know," she hummed, sitting down beside him, tired of standing. That was a little too much exertion for her, sadly enough. "Hard to recreate my open heart surgery without a bonesaw or a lot of time... I'm certainly not strong enough to be wrenching open any ribcages today."

"Agreed," he hummed, planting a knee on the man's back as he started struggling, and pressing the knife a little more firmly into his neck. "Could nick an artery. Let him bleed out," he suggested.

"Please, my heart can only take so much strain right now," she shook her head, patting her chest gently. "Maybe a little less blood would be better."

He laughed, but acquiesced. "Right then, let's see... Knife up through the palate? Break his spine? Suffocate him?" The man let out a terrified moan.

"Ooh, I like the palate one," she nodded, eyes intent on the knife. "I've never seen that one before."

"Its pretty quick," he said, rolling the man onto his back.

"-sorry! Please don't kill-"

Moran rolled his eyes, handing Lorna the knife and using his good hand to press on either side of the man's jaw, forcing it open. The man let out a pleading scream. "Go ahead. Aim a bit back. Just right up into the brain."

She took the knife, aimed carefully, and then jammed it into place, feeling the crack of bone as the blade broke into the brain cavity, and the man gurgled. "You're right, that was quick."

He nodded, releasing his grip on the man now that it was no longer needed. Blood and oily neural fluid pooled in the man's mouth and spilled over. He smiled a little. " _Christ_ I've needed that."

"Yeah, you've looked like it," she chuckled. "There's a tension in your shoulders."

He snorted. "There's a tension in my everywhere." He reached out to pull the knife free.

"To be fair, you've never exactly been a relaxed person," she pointed out, shifting with a grunt to put herself back in her wheelchair. As nice as the grass felt, it wasn't very supportive. And it was messy down there. She'd like to avoid changing for as long as possible. "Also, you could probably make an innuendo out of that."

"Or several," he agreed, pushing the man's hair back affectionately. He stood. He'd call someone to bring the body to his cadaver room later. He wiped his hands on the grass, and stretched, walking over to her chair and starting to push her toward the exit. "I want Karsky for our side of the pond."

"How did I know that whole thing would endear him to you?" She laughed, glancing over her shoulder at him. "You like them able to endure a trial, don't you?"

"It's a useful trait," he said with a smirk. "You learn a lot about a person when you ruin them. It taught me a lot about you, when it was your turn."

"I don't know how good of an idea it is to bring that shit up, even now," she rolled her eyes with a small snort. It was far behind her, these days, with all that had happened to her, but they still were painful memories. "But as long as you've brought up - what did you end up learning about me?"

He raised an eyebrow, but waited until they were in the lift to speak. "I learned that you had metal to you, first of all. That you were capable of recovering from trauma and continuing to work in the interim, with the man who had screwed you over. That's a level of maturity that's necessary to survive in this situation. And you weren't afraid to confront me about the situation, either. A lot of little things. Your personality, mental faculties, responses to pressure..."

She chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. "Maturity... Meanwhile, you were only treating me like shit because you didn't know how to act around someone you had a crush on, like a little kid. It wasn't maturity, Sebastian. That was depression, denial, and survival."

He snorted. "Fuck off, Harrison, I was just starting to like you," he muttered, pushing them out into the hall and heading for her room.

She rolled her eyes, amused. "You're a better actor than I gave you credit for, then," she said as they rolled up to a stop in front of her door. She leaned up to press her thumb onto the scanner.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked with a smirk, pushing the door open and the chair inside.

"It's supposed to mean that you've acted like you more than _like_ me for quite a while now," she quipped, absentmindedly enjoying the sensation of being pushed around in the wheelchair. Moving without effort was always fun.

"That's because I'm an evil genius," he muttered, closing the door behind them and taking a slow breath. "Well, welcome home."

"Mmm, smells _not antiseptic,"_ she hummed, looking around fondly. It looked slightly more lived-in than when she had last left it. Now he'd probably been in here longer than she had.

He laughed. "I could get a spritzer of some, if it would make you more comfortable," he teased with a smirk, bringing her across the living room and offering her a hand up out of the chair and onto the couch.

"God, don't even _tease._ I _hate_ infirmaries and hospitals," she groaned as he helped transfer her to the sofa. "They're horrible."

"Uh-huh," he muttered, rolling his eyes and sitting next to her, pulling her against his side and digging out his phone, texting the kitchen about getting a meal delivered.

She shifted into a more comfortable position, nestled up against him with her head cushioned on his shoulder. She let the silence stand. She was still soaking him in.

He set his phone aside, turning to kiss the top of her head. "Good to have you back," he said softly.

"I'm glad to be back," she smiled. "Though I don't know what to do with my time now that I'm not consumed with sleeping."

"You could take up knitting," he said with a smirk, smoothing his hand up her side slowly.

"Why? I could just as easily do other things with my hands. That are less boring," she replied, raising her eyebrows at him suggestively, before cracking a smirk.

He laughed. "Been missing me, I take it?" he asked, lacing his fingers through hers.

"Nonstop," she confirmed, squeezing his hand. "Like, for months. Pretending I hated you particularly sucked."

"Yeah... that," he said quietly. "You were good at it. Sometimes I wish you weren't a grifter."

She squeezed his hand again, shifting up to press a kiss to his cheek, her chest clenching a little. "I'm sorry," she murmured, resting her jaw on his shoulder. "If we could go the rest of our lives without ever having to do that again, that would be nice."

"Very much agreed," he said softly. "It wasn't your fault. I did a lot worse to you these past few months. I deserved it."

She shrugged a little. "I don't know, really not that much happened to me while Ines had me. Yeah, I had to watch that little homemade porno like twenty times, and I was almost assaulted _again,_ but neither of those were you, really. Especially not the second. You weren't the one twisting the knife."

He gripped her a little tighter. "Let's just... talk about something else. You're back, you're alive, I'm alive... If you weren't recovering you'd be pinned to the wall already."

"If that isn't our mantra..." she mumbled, shaking her head a little and leaning into his warmth. "We should come up with some kind of queue in celebration. Or at least get a cake, you know?"

"What sort of queue?" he asked. "And I can text the kitchen for cake, if you would like cake. Might even be able to make it."

"Oh, you could definitely make cake. I'd help with anything that requires too much finesse," she smiled, then lifted her shoulders a little. "And I mean like our first queue, which you insisted didn't exist, if I recall."

He snorted in amusement. "Fine, we'll make cake. And another queue, if you like. What would you like to head it off with?"

"Hey, you're the one who's presumably only been laid the once the past four months," she snickered, running her thumb over the back of his hand. "I've been pretty sated. But if something strikes my fancy, I'll add it."

He laughed at that, sighing. "Well, pinning you to the wall is definitely up there. Always is. And Armetti's desk is right beneath it. I want to make a fucking _disaster._ " He drummed his fingers against her knuckles. "I want to spend a day with you with no clothes and a fuckton of massage oil..."

"Well, those all sound delightful," she said cheerfully. "I'm pretty certain I can make the second one happen. I would kill someone to make the third happen, though."

He chuckled. "I'll find a day. We'll do it." There was a knock on the door, and he stood slowly, grabbing a gun from the end table with his good hand and heading for the door, glancing at the security monitor. But it was just a caterer with their food. He still exercised caution, keeping the gun in hand and visible as he maneuvered the door open with his bad hand, and motioned the small woman to walk in and place the tray of food on the coffee table. She did so and then left in a hurry, eyes on the gun.

"Ooh, what did you order?" She asked, leaning forward as the smell of food wafted her way. "Smells good."

He secured the door and walked over, sitting beside her. "Steak, baked potatoes, and grilled vegetables. Seemed like a bit of celebration was in order," he said, uncovering the food and then heading over to her liquor cabinet. "How badly do you think one glass of scotch would fuck our livers up, with the painkillers and antibiotics?"

"One glass? I think we'll live," she chuckled, scooting forward and picking up one of the heavily loaded plates, her mouth watering heavily. "Especially me. Mine has seen worse."

"That's not exactly your strongest argument," he snorted, but grabbed the scotch anyway and went to find a couple of chilled glasses. He returned and poured them both a glass, before passing her one of the steaks and taking his own food.

"I guess the argument was that it's not going to be my liver that eventually gets me," she amended with a snort, before digging in voraciously. She'd been living off subpar infirmary food for days.

He dug into his own food with a vengeance. It had been something that had fallen to the wayside in the past weeks. The only time he really consciously sought out meals was when he realized lack of food was affecting his strength. Now, however, he was able to enjoy himself. The steak was hot, and perfect, melting over his tongue, and his hungry body informed him that the potato was the best thing he'd ever decided to consume. His leg was warm where it rested against Harrison's, and that made a fair bit of the difference.

She groaned as the steak touched her tongue. "Oh, fuck, I forgot how good meat is," she moaned, leaning her head back, eyes closed.

He laughed at her apparent ecstasy. "Agreed," he muttered, leaning down and nipping her exposed throat playfully before sitting back up and taking a sip of scotch.

She pushed him with her leg in retribution as she went back to eating, unable to even look at the scotch yet. Alcohol was good, but food was better.

They ate in silence for the next few minutes, and it wasn't until his plate was clean that he sat back, sipping his scotch, relaxing.

She sat back a few moments after he did and started on her scotch, looking thoroughly pleased. "Man, you really miss tasting things."

"Yeah. I'd imagine food is a whole new world after nearly a month on IV," he said with shake of his head. He slid his arm around her again, careful of his bandaged finger, and tucked her into his side again.

She hummed in agreement, resting her head on him in between sips of scotch. "You almost forget just how great eating is."

"Yes, well. With a little luck, you won't be deprived again anytime soon." He rubbed his thumb over her hip absently.

She nodded, taking a sip of her drink. She had been dry since they'd gotten back. Her choice, but it was a comfort to taste alcohol again. "Well, one thing all this made easier was withdrawal."

He laughed, shaking his head a little. "There you go. 'Harrison's two-step program to beating withdrawal. Step one: Almost die. Step two: don't.' You could do motivational tapes."

She scoffed a laugh. "Fucking hell, can you imagine? I'd be sued by someone who actually tried it."

"Let them. We'll pay off the judge and take their money," he snorted, smirking. "No mortal can touch us."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "We've been on television enough times, don't you think?"

"Oh, I don't know. You look pretty good on camera," he shot back, sipping his scotch and leaning back against the couch with a sigh of content, eyes on her, watching her.

She snorted, taking a sip of scotch. "Hey, I've never been on camera naked, unlike someone else in the room. I look fine on camera."

"Well, to be fair," he muttered, eyes narrowing, "That wasn't voluntarily. And really? Never, in your illustrious career of fucking demented millionaires and government playboys, has one taken a picture or film of you naked?"

"Why would I let them get away with that?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "That lowers my retail value."

He wrinkled his nose just slightly. "Don't say it like that," he muttered. "You're not... _retail._ "

She was surprised that bothered him. It was so rare her job did. As such, her answer was just a little delayed. "I used to be," was all she said, shrugging matter-of-factly.

"Not anymore," he returned in a matching tone, his grip on her tightening just a little. The unspoken message was clear. _You're mine._

Her heart did something funny in her chest and she had to take a small breath, smiling lopsidedly, softly at him. "Well, it's nice to know you think so."

He didn't respond, just set his empty glass on the table- He'd meant it. _One_ glass, for both of them- and shifting on the couch, turning her with him, until he was lying down with her half-beside, half-on top of him. He moved slowly so that she could shift in a way that didn't hurt her or spill her drink, kicking off his shoes in the process and smiling just slightly, smugly, once she was curled up next to him.

She finished off her drink before he pulled her completely horizontal so she could snuggle without interruption, nestling against his side like a puzzle piece.

He took her glass and set it aside for her, before bringing his hand back to comb through her hair gently, just once, before settling on her shoulder. His injured hand was propped carefully at her waist.

She lay there quietly enjoying his company for a little while, and then dozed off into a light sleep. She felt too safe not to.

He watched her sleep, watched the slow rise and fall of her back. She looked almost healthy, with the flush of the scotch on her cheeks. She was too thin- _again_ , honestly, would she ever be at a healthy weight for more than a few months at a time?- but he was still a little on the light side as well. They could work on that together. He just needed her here, safe with him.

* * *

Playlist: Bryce Fox - Horns


	116. An Answer To A Question I Didn't Ask

If there was one thing that being on a constant painkillers and anaesthesia did, it was put her out deep. No dreams, no nightmares. No reliving waking up during surgery.

She woke with a small start, breath huffing out of her chest.

He was dozing, but woke when she tensed. The lack of sunlight threw off any sense of time, but he had the feeling a few hours had passed, and a quick glance at the clock on the blu-ray player confirmed his theory. He stretched, groaning slightly and wincing as he realized his right arm and hand had fallen asleep. He shifted it carefully, trying to walk the line between waking it up and tugging on his stitches.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?" She mumbled, lifting a hand to rub her eyes.

"Yes," he said, but didn't sound annoyed. He grunted, stretching. "You alright?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Just a nightmare. You know how I am."

He frowned, gripping her just a little tighter. "Which just makes me more concerned," he teased, eyes studying her carefully.

She laughed weakly. "You rather I lie?"

"No. How can I help?" He tilted his head just slightly.

"Just being here is enough," she murmured, resting her head on his chest, and listened to his familiar heartbeat.

He sighed, lifting his left hand and cupping the back of her head, thumb rubbing circles. "Someday, things will go our way for more than a month at a time."

She smirked. "That would be fucking nice. Maybe if we wish, really, _really_ hard for it, it will happen."

"Mm.. good luck with that," he snorted. "So. What do you feel like doing?"

She was silent for a minute. "I don't know," she said eventually. "I feel like I've forgotten how to act completely natural. India helped, and it's not so close anymore, but I spent a year living like an animal. I don't have a concept of relaxing."

He was quiet for a bit, then nodded. "I understand that feeling, believe me," he said softly. "Doesn't really go away but you learn to live with it. It's why soldiers coming home have such a difficult time adjusting."

"Oh. I have PTSD. That makes a lot of sense," she muttered, furrowing her brows a little. "Not sure why that didn't occur to me until just now."

He smirked a little. "It's oddly difficult to self-diagnose. But yes. From what you're telling me I'd say that's the case. Jim too."

"Jim. I feel like I haven't seen him in years," she snorted. "How is he doing?"

He snorted derisively. "Volatilely," he muttered. "Half the time he's a bomb waiting to go off, the other half he's a bomb waiting to go off that wants to bond with me. I don't know what the fuck to do with him."

"That just sounds like Jim, to be completely honest," she muttered, looking up at him. "But maybe that's just me."

"I'm used to the bomb, not the bonding," he sighed. "I _hugged_ him. He _let_ me."

"What the hell?" She sputtered, drawing back to look at him to see if he was serious. "You're _joking."_

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I was exhausted, and... not in a good place. I asked him to trust my word and reinstate me. He did, I got carried away, and..." He shrugged.

"Jesus Christ... Our lives are so fucking weird," she sighed, looking up at the ceiling in defeat.

He nodded just a little. "Yeah, that was when things stopped making sense entirely."

She dragged a hand over her face. "What do we even do from here?"

He laughed. "I have no clue. No _fucking_ clue. I've been asking myself that for a year." He was quiet for a bit, then said in a calmer voice, "We get you back to a point where you can function normally. I learn to use my left hand. We try to help Jim as best we can.. and we take back the network. What else can we do?"

"Jesus," she said again. "Yeah, you're right. There's nothing else for us."

He nodded just a little. "We certainly can't just hole up in here for eternity." He shifted from under her then, sitting up with a groan and stretching. "Alright. I should... do something."

"Is that a something in particular, or just a something?" She raised her eyebrows, looking up at him from the sofa cushions. "Because I'm fairly sure we're entering the time of evening when there's no one very active with work."

"Just... _something_ ," he growled, smoothing his hair down again, agitated. "I don't know."

She reached out to brush her fingers along his back, in an attempt to soothe him a little. "You restless?"

"You aren't?" He glanced at her incredulously. "It's been _months_ we've been down here. Or close, anyways. _Months_ Ines has had the network. All thanks to Mycroft. Fucking Mycroft. You'd think they were working together."

"Has it been that long? Fuck, Sebastian, I've been unconscious or close to it for a fucking while. I haven't built up the energy to be restless yet. Yeah, this all fucking sucks, but," she shrugged, "At the present I'm too tired to deal with it."

He glanced at her, and then sighed, and sat down. "I know." He glanced at the bottle of scotch for a moment, then stood again and grabbed it, walking over to the liquor cabinet purposefully and putting it away, shutting the door firmly with his right hand and then gritting his teeth for a moment when his finger protested the jarring. He turned sharply and headed for the kitchen. "I'm making a fucking cake."

She raised her eyebrows a little. "Okay," she said, in a vaguely surprised tone. "Let me know if you want me to help out."

He didn't respond, just started pulling out what he knew he needed, one-handed. He wasn't a baker, so he found a recipe on his phone after a few minutes of painstaking typing with the wrong thumb, and eventually started measuring and pouring, ripping open with his teeth what he couldn't get at with one hand. He was trying, he was, to be the relaxed solidity that Lorna needed right now, but now that she was well and Jim was out of the woods and he was fed, he was suddenly full of energy. He needed to fix this. To get the network back, to have his _life_ back. But, barring that, he would make a fucking cake. He had a few hours before he needed to relieve Adler.

She listened to him bang around for a few minutes before she got up and followed him in, hefting herself onto an unused bit of counter with a strained huff. She didn't say anything, but she wasn't really keen on having him out of her sight. Sometimes she still needed a reminder that he was alive.

He glanced over at her as she struggled up onto the counter, but let her do it on her own, before handing her the wet mix bowl and two eggs. Cracking those with one hand was a challenge he wasn't looking for at the moment. He went back to measuring dry ingredients.

She balanced the bowl on her thighs and cracked the eggs into it. Miraculously, she didn't get any on her hands - and good thing, too, because the sink was across the floor, and that would have been inconvenient. When he turned for the bowl, she handed it off again.

He started combining things, and mixing the batter, throwing in a few handfuls of chocolate chips and then pouring it into a pan. He glanced at the oven, then swore under his breath, walking over to turn it on and get it preheating.

"What kind of cake are you making, anyway?" She said after a few more minutes of silence only broken up by the sounds of preparing ingredients.

"I don't know. Chocolate..." he trailed off, looking for a word, then waved his bad hand dismissively. "...fuckery. Maybe with mint."

She chuckled. "I like chocolate fuckery with mint. Vastly prefer it over those newfangled peanut butter snicker what-have-you cakes. Blech."

He smirked. "Really? I would have figured you would be all for the increase of chocolate and peanut butter in the cake market." He walked over to put the cake pan in the oven.

"I can deal with salty or spicy nuts, but I _hate_ sweet nuts," she said, bitterly. "It's disgusting. Don't do that."

He laughed. "Fine. Whatever you say. No sweet nuts." His lips twitched in a smirk as he said it.

"What?" She asked reproachfully, at his smirk. "What is it?"

"You like salty nuts," he said, snickering openly now.

She gave an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Oh my god, seriously? Gross, dude."

He laughed, and walked back over, settling his hips between her legs. "You love it."

She rolled her eyes again, but she was smiling. "Again, with the me putting up with your nonsense in a way no one else could," she smirked, resting her hands on his waist, taut muscle firm under the material.

"I hate to inform you of this, but men have been making ball jokes for as long as men have had balls," he retorted, planting his hands carefully on either side of her.

"And?" She asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Do you see me putting up with any of those other men...?"

"I'm sure Vince made a ball joke or two... and Malcolm..." He leaned in and kissed under her jaw, still smirking. "And Sherrinford..."

"Vince knew I'd vacate his bed for a week if he got too juvenile," she replied, fingers sliding around his side to the indent of his spine, tracing upwards. "Malcolm was too scared to try. And Ford? I can't remember. Too much time spent drunk or high."

He arched his back slightly under her touch, and hummed, nipping the corner of her jaw. "I guess I'm just pretty then."

"That you are," she murmured, nails scraping over his skin gently. "And you can throw me around, which I like... and that _voice_ you get, when you really want something..."

"What," he asked, letting his voice get a bit softer, a bit deeper, his good hand finding her knee near his hip and sliding up her thigh. "This one?" He kissed her ear.

"That's the one," she confirmed, voice nearly a whisper. Her fingers tightened on his back. "As much as I hate to say it... neither of us are really in the condition for this..."

"I disagree," he said softly, his hand still on her thigh, his voice still quiet, though more smooth than it usually was. "I can't pin you against the wall, yet, true... but I'll bet that if I was as gentle with you as I am with my rifle trigger, we could get somewhere, at least..."

She felt her cheeks flush with anticipation in a way they hadn't in months. There wasn't - had never been - any winding up with Jim. One moment they were talking normally and the next moment was a flurry of action and movement. There was no suspense. She no longer had any resistance to it. "You make a compelling case," she murmured, swallowing a little. "But how can you guarantee I won't rip my stitches?"

"Lorna, love," he said very softly, lips brushing her ear, watching the goosebumps rise on her neck with amusement. "One of us has been a professional woman of the night for years, versed in all the many sordid arts of fucking, and it certainly isn't me. If I can resist my natural urge to pin you against the nearest surface and ravage you until you forget your own name... I'm sure you can keep enough control to leave your stitches intact. What do you think?"

She shivered slightly, cheeks and neck warm. _God_ had she missed him. Everything about him. "Well," she whispered, a small smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. "If you have such faith in me..."

"Always do," he retorted, smiling. "Not here, though. Too much acrobatics and hard surfaces for our current health. Bed or couch, your call."

"Sofa is less comfortable. The bed, please," she smirked, hands pushing up his shirt a little to touch his bare skin. "How much time do we have before the cake burns?"

He considered carrying her, then sighed and stepped back to help her down one-handed instead. His smile returned at her question. "A half hour or so. But fuck the cake. If it burns I'll make another one."

"Yeah, alright," she laughed, shifting her hand to lace her fingers through his. "Now please, take me to bed."

He gave her a hand getting off the counter, and headed for their room, her hand in his. It felt odd, not carrying her, but there was no way he could put that much pressure on his hand, and he couldn't carry her one-handed without unusual pressure on her chest. They took it slowly, and he ended up shifting his arm around her to lend her a bit of support. She was still getting her strength back. But it was fine, and he enjoyed having her tucked close beside him. She belonged there.

He let her climb onto the bed, but as soon as she was there he leaned in to kiss her again, more firmly this time, helping her lay back as he did so.

She slid her fingers into his oddly-colored hair (whatever he had done to it, she didn't know, but she didn't care right now) and kissed him back solidly, her other hand resting against his chest, still lazy.

He leaned his weight on his good hand, shifting over her a bit more, his tongue tracing against her lips. He tucked his bad hand against his stomach, out of the way for now, so that he wouldn't accidentally hit his finger on something and kill the mood.

She had missed this. It wasn't often they held each other this softly. Tenderly, even. And that was because they both enjoyed it another way. But sometimes it was necessary, and even wanted, and this was one of those times. She trailed her fingers down his chest as she let her tongue slip past her lips to brush his, leaving her teeth out of it, for the moment.

He hummed softly, pressing his torso into her wandering hand just slightly, his tongue sliding against hers. He matched her pace, slow and gentle, his nose brushing against hers occasionally.

They had a few more minutes of soft kissing before she spoke, a small smirk on her face. "We always do this."

"What is 'this'?" he asked, pausing a moment just a breath away, nose brushing against hers.

"We fuck for the first time again before one or both of us is completely whole," she chuckled, running her hand through his hair and resting it at the nape of his neck. "So we always have to be careful with each other."

"Well, you're gorgeous, so it's mostly your fault," he snorted, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath, enjoying her touch. "And it could be a long time before both of us are completely whole again." _Or never_. "And I don't intend to wait that long to fuck you."

"I'm not complaining," she smirked, leaning up a little to nip his lip. "Just noting a pattern."

He smirked back, and rolled his eyes. "You and your damned patterns are delaying the end of months of celibacy," he retorted.

She scoffed, giving him a skeptical look. "Months, huh?"

He tensed slightly. "On your part, yes," he said a touch gruffly.

She rolled her eyes. "Sebastian, are you forgetting that I've been fucking Jim for months, or did somebody hit you on the head while I was sick?"

"Oh. Right." He rolled off to the side, then, looking up at the ceiling with a bit of a wan smirk. "Been doing my best to forget, to be honest."

"Fuck, I'm sorry," she sighed, rubbing her eyes and then looking over at him. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure you had more fun fucking him solo than I did."

He raised an eyebrow, and glanced over at her. "I don't care that you fucked. Well, I do, but not _because_ you fucked. It's just one more reminder of everything with Jim going to hell." He shook his head and sat up. "Never mind. Forget about it." He smirked and reached out to undo the button of her trousers.

She laughed, lifting her hips up to help him get her out of her trousers. "Boy, once you get started there's just no bringing you to a halt. Remember when my father interrupted us?"

"Yes. Quite vividly," he said with a dark smirk. But he paused. "Up to you," he said, hands on her trousers but not pulling them lower. "If you want to just relax and eat cake, that's okay too.

She just shook her head, reached out to grab the front of his shirt, and pulled him close enough that she could kiss him again, eyes falling shut.

He kissed her back, resting his weight on his right elbow so that his left hand could play through her hair. Then he pulled away, smirking just slightly, and kissed her neck, before sitting back again and shifting down a little, and pulling off her trousers. "Now. Taking it slow." He slid his good hand up her bare leg again, and then took hold of the waistband of her knickers, pulling them down and working them over her feet with her help, tossing them aside as well. He smiled up to her, small but eager, a rare expression, and shifted onto his belly, bending to kiss the inside of her thigh. "Don't damage yourself," he warned, shifting her right thigh onto his shoulder and back with his good hand, before bending down to run his tongue over her.

She moaned softly, hand falling to his hair, her breath shuddering as warmth curled up into her belly. She kept her tension in her hand and her chest completely relaxed, to preserve her stitches.

He worked slowly, doing his best to be somewhat predictable so that she wouldn't tense or shift in surprise. His tongue traced slowly up and down her hot lips, circling her clit, before he shifted down again and circled her entrance. Every movement was precise, careful. The last thing he wanted to do right now was hurt her.

She let out soft breaths and moans as he slowly built her up, her fingers tightening in his hair whenever he did something she particularly liked, and even that she did carefully, nearly overcome with the sensation, but holding just enough control to keep from hurting herself.

He smoothed his hands over her thighs as her hand tightened in his hair, pushing his tongue into her slowly and rolling it against her, smiling a little. He closed his eyes, focusing on the noises she was making and the way she felt against his tongue.

It wasn't very long before he was leading her to a soft, gentle crescendo, her breath stuttering and her thighs tightening around him a little. She muttered a swear under her breath when she was able, hands relaxing in his hair.

He pulled away, kissing the inside of her thigh gently before looking up at her, admiring the way her skin was flushed, the way her breasts rose and fell with her breathing.

"Christ, I almost forgot how good you are at that," she breathed, only just realizing that she was still half dressed, a hand touching her shirt absently. "I'm positively winded."

He laughed, crawling up beside her and flopping down, bouncing just slightly on the mattress. "No stamina," he teased, smirking.

"Just breathing shallowly, I think," she chuckled, rolling carefully onto her side to face him, hand going to rest on his shirt. "Why are you still wearing this?"

"I was preoccupied. Plus, we match," he retorted, plucking her top between his fingers. "I'll trade you."

"Deal," she smirked, shifting to sit up and begin unbuttoning her shirt. It required less stretching than a normal t-shirt. "I'll take care of mine so a wrong movement doesn't ruin the mood."

"Likewise," he snorted, sitting up and starting to unbutton his shirt a bit awkwardly with his left hand.

She got done with hers in enough time to lean over and help with his, open shirt completely giving up on covering her chest. Which was alright, considering the situation and the fact that she had a petty smugness about the quality of her assets in comparison to Ines'. As soon as his shirt was open her fingers seeked out bare skin, sliding across his abdomen, her other hand pushing the shirt off his shoulders and then leaving it for him to get over his hands.

He pulled his left hand free and then worked the sleeve carefully over his right. He took a slow breath under her touch, smiling a little. He set his shirt aside and turned his attention back to her, reaching out to trace his good fingers over her collarbone. He kept a good distance from her bandages, eyes tightening just slightly at the bruising all over her chest. Still, he kept his touch light enough to be pleasant.

His touch brought back recollections of their past relationship, when he had pressed hard into bruises just to watch her squirm. Now, his touch made her eyes soften, her heart swell. She let her shirt fall off her shoulders as she leaned forward to kiss him again, lips soft against his, the only throwback to the past the way her nails rasped against his skin.

He smiled just a little at the gentle scrape of her fingers, but his own touch remained light. He had had enough of her hurting for the time being. The sadist in him was happy to hurt anyone _but_ her constantly, and _her_ most of the time, but he had spent too much time thinking she was going to die to enjoy her in pain at the moment.

He pushed her shirt further down her arms, nipping her lip playfully, just enjoying how she tasted, how she felt, the vibrancy of her pulse under his fingers when they found her wrists.

She shifted to get closer to him, still kissing him, her hands sliding up to cradle his jaw as she straddled his waist and settled into his lap, carefully leaning against him, tired of there being space between them.

He wrapped his arms around her, applying no pressure, rubbing his hands up her back slowly. He pulled away for air, smiling and rolling his hips up against hers just a little. "This would have worked better if you let me get my trousers off first," he muttered quietly.

"You were taking too long," she retorted, her hands re-familiarizing themselves with every plane and dip of his muscles, every ridge and scar, although she acted as though Jim's initials didn't exist. "I guess you're going to have to move me."

He closed his eyes as the tips of her fingers traced his words along the ridge of his collarbone. "I'm not in much of a mood to hurt you at the moment," he shot back.

She sighed because he was right, and kissed him once more before she shifted off him again, resettling herself by his side and busying herself by distracting him, lips trailing across his shoulder, nails trailing lightly down the curve of his back.

He hummed happily, stretching slightly, before shifting away and standing, just long enough to rid himself of the remainder of his clothes. Then he was back, his hands reaching out to find her hips, pulling her toward him gently.

She resumed her place straddling his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in to kiss him firmly again, impatient to feel him against her again, and not bothering to be too careful with herself. He would do that enough without her contributing to it.

He kissed her back, a touch roughly just because he could without concern. He shifted, and let out a groan as she finally rubbed against him. His body was thrilled about this opportunity after so long without her, and everything about him was picking up pace, his pulse thundering in his ears, urging him onward.

She rolled her hips down against him, trying to make him make the noise again, her hand with a light grip in his hair, teeth nipping gently at his lips. She'd missed the feeling of slotting against him like this, fitting perfectly despite their differences in size.

He ground up against her, need pooling in him. Not just lust- though there was plenty of that. He needed _her._ Needed the familiarity of fucking her, the normalcy of it. Needed to ingrain into every corner of himself the memorandum: Lorna Harrison was alive and well.

He got a grip on her arse, but didn't pull her, just pressed his forehead against hers, his breathing a bit short. "Lorna..." His voice contained the plea he would put to words.

"I know," she breathed, fingers flexing on the back of his neck, lifting herself up a little and reaching in between them, adjusting him and sinking down in one motion, a groan drawn out of her as he filled an aching gap inside her. She pressed her forehead against his harder, letting out a huff of air. "God, Sebastian, I missed you..."

He rocked his hips gently, not really moving yet, and nodded just a little. "I missed you, too," he said softly, voice low. His throat ached, he took a slow breath, getting control of himself before starting to roll his hips as best he could in this position, unwilling to let himself be that vulnerable for too long.

She kissed him again, shifting to move with him, letting out a sigh of pleasure. She'd missed this. Everything about him.

She had more freedom of movement than him, which at the moment wasn't exactly ideal. He shifted, supporting her weight in his arms as he leaned forward, setting her on her back. It was against his nature to be this gentle, and he knew it was probably bothering her, but with her chest still healing he wasn't taking risks. He made up for it a moment later, settling back between her legs and starting to move with a bit more purpose, his teeth finding her neck, scraping and biting, egging her on.

Any protests she'd had about the transition was lost in a sharp intake of breath as his teeth found her skin, one hand clutching the back of his neck, the other wrapped around his bicep - not that she came even close to having her fingers meet - and she swore under her breath as the angle changed, her eyes screwing shut.

He bit down _hard_ , leaving a trail of bruises across her neck to make up for the restraint everywhere else. Even his hands were out of the equation- he needed his good hand for balance- So honestly, the sex was less than fantastic by most standards. He found he didn't give a flying fuck. He was with Lorna. _His_ Lorna. That was all he cared about.

She cried out, nails leaving red crescents on his skin in response, and she had to restrain herself from pulling him harder against her, because as much as she wanted his weight on top of her, she had her chest to think of. But she couldn't bring herself to care. They were alive, and together, and she was happy to lose herself in him.

He growled as her nails gouged his back, smiling. He pulled back enough to see her face, to watch the red flush of her cheeks hungrily, meeting her gaze with an odd combination of hunger and relief. His hips rolled against hers with steadily increasing rhythm, and he bent to kiss her again, teeth tugging at her lips.

She kissed him back fiercely, her breath coming hard, maybe partially because she was doing her level best not to breathe deeply enough to hurt, and the increasing speed was starting to get to her, energy building up the back of her spine.

Some part of him realized that he wasn't wearing a condom, and he swore quietly, but didn't stop, just kept it in mind. Heat was spreading slowly up through his gut, and he wanted to shift, to grapple her closer, pin her against something and take her unmercifully. Instead he shifted his weight around onto his bad arm, freeing his left hand and shifting it between them, his fingers stroking across her slick, hot center, moaning against her lips as she tightened around his cock in response.

She jolted with a gasp, breaking away from the kiss as she came, swearing, " _Fuck, Sebastian,"_ into his shoulder as her fingers tightened ever further on him, toes curling on the sheets.

He groaned as she came around him, his own breaths short and uneven. He thrust his hips a few more times, but then pulled away, falling onto his back beside her and finishing himself off in a few short seconds. His back arched off the mattress slightly, and he groaned, falling limp beside her, catching his breath.

"Oh, right," she panted once she was able, still laying where he'd left her. "No condom - shoulda said something - got a implant."

"When- Ah. Jim. Right." He tried not to be disgruntled by that, digging around beside the bed until he found his boxers, wiping his stomach and hand off and tossing them the few feet to the laundry hamper. "Good to know." He rolled back toward her, looping his good arm over her waist.

She curled into him a little, still breathing a little hard but mostly back to normal except the light sheen of sweat on her skin. "I should have gotten one a long time ago," she snorted, letting her eyes close. "Would have saved me a lot of grief."

"Yeah," was his only response. He knew it was nothing to do with Jim versus him. Knew that she had likely gotten it because Jim insisted. But that was what rubbed him the wrong way- she had gotten it for Jim. To have sex with _Jim._ Something she had never done in the years they'd been fucking.

He shoved the thoughts away. It was a stupid line of inquest. "Why not just make it permanent?" he heard himself asking. "You've said you don't want kids."

She knew he was bothered, but that was a difficult thing to approach without causing him to bottle up, so she would need to do some careful sidestepping. "Because I hate infirmaries and I feel like I've spent enough time under the knife," she sighed in response, her hand shifting to his on her stomach, thumb brushing over his skin. She was silent for a moment. "I wasn't willing to risk going without it, with him. If I fucked up with the pills... I wasn't going to be Harley Quinn getting knocked up by the Joker. That means a bullet. And I guess I wasn't willing to have Jim be the one to kill me."

He immediately felt like an asshole, something that wasn't a very common feeling on his part. He shifted slightly, uncomfortably, and nodded. "Makes sense."

He fell silent, relaxing, letting his mind wander.

 _If it weren't for Jim... If it weren't for all of this. If it were just us... What would I want?_

Before Keira, the answer was never questioned. He had never wanted children. _Never_. Never wanted to deal with the weakness, the exhaustion, the risk brought on by progeny. And that was even before factoring his own childhood experiences.

But then Keira... Keira had appeared. And despite his own fierce opposition to the idea, he found himself slowly drawn to her. Found himself proud of the girl with his face and his marksmanship, with her fiery disposition and hard work. She had wiggled her way into a spot in his affections. And now, staring down the barrel of grey hair, of old age, of an eventual retirement package from Jim in the form of a bullet, the thought of a legacy... And who but Harrison..?

He closed his eyes, tried to shake the thoughts off. These weren't thoughts he wanted to have. They were impossibilities. He didn't want children, he never had.

He shifted away and stood, heading for the bathroom and closing the door, taking a slow breath, and then taking a piss as an excuse for getting up.

She shifted to get under the covers when he disappeared into the bathroom, letting out a sigh, rubbing her eyes absently. Her uterus had always been a burden she hadn't asked for, and she would have considered just having the damn thing removed if she wouldn't have to deal with the hormonal fallout and the scarring that came with it. She'd had a few scares as a result of that decision, and always an underlying anxiety, something to be considered during the simplest of decisions.

She was tired of having to worry about it. Especially for Jim. Whatever would have happened to her, had she ended up pregnant, it would have been twisted, and her fault for letting it happen. Jim didn't protest when she told him she was getting the most expensive one, and she'd taken that for what it was.

He walked back out a few minutes later, having cleaned up properly and feeling more like himself. He climbed back into bed, shifting under the covers and reaching out to tuck her back against his chest. He'd spent too long without her there to do anything else.

She let out a contented sigh, extremely pleased to be back in his arms, and shifted to be even tighter against him. The hospital bed had given them a poor excuse of this. This was far superior.

He kissed the top of her head, a silent apology. He was tired, but not sleepy. He just wanted to lay there, listening to her breathe, every bit of her body pressed up against his.

"Is the cake still in the oven?" She asked after a long period of comfortable silence, her voice soft, weary. That was as much energy as she'd expanded in a long time.

"Fuck," was his quiet response. He let out a quiet groan of annoyance, but then slowly released his hold on her, standing up and walking out of the room, not bothering with clothes.

The cake was burnt, but not too badly, and he set it on the stove to cool, turning off the oven. By the time he got back, Harrison had curled up onto a ball, monopolizing the blankets. He rolled his eyes, and walked over, digging out a spot in the blankets for himself behind her and climbing in again. "It's not charcoal, so that's good."

"That is good. Charcoal isn't fun to eat," she murmured, shifting back into him. "I look forward to gorging myself on it."

"It is a bit crispy," he snorted. "But it'll serve." He pushed his hand through her hair, fingers twining through it absently.

She closed her eyes with a sound of contentment. She loved it when he played with her hair. It had been one of the first forms of affection he'd ever offered her, and she had memories associated with new safety that went along with it.

He smiled as she practically purred under his touch. "Fucking dork," he muttered affectionately.

"Fight me," she snorted, cracking an eye to look back at him. "Punk."

He raised a slow eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "And how do you think that would go, exactly?" he asked, tone amused.

"Uh, I think I would win," she grinned, being purposely obtuse. "I mean, just look at me."

His other eyebrow rose to join the first, a real smirk developing now. "Terrifying to behold. I'm trembling."

"Yeah, I fucking bet you are," she laughed, suddenly just extremely grateful he was back. When was the last time she had fun?

"Shuddup, pipsqueak," he muttered, tucking her back against his chest with a sigh.

She only hummed in response, shifting a little to bury her face in his neck, absorbing his warmth like a cat.

He sighed, relaxing, quiet for a bit. "How are you feeling?" he asked finally.

She shrugged a little. "I'm alright. Pain's okay. I've had worse."

He nodded a little. "Once you're both recovered... we need to start making a bid for the network."

"I know," she sighed, into his chest. "As much as I just want to take a break, yeah."

He nodded, shifting a bit to get more comfortable. "Think about it this way: the sooner we have the network back, the sooner we're away from Armetti and Adler."

She groaned in relief, leaning back a little to rub her eyes. "Fucking hell, I forgot we don't need her anymore with you back again. Thank God. Ugh, she's so irritating. I just want to punch her smug, posh face."

"Well, she'll be out of your hair. And dead, hopefully. Or at least stationed somewhere else." He tucked the blankets around her a bit more firmly. His good hand shifted from her hair down her side, wrapping around her torso to find her hand and lacing his fingers through her tiny ones. He could feel her ring butting up against his.

It was probably significant that they both wore their rings on the same hand, on the same finger, but if she ever said such a thing out loud things would get uncomfortable, so she kept quiet about it. Instead her mind wandered to Vincent. She was still consumed with fury about what he had done, but there was a limit to what she could do to him. Physically, she couldn't maim him more than he'd already been. But she was allowed to emotionally devastate him.

Well that was an idea. But the question was, how mad would Sebastian be if she told Vince they'd gotten married?

He closed his eyes, letting the silence stand, just holding her. He was feeling... oddly sentimental. And a touch brazen, and a lot uncertain, through today's kill had certainly helped. Eventually, he spoke again, voice odd in the quiet. "Have you ever considered the possibility that we'll get old?"

She was silent for a moment. "I suppose not," she answered, voice soft. "The furthest I'll ever look is five years. More than that always seemed too optimistic."

He nodded just a little, thumb rubbing over hers absently. "I think we could," he said after another silence.

She squeezed his fingers. "I don't think I'd mind that," she murmured. "Being old could be okay."

He nodded just a little, and shrugged, the hint of a smirk on his lips. "So far it isn't bad," he said lightly.

She laughed. "Yeah, you seem to be doing okay," she teased, smirking. "I'll join you eventually."

"Sooner than you think," he teased, chuckling quietly. He sighed, and then just bit the bullet. "I'm going fucking _grey_."

"Is that what happened? I thought somebody attacked you with half a bleach kit," she snorted, though her fingers tightened on his in support. "But hey, no big deal. You can totally pull off the silver fox thing."

He snorted slightly. "I hate it," he muttered, annoyed.

"If you want my help covering it up, I have plenty experience dyeing hair," she said, shifting to press a kiss to his cheek.

"It's not even how it looks," he sighed grumpily, though he struggled to keep up the mood as she kissed him. "It's that it's _there_. I'm not even forty, for fuck's sake."

"Everyone in positions of power and responsibility go grey early. It's not about how old you are, it's about how much stress you're under. Which is a lot," she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

He snorted derisively, but didn't have a retort, so he just shifted a little and tucked her under his chin to avoid her looking at him like she'd won.

She accepted that for what it was, falling quiet. God, it was a strange thought, considering them growing old together. She still lived in a world where she could hardly believe that he thought reasons to leave her might not come up. This? She would never have even have considered it.

He spun the ring on her finger absently, silent again. He was basking, really. Basking in the relief of having her here, alive, in his arms, after so much pain and anger and fear and stress... She made him feel _good_. Like nothing else ever had. And she kept him sharp when he most felt like just stopping. The relief he felt was enough to make him a touch giddy, despite his attempts at grumpiness.

That, in retrospect, was really the only logical progression he could find later leading to what he did, then. Something he had rarely done before. Not unprompted.

"I love you." Quiet, just a breath and a bit of a tighter hug. He kept his eyes closed.

She squeezed his hand again, warmth flooding her chest. "I love you, too," she whispered.

She might be addicted to him, but god did she love him. She'd never had an addiction she'd actually felt good about before.

He sighed quietly. "You should get some sleep," he suggested after a moment.

She sighed. "You're right. I don't want to, though. I'm sick of sleeping."

He laughed softly. "Fine. That's fair. What do you want to do then?"

"I don't know," she sighed, rolling onto her back. "We already had sex... Made a cake... I kind of have a plan to fuck with Vince, though."

He shifted up onto his elbow. "Oh? Tell."

She held up her hand between them, palm facing her. The ring was evident on her finger. "I tell him something that will emotionally devastate him."

"Such as?" But his eyes were on her hand, and he had a sinking suspicion.

"I tell him we got married," she said, dropping her hand. "I'm not suggesting we do, obviously. Just _tell_ him. He won't spread it around, he's not that dumb."

He could immediately see the appeal. Armetti's fury and pain would be boundless. But there were risks. "We'd have to tell Jim you were doing it. Otherwise if it got back to him... But I don't think he'd object. Not after..." He lifted his hand absently.

She gave him a slight shake of her head. "I don't know what you're talking about there."

"This," he said a bit sharply, waving the bandaged hand a bit. He took a breath, and his tone softened again. "After what Armetti did, I don't think Jim would object to you fucking with him. That's all." He shrugged.

She nodded. It hadn't occurred to her to get permission first. She was too used to having free reign with Armetti. And she wasn't sure how he would feel if he'd gotten news that they had fucking married each other.

He glanced over at her, and shrugged. "If you'd rather not tell Jim, that's fine, but if it get's back to him that we 'got married'..."

"Would he even _care?"_ She asked, rubbing her eyes. "How is it any different from what we're already doing?"

He glanced at her incredulously. "You're serious?"

"Yes," she said, shrugging. "Jim only discourages fraternization among his high ranked employees so they don't get emotionally entangled. But the three of us have all come to terms with how that's not going to change. We've been together for a long time, Sebastian. Lived together for a long time. What's the difference?"

"The difference..." He sat up a little, incredulous. "The difference is it's _marriage_ , Lorna. It's a fucking _advertisement_ to the world. 'Here's my pressure point! Come get it!' Because we definitely need to highlight that right now." His heart was pounding. He'd gone too far, saying what he had. Why the fuck was she acting like this? "Not to _mention_ the vast realm of interpersonal issues, not the least of which is who says I want to marry you, anyway?"

* * *

Playlist: Sia - Big Girls Cry


	117. Implosion, Part Quadrillion

Playlist: Florence + The Machine - What Kind Of Man

LP - Lost On You

* * *

That stung. She pulled away from him, cheeks burning. "I wasn't suggesting we get married, Moran, don't get your fucking panties in a twist," she snapped, using anger to cover up the hurt feeling in her throat. "I was _asking_ why Jim would fucking _care._ Also, even if we _did,_ by the way, it _wouldn't_ be an advertisement, because we've both been wearing the same rings for at least a year and half, and I like to think that neither of us are _stupid,"_ she spat, and suddenly unable to stay still, twisted and slid out of bed, gritting her teeth when her stitches pulled a little, and started angrily pulling on her clothes.

He sat up, watching her for a moment. "Where are you going?" he asked, voice empty, though he was a roiling mess of anger, confusion, and concern for her health.

"I thought I'd go tap-dancing," she snarled, her clothes half on, and she could no longer tell the difference between the pain caused by her injury and the pain caused by him. She couldn't make herself look at him. The desire to hurt him back was strong, and if he tried to stop her, the thin layer of resistance stopping her would fall apart. "Why, do you fucking _care?_ I'm not leaving the base, so fuck off."

His eyes blackened slightly. "Look, I don't know what bug crawled up your ass and died, but _you're_ not the one who has a right to be _pissed_ right now. Sit the fuck down before you hurt yourself. You were in a fucking _wheelchair_ this morning."

She let out a harsh laugh, buttoning up her shirt with white-knuckled hands. "Oh, I don't have a _right_ to be pissed? _Fuck_ you, Moran. I _never_ have a right to be angry with you. You can fucking throw a fit about whatever you _FUCKING_ please, and I'm not allowed to be furious right back at you because the _second_ you feel an emotion you're not comfortable with, you're transported back in time to a place where whatever _this_ is new, and fragile, and utterly controlled by _you,"_ she hissed, now completely dressed. "Here's a fucking _news flash,_ asshole; _this_ has been happening for almost _FIVE, maybe SIX YEARS_ _._ You don't get to do this anymore! I'm sick of it! I'm _done._ I'm not just going to take whatever you feel like throwing at me and then come crawling back for forgiveness three days later. At work, you are in charge of me, but _not. In. Here._ Actually-" she laughed again, though she looked demented, her eyes stony on him, merciless, years of repressed anger welling to the surface. "This isn't your apartment this time. Get dressed and get the fuck out."

He considered her for a moment, expression blank. Then he stood, starting to get dressed. He buttoned his trousers and shirt without a word, fumbled with his hands for a moment, then swore quietly and stuck his left ring finger in his mouth, working the ring off with his teeth. He tossed it on the bed. "Find someone else to play house with," he muttered. "I'll be in reality." He turned and left without a word, grabbing his gun holster on the way out.

She sat down on the bed once he was gone and broke down, her head falling into her hands, a sob bubbling out of her chest. Part of her was trying to make her feel regret, but she shook it off. She was tired of living that way. Dancing around him, always afraid he'd shove a wall in her face. She wouldn't survive without him, but she didn't give a damn. If it took her wasting away to knock his pride down a notch, she was fine with that. What did she care? What did she have to _lose?_ If he was gone from her life, and she didn't have to take care of Jim, there was nothing for her.

He walked down to his ruined flat with an icy calm that he hadn't used in ages. He walked in, closing the door behind him, and looked around the room before walking through and starting to right it. Putting the now-battered couch back in place, cleaning up the broken glass from a cabinet door that had shattered, returning the end table to its former position by the couch.

He set his gun on the coffee table, and went into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and staring for a while before closing it again, empty-handed.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of painkillers the infirmary had given him, tipping two into his hand and tossing them back, before finding a glass of water to chase them down with.

He leaned against the sink, then, hands gripping the edge of the counter, just watching the water run. He could feel the coolness of the air where the ring had been.

He was an idiot. He had always been an idiot. Hadn't Jim warned him, back at the beginning of all of this? Warned him that she wouldn't be able to remain stable, to keep it separate.

He had seen it in her face, when he'd said he didn't want to marry her. It wasn't the disgust and dismissal he'd been desperately hoping for, though she rallied to it a moment later. If that had been all, he would have apologized and backed off. No. She'd been hurt. For just a moment, his words had hurt her. And that was terrifying and infuriating. He had _trusted_ her. What a nauseating mistake.

It had been his fault, all of it. Starting the relationship, thinking it could work, allowing himself that weakness- the _ring- God, the fucking RING._ He should have destroyed it the instant he finished the assignment. But no. He'd been _sentimental_.

She eventually couldn't stay still any longer. She got up, tears still rolling down her cheeks, and walked out into the living room, to the liquor cabinet, and grabbed the bottle of scotch. Then she went into the kitchen, uncapped the bottle, took three long swallows, and threw out his cake.

Eventually he turned the water off, and walked back into the living room, sitting down on the couch. It groaned in protest, evidently not pleased with his weight after he'd thrown it across the room, but it held. He had options, he realized. He could spiral- could let the weakness overtake him and fall into a self-pitying hole, and Jim would kill him. He could retire... Same result, though not without honor. Or he could grit his teeth, cut out the infection, and get back to work.

He stood, walking into the bathroom and digging around until he found a set of clippers. He plugged them in, and then started cutting his hair, shearing off the months of growth that he hadn't bothered to neaten up, watching the short, off-blond clumps collect in the sink. Once he was back to his usual military cut, he shaved, and then removed his shirt. He considered the initials on the right side of his chest, and for a moment he considered cutting them off, but that was the sort of drastic start to a spiral he didn't need. Instead, he ignored them, walking over to get into the shower, leaving the water icy.

She went into the bathroom and got the painkillers they had given her out of the medicine cabinet, and then got into the bathtub clothes still on, and resigned herself to drinking herself unconscious, and took three of the pills at once, washing it down with the liquor. It was precisely the sort of thing Sebastian would have yelled at her for, and she didn't have access to heroin. There was nothing else to do.

He finished showering, and stepped out, drying off and going to get dressed, finding the med kit and changing the bandages on his hand. He pared them down until it was just the carefully splinted and wrapped trigger finger, and none of the other structural nonsense. He didn't have time for it.

Then he shrugged into his shoulder holster (on his right side, now) and his jacket, and headed out. It was time to begin work to reclaim the network. If he needed to do it himself, he would.

She managed to stay conscious for far too long, so she took two more pills and got out of the bathroom, both bottles in different hands, and now kind of hazy, got into her wheelchair and did a few half-assed wheelies before she left the flat, just wanting to get away. She wheeled herself back to the training yard, awkwardly stopping every time she wanted to take a swig of scotch. Inside, it had been cleaned up. She went back to their corner and just sat there, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, and because she was mad, she took another pill, and continued drinking until she passed out.

* * *

Someone found her three hours later, and that's when Jim was alerted. He put down the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out an irritated breath, and then picked up his phone again.

 _Care to explain why the fuck Harrison is back in the ICU with an overdose? She was cleared because she was in your custody, Moran. JM_

Despite himself, his stomach twisted when he read the text. He closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

 _I'm sorry, sir. It was never communicated to me that my monitoring her was necessary. She asked me to leave. I left. SM_

Jim let out a long, drawn-out sigh. Now he had to fix their problems.

 _Come here. JM_

He didn't bother responding, just left the security department (much to the relief of its occupants) and headed for the infirmary.

He didn't bother checking on Harrison. There was nothing he could do. He just headed straight for Jim's room, knocking quietly.

* * *

Playlist: Falling in Reverse - Loser

Nicki Minaj - Pills And Potions


	118. Did I Mess Up, Oh God I Hope I Didn't

"Come in," Jim called, sitting back in his chair with a glass of bourbon. He needed it to get through this interaction.

He stepped inside, glancing at the desk in the room with a raised eyebrow- Jim had obviously gotten bored with recovering- and then turned his attention to the boss. "What can I do for you, sir?" he asked, falling into his usual parade rest.

"What the fuck did you idiots fight about, Moran," Jim asked dryly, looking at him haggardly.

He took a breath, putting the words together. "She brought up the subject of marriage, sir. Of telling Armetti that we were married, as revenge for what he did to my hand. Over the course of the conversation it became clear to me that she was a bit more sincere about the idea than I was comfortable with. I pointed that out, and she was offended and asked me to leave." His voice was neutral.

Jim sighed, and took a long draught of bourbon. This was so far outside his comfort zone. But they were useless without each other. Or rather, Moran became a pain to work with and Harrison's spirit drained out until she became a mindless zombie. "Moran, if I didn't know any better, I would have assumed the two of you wrote your sappy vows a long time ago," he rolled his eyes, as he finally spoke. "Christ, did you _actually_ think the idea would never occur to her? She's a woman who's been used and abused for her entire life. Of course her deepest, darkest fantasy is something as menial as _marriage._ I thought you could see that."

He blinked once, then again, processing. This wasn't even _close_ to the response he had been expecting. He had been buckling down to field Jim's fury, his snide remarks about Moran's failure, but this...

"People aren't exactly my area, sir," he said, by way of stalling. He resisted the urge to shift his weight from foot to foot. "How would you like me to handle the situation?"

Jim snorted, waving his hand. So Moran had used him as an excuse for his commitment issues. "I don't give a fuck, Moran - there's nothing either of you two could do to make yourselves any more hopelessly involved. I've given the fuck up trying to manage your emotional attachment. But if you're going to break it off, at least don't leave her with the immediate means to commit suicide, moron. I prefer Harrison to Adler."

His jaw tensed. "She asked me to leave, sir. It didn't occur to me that she'd be so distraught after kicking me out." The anger was boiling up again, and he worked to stifle it. Being furious at Jim wasn't an option. The man was being shockingly benevolent. Regardless, it felt like a betrayal. A sudden change of the rules that had been rock solid for years. He had fought tooth and claw to be with Lorna, to protect them both from Jim's wrath. Now suddenly he was the idiot for not seeing that of course everything was fine with the boss, why wouldn't it be? "Permission to leave?" he finally grit out.

"Go. Just know that I'll be extremely displeased if I _ever_ have to get involved in your personal shit again," he scoffed, taking another sip of bourbon. "And stop being so surprised. I think we all had some reexamination of our priorities when you bit it."

Those snuffed out the fury in him like it was a guttering candle. He stood there just a breath longer, then nodded and left quickly. He didn't go far, however, leaning against the wall outside of Jim's room as the missing pieces fell into place.

 _This_ was what had been driving him up the wall, the exasperation and anger... _We all had some reexamination of our priorities when you bit it._ Except he _hadn't_. He was the only person here for whom he had never died. The only person who had never gotten that shock of mortality. And while he knew it had hurt Jim, and Lorna, it had never occurred to him how they would change as a result. He had seen the changes, of course. Little, confusing moments where actions and decisions made no sense, but not once had he found a broad, sweeping reason for it all.

He stared at Jim's door for a while, waiting for the fury to return, but it never did. Eventually he straightened and wandered through the halls until he found Lorna's room. She was asleep, lying in bed, looking pale and off, and suddenly his gut tightened. He hadn't thought, hadn't considered... and here she was, getting fucked over by his mistakes for the hundredth time. He shook his head a little to clear it, and stepped inside quietly. He found a pen and a pad of note paper, and scrawled a quick note.

 _Sorry for being an idiot. Find me if you want._

Then he folded it a few times, tucked it into the palm of her limp hand, and left.

* * *

MARINA - Believe In Love

Sia - Midnight Decisions


	119. No One Breaks My Heart Like You

Playlist: Paramore - Pool

* * *

She woke up feeling like shit. She hurt, inside and out, and there was a terrible taste in her mouth. She let out a slow breath, flexing her hands. Her hand froze as it felt the paper in her hand.

She read it about ten times before she could get the words to sink in, and even then she wasn't sure what to feel. Exhausted and hurting, she cried again, mostly silently.

* * *

She was released from the infirmary a day later. She sat in the elevator in her wheelchair for a minute, unsure where to go. Eventually she pushed the button for his floor. She rolled to his door and knocked, not even knowing what she was going to say, or if he was even home.

He was home, working, putting his plan for retaking the network down on paper. He stood at the knock, walking over to look out the peephole before taking a breath and closing his eyes. A moment later, he opened the door, and stepped back without a word to let her come in, if she wanted to.

She swallowed, but rolled over the threshold, avoiding his eyes. She stopped off to the side, giving him room to close the door. "I... Assume you wanted to talk, or something?" She asked, shrugging a little, not looking at him, eyes on the room.

He closed the door, and took a slow breath. "Yes," he said finally. The fingers of his good hand traced absently, compulsively, over his words on his right arm. He had constructed what he was going to say carefully over the last day.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, and it was only years of army training that kept his voice from wavering, his heart pounding. "I didn't understand, and I treated you unfairly. I can give you as much of an explanation as you want. But the summary is that I was wrong."

She took a deep breath, nodding a little, and ran a hand over her face. She still couldn't make herself look at him. "I.. what do you mean by wrong?"

He pushed his good hand into his pocket so that he would leave his arm alone, and took a slow breath. "I never died, for me," he said finally. "I didn't understand how drastically the rules changed when that happened. Ever since this..." He waved between them for a moment. "...relationship started, I have been focusing on keeping it from going too far, from putting me, at first, and then later either of us in danger. From making us vulnerable. It _used_ to be necessary, like what you did when Malcolm got that ring..." He paused, shifted again. He was getting off target. Why was this so fucking difficult? He took a breath and continued. "That was so much my focus that it never occurred to me to question if it was necessary anymore. I pushed you away. I shouldn't have done that."

She nodded again, swallowing. Her fingers tightened and relaxed on the armrests of her chair. "So where does that leave us?"

He was quiet for a minute, and then said, "I think that's up to you," he said finally. "You're in charge."

"I don't know what you want," she shook her head, brows furrowed. "I feel like the one with less... Preferences, I don't know."

"I don't think that's the case," he sighed, finally walking around her to sit on the couch, rubbing his eyes and then leaning forward, elbows on knees. He looked up at her, expression tired. "I just think you're less of an asshole about it. So tell me- I won't get pissed. I need to understand. What is it that you want? If this was your ideal?"

"I don't know what I want, Sebastian," she sighed, rubbing her eyes. They hurt. "I just don't... I can't spend my life not being able to talk about some things. I can't do it."

He nodded just a little, looking down at his hands. "I was afraid," he said finally, and the words tasted sour in his mouth. "Being soft means getting fucked over, and I'm not interested in that. And you have been my weak point for years. You scare me." He rubbed his thumb across the bandage on his hand, pressing into it, feeling the pain, trying to get past the nausea that was twisting in his gut. He would give anything to not be having this conversation. Anything, really, except her. "But I lash out at you, instead, and that's fucked up."

She let out a slow breath. She didn't know what to do here. "What do you want? I never know. Never have, I don't think."

"That's not true," he said, shaking his head. "You know exactly what I want. I want you. I want a fucking happy relationship with you. I want to do our jobs and I want the network to thrive and Jim to be happy, and for things to go like they should." His tone was frustrated, and he took a breath, trying to calm down. "But I also need things, and that's where things get complicated. Because I _need_ you safe. Alive. I need Jim safe and alive. And those both- at least until recently- conflicted with what I want."

"So..." She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. This was all very overwhelming. "Do we just go back to how things were? Just.. pretend it never happened?"

"You still haven't answered my question," he pointed out. "Lorna. What do _you want_?" He watched her face, quiet, waiting.

She shook her head, running a hand through her hair. "I want you, Sebastian; that's never changed. I want whatever you'll give me. I always have."

He sighed, rubbing at his eyes again. "But that isn't enough," he pointed out. "That _obviously_ isn't enough. Tell me what made you angry- because that wasn't five minutes' worth of anger there, that had been seething for a while."

"I already told you, Sebastian," she sighed. "It's not that it's not enough, it's that I can't dance around certain subjects just because I'm afraid of how you might react. Because once you get going and the fuse is lit, it doesn't stop. You blow up. The only reason it stopped happening as often is because I learned what was and wasn't okay to say. If I want anything more, I don't know what it is. I don't let myself hope with you."

That _stung_ , but he closed his eyes, evaluating. "So how do I fix that?" he asked finally. He knew that feeling. It was how he felt with Jim. It was one thing from an employer, but from... whatever they were? He could easily imagine how awful that could be. He felt like garbage.

She leaned back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling, swallowing again. "I don't know. Just... Telling you not to doesn't sound very effective. I mean.. I guess you have to stop seeing me as a danger. If I'm just this dangerous thing to you all the time, of course you're going to get defensive."

"You're not 'just this dangerous thing'," he objected immediately. "But there is _risk_ inherent in what we're doing. There is always going to _be_ risk." He was quiet for the span of a few breaths. "Help me understand- because I'm struggling. What changed, between the day you told me about Malcolm's ring and we reacted the same way- disgust and surprise and snide remarks- and what happened here? I'm not trying to judge, I just don't _understand_. I'm playing the game but the rules keep changing."

"You're _not Malcolm,"_ she said, looking defeated. "This isn't the same. You're not the same. I've never... Met anyone else that made me happy. Or that stuck around this long. It just..." She sighed, looking away from him, afraid of his reaction. "It's not a bad thing, when it's connected to you."

He fell quiet, then, processing. "You make me happy, too," he said softly. "And I have hurt you over and over, and by all rights you should hate me, but you keep coming back. You told me once that you hated yourself for that." He looked up. "I don't want to just be another thing you're addicted to, Lorna," he said finally. "Think about whether or not it's best for you if we're together. I'll respect whatever you decide."

"Do you think I haven't, Sebastian?" She asked wearily, finally looking at him square on. "When we fight, it always crosses my mind. But I don't ever regret you. Not like my other addictions. I was young when we started this, so maybe I don't have the clearest perspective, but I've always been miserable. Except with you."

He nodded just a little. "Then how do I make this... comfortable, rather than an ordeal you have to tiptoe through just to be happy?" he asked tiredly.

"We need to discuss the things that you don't want to talk about. Like we're doing now. We can't just avoid them," she said quietly. "We need to make decisions on how to address them. Leaving them alone isn't healthy."

He nodded just a little, taking a slow breath. "Okay," he said, quietly. He was exhausted. He hated this. But he could deal with it if it meant keeping her. "If you can give me an hour or two advanced notice when you want to have one of those conversations, let me know what you want to talk about and when, that would be helpful for me."

"Okay," she nodded, "I can do that." There were still going to be things that she could never talk to him about, but it was a good step. She would never even be able to say the word 'marriage' in front of him again without being reminded of surprised, hurt disappointment to a question she hadn't even asked, and so she never would, for her own sake. She fell into silence, not sure what else there was to say. Normally by this point she would have crawled into his lap, but the stinging feeling inside held her back. The embarrassment. _Uncalled-for rejection._

He shifted a little. "So... You'll have me back, then?"

She nodded, shifting to sit on her hands. An insecure tick. "Yeah. 'Course."

He looked over at her, looking her over carefully. "What did I miss?" he asked quietly, suddenly sure that he hadn't apologized for everything.

She pulled her hands out from beneath her, and they settled on the wheels of her chair, because she couldn't really stand up to distance herself from the situation. "I don't really want to talk about it," she whispered, giving him a slight, kind of embarrassed smile. "Forget about this one. Please."

He searched her face, and his gut sank a little, but he didn't have a right to ask further. He nodded just a little. "Whatever it is... I'm sorry. I hurt you and that was fucked up."

She could tell she was going to start crying again, so she just nodded and swallowed hard, turning the chair away a little. "I'm- I'm gonna go. Need to.. clean up my flat a little. Think I knocked shit on the floor," she muttered, giving a nervous wave of her hand and then pushing off towards his door, trying to keep her breathing steady.

He nodded a little, letting her go, and asked the last question before she could quite go. "I... If you'd be okay with me having my ring back... I don't mind that so much when it's you, either."

She stopped with her hand on the door, her breath hitching as tears spilled over her cheeks. She couldn't bring herself to respond, just sat there, shoulders shaking, willing herself to get it together.

He waited a few seconds, before standing slowly and walking over, making an intentional effort to make his steps audible on the carpet. "Lorna..." he said softly, wracking his brain, trying to piece things together. "I..." He tried to think through everything he'd said, and then he remembered the flash of pain on her face, the one that had first set him off, and it hit him like a truck. "I was afraid," he said softly. His hand was hovering over her shoulder, not touching. "I lashed out. And I asked who said I'd want to marry you... not that I wouldn't. It was careful wording."

She curled in on herself, hand slipping off the doorknob, and she couldn't explain why it just made her hurt more. Maybe it was the remembering. "I never- I never _asked,"_ she got out, a sob wracking her frame, and it just made her more embarrassed, just made her feel worse. "I _never would._ Even if it had.. had been on my _mind..._ It was a rejection I didn't- didn't _ask_ for."

He pulled back immediately, his hand closing into a fist, nails biting into his palm. He stepped back. "I... I misinterpreted what you said, Lorna, and in the moment I thought you had. I was _wrong_. And I'm sorry. I am so sorry..."

She didn't say anything in response, just cried into her hands, mostly silent except for hitched breaths. She felt broken. Why couldn't she move past this? Why did this one, out of all the ways he'd pushed her away, sting so much more than the others?

If it had ever occurred to her to bring the idea up, she never would have let it leave her mouth, for the fear that he would reject her. Had she wanted to keep some fantasy alive where they made the rings on their hands official? She'd never considered the idea, but now that it had been brought up, that he had jumped so fast to shut her down...

He pulled her chair back just enough to shift in front of her, and after a moment he knelt on the ground and reached out to touch her hand. "Lorna... Can you look at me for a second?"

She took a deep, shuddering breath and pressed her hands harder against herself for a moment before she dropped them to look at him, eyes red, and she had to fight down another wave of mortification at meeting his eyes.

He tried to identify what was going through her mind, and couldn't. So he took her hand in his. "You never asked my opinion. And I was wrong to give it to you. I'm sorry for that. But I want to be clear- I was _not_ rejecting you. I would never reject you. You have kept me alive so many times... And I didn't take that ring off because I liked the idea behind it. I _need_ you."

She stared at him for a moment, sniffled, and then shifted forward out of the chair and maneuvered herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest, fingers twisting into his shirt.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, leaning against the door, not saying anything now, just holding her and letting her react.

She just let the warmth and familiarity of him sink in while his words filtered through the layers of hurt in her chest, soothing as they went. When she finally spoke, it was at least ten minutes later. "I need you, too," she murmured. Then she snorted. "Obviously."

He had been waiting uncertainly, but if he could do anything well, it was waiting. When she spoke, it eased something in him, and he took a slow breath. "Okay," he said softly. "I am so sorry, Lorna. I'm a fucking moron..."

"It's not completely your fault," she said quietly. "I don't know why it made me that upset. It shouldn't have."

"I was an arse, and threw my ring on your bed like a temperamental prat. You had every right." He pressed his face to the top of her head, taking a slow breath. "Jim said he didn't care."

She sighed. "He's already seen the worst of what this can do to us. And he felt something, too. I think he understands, to a degree. With us, at least. I wouldn't hold my breath for anyone else."

He was quiet for a bit. "What do you think about it?" he asked finally, voice barely above a whisper.

"Jim?" She asked, and shrugged a little. "I don't know. You know him better than I do. You _hugged_ him."

"What? No, not Jim," he snorted, shaking his head. He traced his fingers along her spine. "Never mind."

"No, what do I think about what?" She frowned, shifting a little in his arms.

He hesitated, and then took a deep breath, a sniper's breath, the air filling all the way down to the bottom of his lungs. "About this whole thing. The marriage thing. What do you honestly think, now that we're talking about it?"

* * *

Playlist: Marina and the Diamonds - Fear and Loathing

Fall Out Boy - The Last Of The Real Ones


	120. Death Of A Bachelor

Playlist: Panic! At The Disco - Death of a Bachelor

* * *

She was quiet for a moment. "I like it, when it involves you," she said, softly, uncertainly. "I never planned on it happening... But it could be nice."

He nodded just a little, his eyes closing as he breathed slowly. "So if I asked?" he ventured finally. His heart picked up pace and he willed it back down. This wasn't natural to him, it was breaking every rule he'd ever set. But _Christ_ did he want it. "Hypothetically. What do you think you might say?"

She felt herself blush, and she was glad that they were both in positions where they couldn't see each other's faces. "I would say yes," she whispered, swallowing nervously.

"Okay," he said quietly. He let himself process that for a minute. Then he smirked, shifting around until he found her left hand, wiggling the ring off off of her finger and pushing her away from his chest a bit until he could see her face. He held the ring up between them with a bit of a smile, though his heart was pounding again and there was nothing he could do about it. "So. Lorna... even though I'm an asshole, would you think about marrying me?"

She took a deep breath, which hitched a little in her throat, and she teared up, emotions welling up in her chest again so that she couldn't speak, so she nodded and closed the space between them to kiss him, bumping into him a little hard in her fumbling rush. "Yes," she laughed, tears spilling onto her cheeks, and she kissed him again. "Yes."

He waited, and it took forever. And then she was kissing him fiercely.

He laughed in relief, kissing her back with equal enthusiasm. "Oh, good," he managed when he had a breath, smiling. "Because otherwise I was never going to want to talk about feelings again." He felt things he didn't have words to describe. Abject... happiness. Not the feral pleasure of a kill, or the quiet contentment of a night with Harrison, but something pure and _intoxicating_. It filled his lungs until there was barely any room for air, his eyes alight. Harrison was mirroring his expression, though with considerably more waterworks. He handed her her ring back.

She put it on, feeling stupidly giddy, a kind of high that not even heroin had ever offered her. She'd never even imagined that something like this could happen to her. Most of her life, she'd eschewed the ways of normal people, had gone against the grain and had done things that the average person would never dream of. She'd pitied Malcolm, when he'd bought that ring. He had never been her equal, and they had only been together for _months_ before he thought to pop the question. When she had first slept with Sebastian, she'd been at the tail end of 24. Now? The other day she'd realized her birthday had come and gone while she was sick, and she'd turned 29. It had been a long time. "Christ, I love you," she said, and kissed him again, hands in the collar of his shirt. When she drew back again, she wiped her eyes, sniffling happily. "Fuck. We're _engaged."_

"Don't cry, you nerd," he grumbled affectionately, reaching out to push her hair back from her damp face, still smiling in a way he never really had before. "Yeah. I suppose we are. I'll get you a proper ring. A ruby though. Not a diamond."

"Rubies were always my favorite," she chuckled, holding up the hand with the ruby ring on it. Did people always feel this glow? "We have to get your initials engraved in the 'proper' ring, as a tribute, though. I don't know if I can change my name, so I at least want them there. I would scar them on me like you did, if not for my job." She kissed his cheek again, shifting excitedly. "Okay, I think I'm starting to get insufferably hype about this."

"Would you rather keep this one?" He reached out to take her hand, the other arm wrapping around her and pulling her against his chest, mainly so he didn't have to fight so hard to keep the giddy smile off of his face. "If you want to keep this one, that's fine, it's up to you. And for once, I'm going to say fuck it, be as happy as you want for a bit."

She laughed at that, pleased that he was willing to let them both bask in it. "I'll keep this one, for old times sake, but I think a new one is appropriate, don't you?"

"Sounds reasonable to me," he said, laughing, an oddly bright sound that surprised him. He shook his head a little, pressing his face into her hair and taking a breath. "I want to keep mine as well. We'll have to get you a new wedding band..." He trailed off, his thumb playing absently with the ring on her finger. The sentence sounded so strange on his tongue. _Wedding._ Would she want a wedding? He had no clue. He'd be content with a state official and a couple witnesses.

She hummed in agreement, trying to process this newfound feeling. Life with Sebastian had always been a roller coaster, but this was a twist she had never seen coming. _Marriage._ For real, not for a job. Come to think of it, it was one of the few significant choices she'd ever been allowed to make for herself. And it was so worth it. "Where should we do it?" She asked after a minute or two, voice light and airy. "I don't care if we have an elaborate ceremony or any of that shit - who the fuck would we invite, anyway - but it should be somewhere pleasant, at least."

"Then it will have to be after we've taken the network back," he pointed out, a touch relieved that she didn't want to go elaborate. "I don't care, though. Somewhere I can secure. Other than that, take your pick."

"Alright, sounds like a plan to me," she chirped, running through a list of locations in her head. She wasn't sure where exactly she wanted to do it, but as long as it wasn't in a dingy courthouse and the two of them could enjoy each other afterwards, it didn't matter. She'd be happy with him. "Oh, this is going to be rich. Now I can tell Vince we're getting hitched and _mean_ it."

He smirked at that. "I want to be there when you tell him, but I'm not certain that's wise, given how our last interaction went."

"Vince fancies himself a gentleman," she snorted, then shrugged a little. "And even if he does come at you, I still have a fast knife arm. He won't be able to touch you."

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "My knight in lacy, slinky armor."

"Hey, you watch it. It could be really unflattering armor, if you're not careful," she smirked, kissing his neck. "I'm talking ugly Christmas sweaters... Khakis..."

He laughed at that. "You could make anything look good. Let's not kid ourselves here."

"Psh, stop, you flatterer," she smirked, nuzzling into his neck a little, still reveling in the warm feeling in her chest. "Are you still gonna say things like that when we're married?"

"Nope," he said with a smirk. "Haven't you ever heard of the honeymoon phase? A couple months and then we're required by law to turn into crotchety assholes."

"I think that usually applies to people who get married after a couple of years of good times, not people who fought and got back together and then started having a good time," she scoffed, wrapping her arm around his waist and giving him a squeeze.

He smiled, but didn't reply. After a few moment's silence, he sighed. "Well. I know you're perfectly comfortable in my lap, but my arse is falling asleep. Let's at least shift to the couch.

"That couch looks like it's going to fall apart if I even sneeze on it," she said, glancing skeptically at the piece of furniture. "How about we go back to the good flat?"

"Yeah, not going to argue with that," he agreed, shifting her off of his lap and standing, giving her a hand up and into the wheelchair. He gave her another smile, full of quiet excitement, then opened the door enough for her to wheel through.

"We should have the kitchen bake us a cake or something," she said once out in the hallway, over her shoulder. "I would say we eat the one you made, but I was pissy and threw it out."

"I'd say that's a pretty valid reaction," he said with a chuckle, walking behind her. He stepped ahead to call the elevator. "Might as well make it good, if we're already asking for cake, and just get a whole meal. I don't know about you, but I haven't eaten much." He glanced at her, suddenly remembering the fact that she'd been in a hospital bed _again_ just hours ago. "How are you feeling, anyway?"

She shrugged. "I ache, but otherwise I'm okay. Surprisingly good, considering," she replied, rolling herself into the elevator as the doors opened. "It wasn't the worst thing I've ever done to myself. Not the worst overdose."

"That sentence isn't as encouraging as you seem to think it is," he grumbled, following after her and hitting the button for her floor. He leaned back against the wall. "I should tell Jim sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, he might get a little upset if we wait too long to clue him in," she sighed, twiddling her thumbs. "You can make the order to the kitchen and then go talk to him while we wait. I mean, if you want to. I'd put it off because I am a coward."

"No, that sounds reasonable," he said as the elevator door opened and they stepped- or rather, he stepped and she rolled- out into the hall and toward her flat. He didn't speak again until they were inside and the door was closed behind them. "Any way we do this, we'll need witnesses," he pointed out, pulling his phone out and starting a text to the kitchen.

"God. James Moriarty, a witness at our wedding. Can you imagine?" She muttered, rolling over to the couch and transferring herself over without a fuss. "What if he wears a tux?"

He shrugs. "We've seen him in a tux before." He'd _fucked_ him in a tux before, but he decided not to bring that up. He sent the text, and then glanced back up at Lorna. "What would you think about him being my best man? Since he'll be there anyway, I mean..."

"Doesn't matter to me, sure, do it," she shrugged, then paused. "He's _not_ invited to our first post-marriage fuck, though. Second one, whatever, I don't care, but _not_ the first one."

He gave her a withering look. "Honestly, Harrison, how much of a boor do you take me for?" He rolled his eyes, walking over to steal a solid kiss. "I'll be back soon."

"I was telling you so you can pass it on," she chuckled, kissing him back and then nodding. "Alright. Good luck."

"Oh, that'll be fun to bring up," he snorted sarcastically, heading out the door and for the lift.

Ten minutes later, he was knocking quietly on Jim's door in the infirmary.

If Jim hadn't recognized the knock, he would have refused entrance. He was eating a rare meal. But he did recognize it, so he swallowed his mouthful of potatoes, and said, "Come in."

He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He turned to look at Jim, resisting the urge to smile. It was good to see the man eating. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I thought this shouldn't wait."

Jim narrowed his eyes a little, looking at Sebastian suspiciously. What was different about him? He looked... weird. "What is it?"

He cleared his throat slightly. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he asked after a moment.

His brows furrowed a little more, but he waved his hand, which he realized still had a fork in it. He set it down. "Yes, go on already."

He cleared his throat. "Harrison and I are going to get married, sir."

If Jim had had anything in his mouth, he would have sputtered. As it was he was still flabbergasted, and it showed. Moran? Get _married?_ This Moran? _What?_ "You're _what?"_

He straightened himself slightly, but didn't back down. "Getting married, sir. As you and I discussed earlier."

"Holy shit," he muttered, leaning back and rubbing his eyes. "I have been surprised before, but this... _You,_ Moran? Really? Never could have predicted it. Next you'll tell me you're having a fucking baby. Which- by the way- No. No, you cannot, I'm not budging on that one," he said distractedly, eyes sharpening for a moment before they wandered off again, just trying to absorb. _Him,_ needing time to absorb. Unbelievable.

"Wasn't going to ever come up, sir," he said with a small snort. He watched the man try and absorb. It was an odd thing to see, James Moriarty scrabbling with surprise. It was the first time he'd ever seen the man like this. But what could he say? He was surprised as well. The whole thing was rather ridiculous, but it was fantastic all the same.

He waited a few moments, gave him time to settle, then said, "It won't be anything big. Just a couple of witnesses and a judge. But I was wondering, sir... Jim... I was wondering if you'd be there. Be my best man."

Jim opened and closed his mouth, then cleared his throat, finding himself surprisingly pleased. "Alright," he agreed, after a moment of hesitation. He would examine his feelings about this later. "I suppose it could be... amusing."

He smiled just a little at that, relieved that that had gone over well. It very easily could not have. He nodded. "Great. Thank you, boss. Unless there's anything else, I'll leave you be." He'd considered bringing up Harrison's sex comment, but had decided Jim would likely see it as a challenge, and that it was best left unsaid unless it needed to be.

"Sure, yeah, mazeltov, or whatever," Jim snorted, waving his hand again. "Have some champagne. Bye."

He left quickly, a smirk slipping into place as he closed the door behind him and headed back upstairs.

Lorna looked up from her phone as he came in, smiling. "Hey, you're alive and seemingly unscathed. Went well, did it?"

"Much better than I thought it would," he agreed, flopping down next to her with a sigh, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "I've never seen him so shocked in his life."

"Yeah, well, it's a very unpredictable turn of events," she admitted, tossing her phone onto the coffee table and shifting to lean against him. "I'm still absorbing it myself."

"I don't think it's completely hit me," he admitted, arm around her. "It's fucking strange."

"You can say that again. Strange... But good. I like it," she said, nodding her head a little, to herself.

He shifted his arm around her, tucking her further up against him, smirking just slightly. "God... imagine us a few years ago if someone told us this would happen."

"I'd rather not," she chuckled, "That would have been unpleasant. I'm too busy being happy right now."

He shook his head a little, still smiling, and shifted a bit until he could bend down to kiss her.

She kissed him back, just enjoying everything about him, and then there was a knock at the door, and she sighed. "Food."

"Food!" he agreed, jumping up and heading for the door, glancing at the security monitor before opening it. He took the tray from the attendant and closed the door carefully with his right hand, bringing the food over, setting it down and pulling the lid off. He let out a hungry groan, eyeing seared ahi tuna, fried rice and veg, seaweed salad, wine, some sort of chocolate rum cake... "I love having a kitchen at our beck and call."

"Oh my god, this looks so good," she moaned, grabbing the plate closest to her and scooting to sit on the floor in front of the coffee table, her stomach rumbling. It was very, very odd to think that at the same time the previous day, they'd been in the middle of a terrible fight. Hell, a couple of hours ago they were still, technically, fighting. And now they were engaged. Life with Sebastian Moran was never dull.

He grabbed his own plate, starting to dish out food, his stomach rumbling now that the end of his distraction-induced fast was in sight. He took a huge bite of tuna, and then closed his eyes with a sigh, letting it melt across his tongue.

She tried to keep herself from gobbling it down too fast, but she hadn't eaten since the previous day, either - having woken up to a note like the one in her hand, she hadn't stuck around in the infirmary very long. God, was that only a few hours ago?

He didn't talk much until he finished his main course, sitting back against the couch with a contented expression and eyeing the cake. He looked over at her, relaxing, and was hit all over again with how fucking _happy_ he was. It was frightening.

"It's a dumb thought and I know we can't ever do it, but I just wanna like, fucking announce it over the P.A. system and shit," she said after a few minutes, voice wistful.

"Yes, well, that is a tad bit beyond what Jim would tolerate, I think." He sat up, starting to cut a sizable chunk of cake.

She watched him, mouth watering. She regretted throwing out his cake. "Yeah, I'd say that's beyond what _you_ would tolerate," she smirked.

He set the slice on her plate, molten center oozing, and turned to cut his own. "That's a valid point. But I'm more lenient than he is, it seems."

She nodded with her head tilted, her mouth already full of cake. "I know. S'crazy. Who _are_ you even?" She teased.

"Mmm... Jim's lost faith in my judgment," he snorted. "The first thing- the _first_ thing, mind- that he brought up was that he would not be permitting us to have children." He rolled his eyes. "Fucking _honestly_."

She laughed. "Sebastian, he said that because he was in shock and he needed to exert control again. Because he thought _this_ was impossible too."

He sighed, reaching over to steal a bite of her cake. "Mmm... you got the better piece." He smirked, reaching for another bite.

"Hey, fuck off!" She laughed, shifting to push him away, making a mess of the mouthful she already had.

He laughed. "Oh come on, we're getting married, that means you're supposed to share," he shot back, smirking.

"It's only _after_ we get married you get half my cake," she retorted, hunched over her cake protectively. "Until then, back off!"

He grumbled, sitting back, but returned to his cake with a small smirk. "Fine."

"Troublemaker," she rolled her eyes, eating another forkful of cake.

He raised an eyebrow, and looked over at her slowly. "...Duh...?"

"I'm gonna beat you up, better be careful. I'll roll at you in the dark, scare the crap out of you," she threatened, just the hint of a smirk on her lips.

He rolled his eyes. "Me startled means you're dead," he pointed out dryly.

"I've startled you before, and survived. I mean, it was close, but..." She hummed, grinning at him and winking once.

He snorted derisively, not responding because of his mouthful of cake. Eventually he just shifted closer, wrapping his arm around her and trying to use his fork with his bad hand, eyes a bit narrowed in concentration.

She finished off her slice and then just settled against him, her eyes closed, body weary and sore from disuse.

He gave up trying to eat with his injured hand, setting his fork aside and leaning against her, eyes closed.

"I should probably go to bed," she murmured, eyes still closed. She didn't move. "Technically, I haven't slept at all. Just been unconscious."

"True. Sleep is important," he said softly, his fingers combing through her hair.

She nodded, falling silent. God, she loved him so much. And they'd both decided a while ago that reasons to split up would be unlikely to come up. But just the feeling of real commitment, of both of them deciding once and for all that they wanted to stay together for the rest of their lives, if possible... She'd never expected it would feel so good. In another life, she might have liked to take his name, too.

He shifted after a few minutes, standing, and stooping to shift her into his arms. Then he headed for their room.

She yawned as he put her in bed, and then tugged gently at his arm. "Bed."

He smiled a little, kicking off his shoes and undressing, before crawling in beside her. "Sleep, Lorna."

She mumbled something and managed to toe her shoes off before she passed out, curled up against him.

"Goodnight, fiancée," he murmured quietly, just trying the word out on the empty room. He immediately felt like an idiot, and rolled his eyes at himself, hugging her a bit closer and dropping off.

* * *

When she woke up again, she wasn't sure what time it was. She yawned, then shifted a little in Sebastian's arms to get a look at the clock on the wall. Huh. A decent, late morning time. Miracles existed.

She mulled over the night before while she waited for Sebastian to wake up. Some part of her was very insistent that it had been a dream, but she pushed that aside and let herself bask again. The urge to tell someone was overwhelming, but she hadn't had friends since she took over the grifting department, and her family was all dead. One by the fault of the man she was engaged to. Somehow, she didn't think her mother would disapprove too much. She herself had married both a hitman and a drug lord, and had been very much in love with both of them.

Well, there was only one way to satisfy this itch, then. She couldn't wait to see the look on Vince's face.

Sebastian woke slowly, enjoying the feeling of having slept in. It was rare for him. He shifted a little, tugging Harrison a little closer and burying his face in her hair. "Morning..."

"Morning," she murmured, smiling a little to herself. It was always cute when he got cuddly in the morning, but she wouldn't try to tell him that.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, rolling onto his back and stretching out with a grunt.

"Really, really deeply," she yawned. "It was nice. How did you sleep?"

"Same," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. He glanced at the clock. "Shit... I need to go relieve Adler... _Fuck_ , I'll be glad when Jim is back on his feet." He stood, heading for the shower.

She sighed at knowing he was going to have to leave, but decided it was better to eat breakfast than mope about it. So she gingerly got up, put on some fresh clothes, and went out into the kitchen to get a bagel and strawberry jam out of the fridge.

He came out of the shower a few minutes later, freshly shaved, and walked into the kitchen to find coffee. "Hey, you're standing! It's almost like you grew a little. Maybe you won't seem so short now," he said with a smirk, grabbing the coffee pot to fill.

"Hey, in an earthquake, you're the one who's fucked, not me," she snorted, polishing off the last of her bagel and sipping her coffee. "This is starting to hurt, though. Think I'll sit."

"How am I fucked in an earthquake, exactly?" he asked, filling his mug and replacing the pot, leaning back against the counter and taking a long sip.

She shrugged, hopping onto the counter. Alright, hopping wasn't the right term. Wiggled, maybe. "I fit in real nice in the space between debris. You? Psh."

"That just means I get to die quicker," he retorted with a grin. "Alright. Adler. I'll see you later. Don't die."

"Hurry back," she waved, "I really wanna crush Vince's soul tonight."

He snorted with laughter, almost putting a mouthful of coffee out his nose. "Alright. I'll be back as soon as I take over from Adler. Who says I can't multi-task?"

She laughed, nodding. "Alright, alright, go, or Adler is gonna make an attempt on your life."

"Because I'm so scared," he muttered, heading out the door and for Adler's office.

She rolled her eyes and settled down for a day in front of the television, deciding it would pass the time the quickest.


	121. Small Vengeances

He came back a few hours later, looking tired but pleased. "Shit day. Let's make it better."

Lorna looked up from the sofa, where she'd been eating an apple and watching a nature documentary. A grin spread across her face. "Oh, hell yeah. Roll my wheelchair over here, will you?"

He snorted, walking over to grab it from the corner and bringing it over. "Here. C'mon, wheels."

"Alright, don't go overboard," she snorted, transferring herself into the wheelchair, then pointing forward. "Onward! To crush our mutual foe!"

He laughed, grabbing the handles and pushing her out of the flat and into the lift. "Where will he be, do you think?"

"I don't know, how badly did you stab him? If he's like he was when he came to see me, probably still in the infirmary. He might need physical therapy," she said cheerfully, drumming her fingers on the arms of the chair. It was fun to be rolled around.

"Right you are," he said, smirking and pressing the button for the appropriate floor. "I'll let you do the talking."

She snickered. "That will be the most effective. At least until the end."

"Until the end?" he asked, pushing her out of the lift as it opened and heading into the infirmary.

"Closing remarks and such. The last word, etcetera," she hummed, sitting back. She had no idea where Vince's room was, but she was sure Sebastian knew.

He had no idea either, but a glance at the patient manifest on the head nurse's desk solved that problem. It _did_ raise a security question he'd need to address later, however. He headed down the hall, stopping in front of room 126 and looking down at her. "Ready?"

"Oh, you bet I am," she said, voice sinister, and she put her ring hand very prominently on the arm of the chair. "Let's do it."

He nodded, not bothering to knock, just opening the door and pushing in.

Armetti was lying in bed, reading, and looked up, surprised, when they entered. "Lorna," he said, setting the book aside quickly. "...Moran... Lorna, it's good to see you."

"Hey, Vince," Lorna smiled, not even bothering to hide her glee. She didn't care anymore. Not after what he had done to Sebastian. "Just wanted to bring you some news. Care to guess?"

He shrunk slightly under her leer, swallowing a little before he straightened again. "I think it'd be better if you just told me."

Lorna's grin grew a little wider. Oh, he was so cowed in front of her. She held up her ring hand. "Sebastian and I are getting married. You're the second to know. Don't you feel special?"

Vince flinched like she'd punched him, and paled. There were two beats of silence, then he took a breath, closing his eyes. His hand opened and closed, and then he opened his eyes again. "Congratulations," he said, his voice shaking and cracking slightly.

His anguish was almost as good as she'd imagined. _Sweet_ revenge. But she wasn't done. "Vincent," she said, the glee gone from her voice, leaving it sharp. "I want to make it clear to you that I am not a _captive,_ understand? I am not abused, I am not _neglected,_ and I am capable of making my own _fucking_ choices. I left you, Vince. How long has it been? Seven, eight years? I'm not coming back. And for the love of god, give the man I have chosen the respect he's earned. Or you'll get more than a permanent limp."

He looked away sharply as her voice changed, eyes red and glassy and staring at a point on the wall with a fierce expression. His muscles were tensed so hard he was trembling, finger tapping, clearly struggling to control himself. He nodded jerkily when she finished. "Of course," he said hoarsely, still not looking at her. "As long as you're happy."

"I am," she said brightly, voice back to normal, reaching behind her to briefly find Sebastian's hand on the handle of the wheelchair. "Incredibly so. Well, that about wraps up what I needed to say."

Armetti still didn't look over, and Sebastian smirked, toothy and cold as he opened the door and turned to go. "Thanks for keeping her warm for me, Vince." Then he pushed Lorna out, closing the door behind them. From the room there came the sound of shattering glass. He laughed as he headed for the lift. "I'd say that went well."

"I think that will haunt him for a _long_ time," she agreed, smirking. "I wonder if he'll let it affect his work. Hard to predict, with Vince."

"Mmm... I don't know. You know him far better than I do." He hit the button to call the elevator, leaning against the wall and smirking. "I feel a bit more vindicated."

"Yeah? How so?" she chuckled, looking over at him. He looked pleased. She hoped that this might have done him some good.

He glanced over at her, raising an eyebrow. "His leg was not enough payment for my goddamned trigger finger. He destroyed part of my life. The fucker deserved to take the same in kind." He smiled. He felt _good._ The cold satisfaction of power. The elevator dinged and opened, and he pushed her out into the hall toward her room. "Sometime when Jim is far away on a business trip, we should fuck in the lift."

She gave a surprised laugh. "I'm not arguing, but what made you come up with that idea?"

He shrugged, still grinning. "Sometimes I'm just inspired." He let her key into the flat, and pushed her through the door.

"You're a ridiculous mastermind," she shook her head, smirking. It was always surprising how easily they returned to normal, to _happy._ It seemed too fast, for people like them, but damn if she was arguing. "Let's finish off that rum cake."

He rolled his eyes, but headed for the kitchen. "Do you think Vince stocked you with ice cream somewhere?"

"Probably. Betting it's my favorite, too," she chuckled, wheeling herself over the sofa and moving onto it, stretching out.

He paused at the kitchen door, cocking his head slightly as he considered her. "What _is_ your favorite flavor?"

"Mint. Preferably with chocolate," she replied, then raised her eyebrows a little. "What's yours?"

He considered her further, vaguely annoyed that Vince evidently knew that and he didn't, before heading for the refrigerator. "Vanilla. But not the shitty mass-manufactured crap. Really good properly-hand-made vanilla."

"Have you ever made your own ice cream? That seems like something you've done," she said, acting like she hadn't noticed a shift in his mood. What was that about?

"I haven't, no," he called through, pulling open the door and- to his sudden petty pleasure- finding cookie-dough ice cream rather than the expected mint. He worked the satisfied smirk back down and found an ice cream scoop, heading back in. "No mint."

"Ugh, what? Unbelievable," she muttered. "Cookie dough is fine, I guess."

"You're so spoiled," he muttered with a snort, dividing the remaining cake onto plates and, after a moment's thought, heading to the kitchen to heat it up in the microwave.

She made an indignant sounding squawk. "Hey, I'm not _spoiled!_ " She protested.

"No?" he asked, putting the cake in the microwave and then walking over to lean against the door frame. He gave her an amused smirk. "You just harrumphed the fact that your luxury flat was stocked with the wrong sort of ice cream. Remind me how that's not spoiled, again?"

"Shut up! If you had someone mooning after you like that you'd expect a certain level of quality to make up for it, too," she complained, sticking her tongue out at him.

He laughed, heading back to grab their cake as the timer beeped, and walking back in a moment later, armed with the plates. He set one in front of her and sat down, reaching for the ice cream tub and prising it open. "Does that mean I get all the ice cream? Or are you going to allow inferior quality mooning on your cake?"

"What am I, some kind of wealthy maniac who can just turn down food?" She scoffed, waving her hand to beckon him closer with the food.

He shook his head, smirking, and doled out a large scoop of ice cream before shoving her plate her way. "Spoiled," he muttered under his breath, still grinning.

"Shut up, rich boy," she scoffed, taking her plate and making another face at him.

It was his turn to scoff. "Please. You make almost as much as I do," he snorted, rolling his eyes and taking a bite of cake.

"Do I?" She shook her head, shrugging a little and taking a forkful of cake. "I don't know, I never spend money."

He gave her a long-suffering look, and then returned to eating his cake in silence.

She muttered something under her breath about that being 'excessive' but let the silence stand otherwise, polishing off her cake and then turning her attention to the bowl of cookie-dough ice cream.

He put his own ice cream on top of the warm cake, letting it melt over the hot food and eating it that way. He polished the dessert off quickly and set the bowl down, leaning back with a contented sigh, watching the room absently. He wasn't foolish enough to close his eyes quite yet. They were technically in Armetti's turf. He had people loyal to him. And they had just royally pissed the man off. Best to remain alert.

She looked over at him after she finished off the rest of her food. "Whatcha thinking about?"

He glanced over at her after a moment, and shrugged. "Whether to expect mutiny from Armetti."

She nodded a little, considering. Normally she would have assuaged his fears, but the truth was that that was when Vince had clung to the hope that maybe one day they could be together again, and now that hope was crushed. And Vince, when he didn't have anything to lose, was notoriously unstable. "Best to keep our eyes open, I think."

He nodded in agreement, pulling his phone out and shooting a quick text off to apprise Jim of the situation. He doubted the boss would be particularly pleased that they had infuriated Armetti at the moment, from a purely convenience standpoint, but it was revenge for his finger, and that was all he cared about.

She was silent for a moment, then she swore quietly under her breath. " _Fuck,"_ she muttered, looking disappointed. "We _totally_ missed out on the opportunity to thank him for his involvement in this. _Damn._ That would have been _hilarious."_

He looked up from his phone, and raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"

"Can you imagine if we told him the idea for marriage would never have come up if I hadn't come up with an idea for revenge? This is all because of him. Without his influence this might have never happened," she chuckled, rubbing her eyes.

A small smile cracked his expression at that. "If he tries to talk to you about it, you should tell him that," he suggested, eyes full of dark amusement.

She snickered, nodding. "Oh, I will. I don't know if he'll be able to speak to me for years, though."

He shrugged. "Might take one last chance to try to convince you. Who knows, though. I don't really care."

"What, you're not going to fight for the right to my hand?" she teased, smirking at him. "I mean, it's not like you asked my _father_ for it..."

He smirked back, then, pupils widening suddenly at the memory of hot blood, a heart pounding in his bare hand. "What do you think the ritual sacrifice was for? I wasn't asking to borrow his car keys."

"Please, I barely had anything to do with it. You killed him because he disrespected you," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. The memory of Sebastian hulking over Carl's limp form, dripping with blood, his eyes feral, though, was doing something to her. "And you were pent up because you didn't get to fuck me."

He was quiet for a moment, then shrugged. "I killed him because I didn't like the way he talked about you, to me. So it had a bit to do about you." He smirked again. "But yes. He mostly just annoyed me. Besides. You would have been insulted if I asked him. Or, if you wouldn't have been, I would have been for you."

She laughed. "Yeah, that's valid. Maybe I would have made you ask my mother, as a joke, but otherwise, I'd be a little offended with the idea of a man giving me away. I'm only _Jim's_ property."

"Oh, good, glad we've made that progressive step," he snorted. He glanced at her then, hesitant. Her mentioning her mother had brought up an off sort of sick feeling in his stomach. He shook it off and grinned. "Still. Your old man went out in style."

"That's for fucking sure. Though he's joined a long list of my family members who have gone out spectacularly," she smirked. "Eric didn't listen to me and got shot by his sister, my mother got taken out by Jim Moriarty, my step-father swam with the fishes... Who knows what happened to my grandparents."

The knot in his gut twisted a bit tighter, and he decided he was done with this subject, standing and starting to clear their plates, heading for the kitchen.

That hadn't been the reaction she'd been expecting. When did he not laugh at death and destruction? She watched him go, brows furrowed a little.

He washed the dishes quietly, scrabbling around for a new topic, because he could feel her eyes staring holes in the back of his head. "So should I wear a tux at this thing?"

She debated the pros and cons of pursuing a topic he was obviously hoping she would let go, but he didn't usually change topics so awkwardly, so it was obviously affecting him somehow. "What's up, Sebastian?"

"A tux," he repeated, deciding to misunderstand her. "When we get married. Rip away bow tie, of course. I don't know, though. What are you going to wear?"

She sighed, rubbing her thumb along a seam in the sofa cushions. "You're avoiding talking about it, and you're doing it badly. That means you're uncomfortable. What's wrong?"

He cleaned the spotless ice cream bowl for a few more moments, then shrugged. "Your mother. It shouldn't bother me. It does."

That surprised her a little. She didn't even think he'd ever really thought about it within the last three years. "It wasn't you. You didn't do it yourself. It's alright."

That was bullshit, and he hoped that she knew that. He wasn't planning on bringing it up, but the feeling in his gut wasn't going away, and now he was pissed. "I fucking set you up, Harrison. Say it's fine if you like, but don't say it wasn't me. Jim could have killed you for that stunt."

She let out a long breath. "I know what you did. I made my peace with it, a long time ago. I said we could start over, and I meant it. Maybe if you'd pulled the trigger personally I would have more of a problem with it - my memory is too good - but you didn't. So I'm over it. I appreciate that you care, though."

"I don't... care," he muttered, a tad sullenly, as he finally set the bowl aside to dry. But he did, which irked him. He decided he was going to have to live with the tight gut feeling. He closed his eyes, taking a slow breath and shaking himself a little. He opened his eyes and turned around. "So. Tux, no tux?"

"That depends, I think. How functionalist are we going?" She asked easily, always good at pretending things hadn't happened. "I mean, should I wear, like, a wedding dress?"

He raised an eyebrow skeptically, walking back over. "Do you _want_ to wear a wedding dress?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "Do you want to wear a tux?"

He shrugged. "I don't really care. You're the fashion expert here, not me," he pointed out. He examined the bandage on his hand. It had gotten wet while he was washing dishes, and he sighed, starting to unwind the gauze.

"I might be a fashion expert, but it's not about fashion, it's about what we want to do for our wedding," she chuckled, then waved him over. "C'mere, let me do that."

He hesitated a beat, then walked over and sat next to her. She hadn't seen the injury yet, and he wasn't exactly eager, but it had to happen at some point. "Well, then, if we're talking preferences, you know mine."

"No, not really," she pointed out, gently taking his hand and beginning to unwrap it the rest of the way. "I only know you don't want to do anything big."

He smirked. "I meant as far as clothes are concerned. Red. Lot of it." He shrugged. "I'm most comfortable in my uniform, but that seems a bit... underwhelming for a wedding. I don't know. What are you expecting here?"

"I don't have expectations about a lot of things, Seb, not with you," she chuckled, getting down to the brace and setting the gauze aside. The wound was ugly, but she'd seen worse. She'd seen plenty of reattached hands and fingers, working with Armetti in their younger days. It broke her heart that this had happened to him, but it didn't affect her expression other than a tightening around her eyes. "You've a long history of being unpredictable. It's nice, for someone who's good at predicting people. Destabilizing, at first, but then it's a pleasant break. Look, you show up in decent slacks and some sort of dress jacket that doesn't look like it was coughed up out of the 80's, I'll be happy. If you're really worried about it, make Jim dress you. I bet he'd find that hilarious, despite it giving him a chance to flex that fashion diva beneath his carefully calculated exterior."

"I think I'll pass on that, thanks," he said with a snort, trying to smirk a little but failing. His eyes were on his finger. He took a slow breath, then stood. "I'm going to go get this bandaged again," he muttered. He didn't like the thing exposed. Despite his determination that once it was healed it wouldn't affect him, it put him on edge.

"Bring me the gauze if you want, I'm not doing anything else," she shrugged, letting his hand go. Her eyes were on him, but she kept emotion out of them. RE: The concern.

He nodded just a little, heading for the bathroom where he'd stocked his bandages. He considered ignoring her suggestion, but to be honest it was still hard, slow work to bandage with his left hand, and after a moment he headed back out, handing her the box and sitting, expressionless and quiet.

She opened the box, got out the roll of gauze and the pair of scissors, and began wrapping up his injury. "They did a good job with this," she said, taking a moment to consider the finger before she returned to wrapping it, hiding it from their gazes. "I've seen jobs a lot worse. Nice to know we have some talented surgeons."

He shrugged. "Jim wouldn't have hired anyone but the best." He watched her bandage his hand with deft motions, and nodded his thanks when she was done.

She cut the gauze and then taped it into place, then patted his wrist. "All done. I should probably change the bandage on my chest tonight. It's been a bit."

He nodded. "I can help there, if you want. Don't know how much better or worse that would be. Up to you." He sat back.

"I'll let you know when I have to. The nurses were changing it while I was in the infirmary, so I've never had to do it before. Not sure how it will go."

He nodded a little. "How are you feeling, in general?" he asked, kicking his shoes off and sitting cross-legged on the couch.

She shrugged a bit. "Well, the being in and out of surgery and losing consciousness all the time helped me... not get over the heroin, but it gave me more time in between me and the last dose. Trying to forget it, one day at a time. Physically, I ache a little less all over, which is nice. My chest still hurts, though. Probably them breaking my ribs open."

"Yeah, that might have something to do with it," he agreed with a small smirk. He reached out to tug her gently in the direction of his lap, leaving the impetus on her.

That was a signal she almost never passed up, so she followed his momentum and transplanted herself into his lap. "I feel kind of like I survived an autopsy."

"Much better than the alternative, trust me," he said softly. "No more almost dying. You do it far too fucking often. I blame this grey hair on you."

She chuckled tiredly. "Sorry, my bad. Look, most of the time it's not on purpose."

He raised an eyebrow. "And when exactly has it been on purpose?" he prodded, just for the fuck of it. She was warm against his chest.

She shrugged. "Not on purpose, maybe, but as a direct result of my actions. The overdose, for instance. Not my goal, but I made it happen."

He grunted in response. That was both their faults, he felt, but he didn't feel like bringing that up.

She fell silent. She didn't need to remind him of all the times she'd almost kicked the bucket. He had lived through them enough times.

He tried to just relax, to not care, like he had years ago. But any time he let his mind wander, it returned to the network. "I think we can get the network back within two months, if we play it right."

She was quiet for a moment, considering. "How do you figure?"

He reached his good hand up, playing absently with the ends if her hair. "If I start now, start working my way into her security system... we can plant people. Adler, possibly. A few others. Grifters. They can start feeling out the situation. Eventually someone can let me in, and I'll deal with Ines. Once she's gone, loyalties should snap back to Jim."

"Do they even have a clue what happened to us, at this point?" She sighed, rubbing her eyes, before letting them close again, enjoying his touch. She liked the absentminded touches a lot.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't risked accessing the database yet," he said quietly. "I won't until I run things by Jim."

She nodded. That was always the first step to anything like that. "I'm sure he's eager to get his network back."

"That, I have little doubt of," he said with a nod. "Especially after so long in the infirmary. I'm surprised he hasn't killed anyone yet."

She rolled her eyes a little. "Maybe he feels like you've done enough of it for him."

He snorted. "I haven't killed that many people." Well. It really depended on your frame of reference.

"Uh huh," she said, chuckling. "I heard the nurses talking amongst themselves when they thought I was out. Did you take away their morgue?"

He drummed his fingers. "Technically it's my morgue," he muttered petulantly after a moment.

"No it's not, it's Jim's morgue," she snorted, completely amused that he had literally commandeered the entire fucking morgue. Her serial killer fiancé.

"I'm in charge right now. It's my morgue." He grinned a little. "You should come see. I got a fresh one down there a couple days ago... I only have a few drawers left."

"What do you even do in there? I thought your interest was in warm bodies, not cold ones," she raised her eyebrows a little, even though he couldn't see her. It occurred to her again just how slim it had been, the time he'd almost slit her throat. Just another one of the many casualties caused by Sebastian Moran. And now she was going to marry him. Life was fucking strange.

He shrugged. "They start warm. It's more... artistic than I usually go." There were bodies he couldn't show her. Ones covered in his words. He didn't think she'd care, but he did. He didn't want her seeing that he still... wanted them. On others, however, he had enjoyed himself, just relaxed, no words, just designs.

"What, do you heat them up in the microwave or something?" She chuckled. "Why do you keep them?"

He shrugged. "Stress relief. It's not ideal, but I don't have a steady supply of victims here and exercise wasn't cutting it. I had to conserve. I'll probably let it lapse now that things are a bit more resolved."

She nodded a little, admitting that made a lot of sense. She may enjoy this particular extracurricular activity as much as he did, but she'd been raised in a _relatively_ normal environment, besides the drug trafficking, and she'd had a few logical considerations built into her, based off of moral teachings. Really, she'd just been taught, at the core, to ask 'why' for these sorts of things. "I'm sure the infirmary would appreciate it. Though I can't imagine they really _need_ a morgue."

He shrugged, and grinned toothily. "They do now," he retorted. "Oh, man... if I let them go back in, I'll have to keep recordings of the security footage when they deal with the bodies..." He laughed.

She smirked. "In their defense, they do work _here._ I'm sure they've seen some pretty gnarly things."

He shrugged. "True. But it might be worthwhile. I got some great expressions when I field-gutted a lab tech in the infirmary commons a few weeks back."

"Well that was death in a public space," she pointed out, "They're not expecting it there. Morgues are guaranteed to be a little bit gross. If you move them somewhere else they'll get a big reaction."

His grin widened at that. "New game. Let's start hiding bodies around the facility. Somewhere they'll be found before they melt too much."

She laughed. "Jesus. Alright. You're carrying them, though. I'm not touching dead bodies I didn't create."

"Excellent," he snickered, feeling remarkably cheerful.

She shook her head with a chuckle, happy he was happy, and always willing to cause a little trouble with him.

He shifted sideways until he was laying down on the couch, with her on top of him. "I'm still technically on call, but it's a slow day."

"How much can they possibly screw up?" she muttered, relaxing into his warmth. She felt like a cat sleeping on a very big dog. She'd be pissed if he had to leave.

"Well, now that you've said that, everything," he snorted, amused. She took up so little of his body, curled up on top of him like she was. It was adorable.

"Shh, it'll be fine. We're in a bunker, for god's sake," she said, patting his chest, her eyes closed. For such a muscular man, he was oddly comfortable.

He rolled his eyes, looping his arms low around her hips, careful to avoid her chest. "You're too optimistic lately. It's frightening."

She snorted. "You came back from the dead. Tends to make a girl feel pretty optimistic, believe me."

"I suppose that's fair," he smirked. "I beat Jesus on that timeframe, too. Three days. Pff. Total bullshit. Try months, dude."

"Yeah, you're pretty spry, considering," she laughed. "And you're way more fun."

"Glad you don't think I'm a buzzkill," he snorted, smiling and pinching her arse.

She made an indignant noise, eyes opening to look up at him in exasperation. "What was that for?"

He grinned cockily at her. "What, we get engaged and suddenly I can't pinch your arse? Talk about things getting stale."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Please, the quality of sex has never declined in all this time, legally tying the knot won't have any adverse effect whatsoever."

"Right," he agreed, and pinched her arse again, with little force this time.

She dug her nails into his side for a moment in recompense, then relaxed again, eyes falling shut. The warm happiness that had been coming and going since the proposal was back in her chest again, and she wondered how long it would last. Would this feeling ever fade, with them?

He rolled his eyes as she half-clawed him, chuckling, and then shifted a bit, getting more comfortable. His eyes drifted shut as he relaxed. He was... content.

She fell asleep without really meaning to, just too warm and comfortable and safe to put off any lingering feelings of weariness from a simple activity, like putting on clothes.

He let her sleep, tracing patterns on her back, feeling her breath, and mostly just enjoying her presence.

* * *

Playlist: Marina and the Diamonds - Happy (Acoustic)


	122. Controlled Burn

She woke up a little while later, feeling a little refreshed. She shifted a little, yawning, then relaxed again, still coming out of sleep. "Mmm... How long was I out?"

He opened his eyes slowly, and glanced at the clock. "A couple hours. Figured you needed it."

She gave a small nod. "Yeah. I keep just kinda... Low key passing out. Body is telling me to slow down."

"It tends to do that when you almost die," he said quietly, with a touch of humor. He sighed. "Alright. I need to get up, and go talk to Jim about the network. And then find Adler, because it's her turn to deal with this mess now."

She sighed, but she shifted and moved off of him onto the sofa. "Alright. Bring back sustenance."

He nodded, standing up and shaking his half-asleep leg out. "Any preferences?"

She shook her head. "As long as it's kinda salty, I don't care."

He nodded, heading into the bedroom to change into a less wrinkled shirt.

She curled up on the warm spot he'd left behind on the sofa, which helped to soothe some of the parts of her that ached. She had a feeling she was going to need to ice her chest tonight, which would be very unpleasant. At least she wouldn't have to do it alone.

He left quietly and headed for the infirmary. He needed to update Jim on his plans for the network.

* * *

Jim was in his bed, flipping through files on his tablet, his mind uncharacteristically quiet. He wasn't sure why, but he had a suspicion it had to do with his two top employees, both of whom he'd fucked and one whom he considered a friend, were getting... _Married._ It was just... Weird.

Moran knocked, reaching up to straighten his collar again, waiting to be called in and mentally going over his plan again.

"Come in," Jim said, not looking up from his tablet just yet.

Moran walked in, closing the door behind him. "Good afternoon, sir."

"If you say so," Jim drawled, setting his tablet down on his lap as he looked up. Moran, realistically, looked no different, but it was still odd to look at him and think that he'd proposed to anybody.

He didn't react, just plodded forward. "If you're feeling up to it, sir, I'd like to discuss retaking the network."

"Of course I'm feeling up to it, Moran, don't be ridiculous," he rolled his eyes. "I'm going mad in here, doing this little."

He nodded, falling into parade rest. "I've been evaluating my situation with Ines's security. I think it may be possible to reverse what she did to us. To place our own people."

"Interesting thought. One I've considered myself, but only briefly. I've been otherwise _occupied,"_ he snorted, gesturing to the room around him with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "It sounds like you've gotten further than I have. What's your plan?"

He sighed. "I need a couple of ears to the ground before I can plan too far," he admitted. "Ideally, we get a few people in place and start evaluating what Ines's story is. What she says happened to you. Then we exploit that. Prove her a liar, sow dissent. Then we step in at her weakest point, and we'll have the network at out back."

Jim nodded. "Do you have any potential candidates to act as our ears?"

He sighed. "I think we need to hire outside, sir. Ines has all of our records. We need someone she doesn't know. That, and Adler."

Jim nodded again, tapping one finger soundlessly against his knee. "Make two teams. One of them will be led by a Belgian, Frenchman, Algerian, one of those, I don't care, but it has to be authentic. She's not a reader but she's capable of recognizing her own countrymen, I'm sure. There's only so much a grifter can fake. The other team will be led by one of Armetti's people. Reliable, and not British. If she's smart she's screening against Brits; I would, if I was taking over a network that had been ingrained in one place for so long. Who knows who might have slipped through record keeping cracks? The teams will have nothing to do with each other, and we'll integrate them at different times. Ideally they won't be aware there is another team. They'll enter in the guise of a contract team - they need to be good, because if they're dismissed we're going to have to do the whole debacle over again. God help them, if they come crawling back here without progress."

He nodded. "Absolutely, sir. I'll begin assembling teams right away. Anything else?"

"Think about where best Adler would be served. I have no use for her here, when you and..." What name did he refer to Harrison as, now? Certainly not her first name. "Harrison, let's assume, are both back at your respective posts. I can't kill Adler, or imprison her, and I won't set her free while I'm displaced."

"We probably have some time with that," Moran said, pointedly ignoring Jim's grasping around Lorna's name. "Harrison is recovering slowly. Even an hour or two of activity exhausts her. It will be awhile before she's prepared to return to her duties. Until then, Adler and I can continue our twelve on, twelve off schedule. After that..." He glanced at the door, just to ensure it was closed, that they had privacy. He returned his attention to Jim. "She's spent almost a month running the network with me, sir. She knows too much to set free under _any_ circumstances. Explain to me why it is we can't kill her, or lock her up?"

Jim sighed wearily, letting his chin drop a little so he could rub at his temple. "Because while she's not _nearly_ as smart as she would have you believe, she has a very elaborate safety net in place for herself. It limits her, somewhat, but if she doesn't log in, or check in, or send a fucking _carrier pigeon_ to wherever she's stored the very damaging information she's come into over her career, it's automatically released, and there's no guarantee that we wouldn't be on the list. That, and many, many of our connections and clients."

"And what I am telling you, sir, is if we let her leave, we will _certainly_ be on that list, and it will _probably_ include everything about our operations and procedures." He sighed, reaching up to rub at his eyes tiredly.

Jim shook his head. "Moran, she's had contact with her safety net this whole time. If she didn't, there would be a lot more shit flying than there is. As it is, she's had information on us for _years._ Not all of it was decipherable, even by the Holmes brothers - when she let her weakness for Sherlock compromise that phone, she lost much of it. But it's ridiculous to think that she never replaced it."

He swore. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. "We should just kill her and deal with the fallout before it gets worse."

"We _can't_ deal with the fallout, not right now, not with these resources, not in this _weakness,"_ Jim snapped, losing patience, "My first thought is to get rid of someone, Moran. If you think I haven't considered how to get rid of that woman before she can spread information of mine that's _important_ you're off your rocker."

He sighed, considering, then said suddenly, "Maybe we can fix both problems at once."

Jim raised one eyebrow, looking skeptical. "How?"

He walked forward, then, grabbing a chair and dragging it over, straddling it backwards and sitting, arms crossed on the back of the chair, thinking. "Let's keep Adler out of the loop about the teams going into the network. Get the teams in place, then we ask Adler to release some of her information about the network- _Ines's network_ , at the moment- and let Ines scramble to handle the fallout. As soon as it's done, we kill Adler. Ines will be too busy dealing with her own shitstorm to act on any information released about us, or anyone else, for that matter, and even if she does, we'll be long gone. As soon as we kill Adler we pack out of here and enact our plans to retake the network, while Ines is weak. As for the government? We send Mycroft and my sister a little blackmail package of their own, having to do with their treatment of us over the past few years. They'll keep the government out of it. Once we retake the network we completely restructure the security- we were going to need to anyway- and we're back on top, with Adler gone for good."

Jim was silent for a beat. "I'm angry I didn't think of it myself, to be honest," he muttered, scratching the back of his head as he thought over the different paths the plan could take. "It's unpolished, but we can fix that. I'll start to work on buffing out the rough edges."

He nodded in agreement, trying not to looked too proud of the praise. "Of course, sir." He stood. "I'll start working on assembling the teams, as I said. Let me know if you need anything."

"I will, I will," Jim assured, waving his hand, already picking up his tablet. "Alert me to any situations."

"I always do," he said, taking the waved had as a dismissal and heading for the door, shutting it quietly behind him. It had been a long time since he'd felt _good_ leaving Jim's presence, but now he felt better than good. He felt on his game, back in his element. He was thrilled.

 _Bring it on, Ines. We're back._

Jim dove into planning as Sebastian left, feeling a wave of satisfaction flood his system. A _plan._ Oh, it felt so good to have a plan.

* * *

Moran returned to the flat a half hour later, having handed the network over to Adler and picked up fish and chips from the kitchen. He scanned his thumb and elbowed his way in, shutting the door behind him with his foot. "I have food," he called as he entered.

She walked out from the bedroom dressed in pajamas and toweling off her hair. She'd decided to shower while he wasn't around so he wouldn't have to hear her swearing. "Fantastic, I'm starving," she hummed.

"Yeah, you look it," he snorted, setting the tray on the coffee table. "How was your shower? That had to be fun."

"Very unpleasant, shockingly," she snorted, with a small roll of her eyes, walking over to sink into the couch, and pulled one of the plates off the tray and into her lap. "How did planning with Jim go?"

"Well," he said, sitting down beside her. "We have a plan. One that rids us of Adler as well, in case you're interested."

She perked up immediately. "Adler? Eliminated? What the hell are you waiting for, tell me!"

He laughed, taking a bite of food just to make her wait a little longer. "We're going to use her information to weaken Ines, and while the bitch is scrambling to fix everything, we'll kill Adler. Ines will be too distracted to fuck with us, and a little well-placed blackmail means the government won't either. We exploit Ines's weakness to get the network back, and then we overhaul everything and make Adler's information obsolete."

Lorna groaned, a sound of pleasure. "Oh, thank god. What an engagement gift. Oh, I can't wait to see her dead body."

"You want to do it? I doubt Jim would mind." He hunted around on the tray for vinegar and poured some on his chips.

She gave a staged gasp, a hand going to her chest, obviously thrilled. " _Can_ I? Oh, what a dream. This is the best day of my life, honestly."

He rolled his eyes with a snort. "Fucking drama queen."

She laughed, shrugging. "I'm only kinda joking. I would relish killing her for probably years."

He shook his head, reaching out to muss her hair. "Then by all means."

She shot him a mock look of resentment as she fixed her hair. "It's like you're trying to pick a fight or something."

He grinned. "If you weren't so broken at the moment, I would be."

"You're such a troublemaker," she said, exasperated, though smiling.

"See, with you, when I make trouble, it usually leads to really great fucking," he retorted, eating another chip.

"Which is why you decided to marry me, right?" she snorted, an eyebrow raised.

He smirked. "Eat your fucking chips, Lorna."

She made a face at him, sullenly picking up a chip, and muttered "Make me," under her breath.

He raised an eyebrow, and picked up a chip, rolling it between his fingers contemplatively, then made a _nope_ noise and tossed it back on his plate.

"You're so funny," she rolled her eyes, then popped a chip in her mouth.

He left the rest of his food and leaned back quietly, tired. "I'm hilarious."

She snickered. "It's _funny_ that you said that..."

He raised an eyebrow- those muscles were getting a hell of a workout- and glanced over at her. "Why?"

"Because you're not hilarious," she smirked, waiting for him to get the gag.

He tilted his head slightly, and then decided he wasn't going to get it, and closed his eyes again. "Okay."

She chuckled and finished off the rest of her food before she shifted and moved to press up against his side, resting her head on his shoulder, sighing softly.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a smile as he felt Lorna curl up against him. "You're like a kitten," he chuckled softly.

"Translation: cute and soft," she hummed, "And also appreciates warmth greatly."

"I was leaning toward that last one, yeah," he shot back, wrapping his arm around her with a sigh.

"Ooh, those are fightin' words," she scoffed, though she didn't move away from him.

"If we fight you lose your warm spot," he retorted with a small grin.

She grumbled. "Did you see me moving?"

"No," he conceded, opening his eyes then to look at her. She really was beautiful, even recovering as she was. He reached up to trace her ear with a gentle finger.

She sighed in contentment, very similarly to a cat, and just basked under his soft touch. Somehow it was all the better, switching from rough to soft.

He hid a laugh, just enjoying how she preened under his touch, tracing patterns along her neck.

She quietly appreciated his attention for a while, then she cracked her eyes to look at him. "You find this amusing, don't you?"

"Oh, very. Are you lodging a complaint?" he asked quietly, emphasizing the question with a gentle flick of her ear.

"No," she said, pretend sullen. She would stay still past until she was uncomfortable from the position.

He snorted, bending down to kiss the top of her head. "Now now. Don't be an asshole."

She sat up and away from him, looking aghast. "What?! Me?"

He just rolled his eyes, reaching out to shove her playfully, careful not to jar her chest. "Yes. You."

"Why?" She complained, looking very offended.

He raised an eyebrow. "You come over here, steal my warmth, practically purr when I touch you, and do nothing but gripe," he pointed out with a small smirk.

"Hey, you always give me reason to!" She protested. "With all those fighting words!"

"Oh, is that so?" he sighed, leaning back against the arm of the couch away from her. "I suppose I'll just give you your freedom then." His gaze was amused.

"Stop it, you're just being difficult," she grumbled, following him and pressing up against his side again, stubborn.

He sighed. "You're really grumpy for a fiancée, you know that?"

"Cause I just want to steal your warmth without any nonsense," she retorted, and put on a very rare pout.

He gave a long-suffering sigh, and closed his eyes. " _Fine_ , be boring," he murmured, shifting a bit to get comfortable and relaxing.

She gave a small chuckle. "What did you want me to do to entertain you?"

"For Chrissake, Harrison, make up your mind. Do you want silence or conversation?" he groaned.

"Pleasant, non-attacking conversation, or silence," she clarified.

He sighed, and was silent for a minute or two, then asked, "Who's the most famous person you've ever fucked?"

She laughed, surprised by the question. "I feel like that one is almost too easy. Prince Harry. It wasn't an ongoing thing. Just wrong place at the right time."

"You're _kidding,_ " he said, sitting up and looking at her with startled interest, grinning. "You jockeyed the bloody prince of England? What was it like?"

"Well, there's a reason the man gets so many women in bed, and it's not just his startling charm," she laughed, "The man has some talents that will never help him in Parliament. Just... Implausibly talented hands."

"I don't know," he said with a smirk. "I'll bet it'll help him a few times, at least. Fuck. Prince Harry. Jesus."

"I know, I know," she chuckled. "What about you? Ever killed or fucked anybody famous?"

He smirked. "Not too famous. They don't usually call in a sniper for that, too many questions. Look at the Kennedy assassination. That was a fuckfest."

"And we don't even know about all of it yet. When the hell are they going to declassify that shit? It's been like 500 years," she snorted, rolling her eyes a little.

"I think your numbers might be slightly off, but whatever. Who cares, though? I don't care if the public knows, as long as I do."

"But _I_ don't know," she sighed, wistfully. "And I'm nosy about things that could never possibly get back to me."

"Really?" he glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "You never read Jim's file on that?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "What? We have that file? Oh my god, what the fuck do we _not_ have?"

He laughed. "It's _Jim_. You honestly expected him to not look into history's greatest questions? Or at least, history's greatest questions where blackmail could be involved?"

"So is Roswell real or..." She asked, just the slightest hint of a smirk on her face.

"I guess you're just going to have to read the file and find out," he said smugly, closing his eyes again.

She rolled her eyes and settled back down against him.

* * *

It was almost five weeks before they were ready. Lorna and Jim had recovered most of their strength, and a polished plan had been laid out and adjusted and rearranged until even Jim seemed satisfied.

Moran was heading up to talk to him now, to discuss opening the game with Adler today. He rubbed his thumb absently over his trigger finger. The bandages were off, now, the skin scarred over, and the doctor had decided he was clear to remove the splint whenever he wanted. It was just a matter of taking it off and starting therapy to regain some movement. That was all.

He had decided it needed another day to heal.

He knocked with his left hand, reaching up to straighten his collar.

"Enter," Jim called, sitting on his desk, back facing the door, feet on his chair, elbows braced on his knees, and fingers holding up his chin as he observed wall behind his desk. It was a pose that Holmes would have easily taken, and he was very aware of that, but the fact was that he had spent too much time sitting down in comfortable beds recently, and he was rather sick of it. It felt good to sit on something that didn't have any give to it.

He did so, raising an eyebrow at the position but not commenting, closing the door behind him and walking over to stand at his usual place in front of the desk. "I think today might be the day, sir."

"Good, we agree," Jim said, not looking away from the papers, making absolutely certain that he hadn't been looking right past something glaringly obvious. "Adler has been getting on my nerves."

"I'm amazed it took her this long, sir," he said calmly. "Would you like to speak with her? Or should I?" He glanced over the papers on the wall as well. It was a habit Jim had picked up sometime during his 'death'. He wasn't overly fond of it, as having anything on paper like that posed an unnecessary security risk, but he was picking his battles.

"She won't require hearing it from me to do so. You're a good enough authority for her. For most people who work for me, rightfully. Half of them shouldn't even know my name..." he added on, muttering the last part. He glanced over his shoulder for a moment, taking in Moran with one look, then turning back to the papers, a smirk on his face. He knew the papers would bother his chief of security.

He nodded just a little. "I'll go speak with her, sir. I'll text you once it's done."

"Excellent. Is there anything else you needed, Moran?"

He shook his head, on his way to the door. "That's all, sir." He flicked his phone out, texting Adler that he needed to meet with her.

Irene answered the text with an affirmative and the room she was in, otherwise saying nothing. She found interacting with Moran any other way was a waste of time and energy. She would never be able to manipulate him with lust.

He rolled his eyes and shot back that she should meet him in his office, and headed that direction. He had to ask her a favor already. He wasn't going to come crawling to her physically as well.

Irene arrived a few minutes after he did, partially to make sure he knew that she had been busy. She opened the door after one brisk knock, but that was the only indication of her irritation. "You asked for me?"

He nodded, motioning her in. "Shut the door behind you, and sit."

Irene did as he asked and sit, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. "What can I do for you, Moran? Looking for a good wedding planner?"

"If I was, would I be talking to you? No. Moriarty has a... request." He shifted a bit, and leaned forward, elbows on the desk.

"And?" She asked, gesturing for him to go on. "What is it?"

He sat back. "If we're going to take back the network, we need them weak. Distracted. Moriarty wants you to release information on the Network."

One of her carefully groomed eyebrows rose. "Oh? That's quite the request. Now, why would I do that?"

He straightened a little. " _Firstly,_ because Moriarty asked you to," he said, tone sharp. He paused, staring her down with that for a moment, before relenting slightly. "Secondly, because we're willing to make it worth your while."

She raised an eyebrow. "I doubt you can. I don't want to lose my insurance against my death. I don't care if I was asked _nicely."_

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not asking you to give up anything on _us._ I'm asking you to bring down Ines. Which is why I'm going to make you an equivalent offer," he said, sliding a file across the table. "Everything on or security systems and strategies, here and at the network, and a few of our more... sensitive... endeavors. Tit for tat."

She considered the file for a moment, thinking over the offer. But where was the downside, really? "Alright. I'll do it. When do you want the information released?"

"Yesterday," he said, opening his laptop. "But I'll accept within the hour."

She snorted in amusement. "Alright. Consider it done."

"Excellent. That's all." He didn't look up at her, reading through emails.

She snorted and got up, leaving without another word, already unlocking the data in her hidden cloud.

He waited for her to leave, then smiled just slightly. His time with Ines had made him better at playing people than he particularly cared for, but it had its uses. He texted Jim.

 _It's done. -SM_

Jim read the text, and set his phone back down, moving from sitting on his desk to sitting in his chair, so he could turn his computer on and start observing the fringes of the network that he could keep his eyes on. He wanted to know the second the network reeled from the blow.

* * *

Moran was watching, too, and started to see the effects less than two hours later. A flurry of vaguely panicked memos about heightening security, and then a total lock-down of several more vulnerable branches. He stood, then, heading up to Jim's office to discuss the situation. He knocked quietly. Over the last few days they had been preparing. Shifting data to portable hard-drives, organizing quietly for a quick retreat.

Jim looked up from his files. "Come in," he said, gathering the papers together.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "She's panicking. I'm ready to deal with Adler if you are."

"I'm ready," Jim said, leaning back in his chair. "Kill her however you please."

He gave a toothy grin. "I appreciate that, sir." He headed for the door, texting Harrison. _Ready for some fun? Meet me in the lift. -SM_

Lorna raised her eyebrows at the message, but made her excuses to leave the meeting she was in and pressed the button to summon the elevator, which opened to reveal Sebastian. "What's up? Are we fucking in the lift?"

"Nope. A different but equally enjoyable task," he said, grinning toothily and offering her a knife as the lift doors closed behind her. "Adler."

She beamed, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet as she took the knife. "Seriously?" she laughed, "Is it Christmas already?"

"Seems so," he said, smirking as he pressed the button for Irene's floor. "Try not look so giddy. She'll be suspicious."

"I'm offended you even felt the need to tell me," she snorted, wiping all the emotion from her face, even though her pulse was still jumping excitedly.

He laughed, but sobered as the lift dinged and the doors opened. He stepped out, heading down the hall to find Alder's office and knocking solidly.

"Come in."

He pushed the door open and they stepped inside. Adler was lounging on a love seat, working on her laptop, and looked up as they came in, gaining a sickening smile. "Ah, the happy couple. How can I help you love birds?"

Lorna shot an annoyed glance at Sebastian, rolling her eyes a little. She hadn't told anybody about the engagement, so it was beyond her how Irene knew - Vincent certainly hadn't aired that embarrassment. "You can help me by cutting out the attitude. It's really quite annoying."

Sebastian closed the door behind them, and shrugged at Lorna's glance. _He_ hadn't told her. The woman just _knew_ things. Not for long, however.

"Oh, your hubby-to-be here owes me a treat or two after today, I should think. Let's cut to the chase. What do you want?"

She sighed, pulling the knife out of the back of her trousers, where she'd tucked it away a minute ago. "To scratch an itch, Irene."

The woman tensed, then, setting the laptop aside slowly. "Alright, let's slow down and think about _consequences_ for a moment.." she said softly. Sebastian grinned, but didn't interrupt.

"What consequences, Irene? What could your information do to me that hasn't already happened? That's the trouble with irritating people who have already known the feeling of having lost everything," she said, stepping forward slowly, flipping the knife in her hand and neatly catching it again. "You can't make them afraid of anything."

"You can still lose him," she retorted, nodding to Moran. "I _saw_ what that did to you." She smiled with the dark sweetness of bitter chocolate. "You don't think I took that little soft spot into account in my records?"

"Everyone saw what that did to me, Irene," she said simply, stepping closer, knife still flipping casually in her hand. "Everyone knows he's my weakness. My grief was not subtle. That's not news." She stopped flipping the knife as she reached the other side of the love seat, grip closing firmly around the handle. "You can't save yourself, Irene. Die with some dignity."

She clenched her jaw, glancing past Lorna to Moran, who just smirked and shook his head. "Sorry, _sweetheart_. You got played. Just accept it. She's been looking forward to this."

Adler stilled, then, and then returned her gaze slowly to Harrison. "I'll die enjoying how fucked you have no idea you are ."

She just smiled in response, closed the distance between them smoothly, and planted her knee on Irene's chest, her free hand grabbing onto Irene's jaw and holding her head still. And in the next moment, she slid the blade up into the bottom of her jaw.

Irene didn't twitch, didn't scream, just stilled, and faded. Sebastian walked closer, head tilted slightly. "That was quick. I'm surprised."

"She's never done anything to me. She's just a fucking annoying bitch," she snorted, pulling the knife free and wiping it off on Irene's shirt, pushing off her chest and moving to hand him the blade, a satisfied smirk on her face. "Just knowing she'll never fucking give me that look again is enough."

He nodded, accepting the knife and tucking it away, observing the body quietly for a moment as the blood seeped into the couch. For once, he was too distracted to be interested. "We have, at most, twenty-four hours before everything goes to hell. Go get packed. We're out of here _completely_ , like we have never been here, within four hours."

She groaned, thinking wistfully of the walk-in closet her quarters offered, and thought guiltily of trying to take some of it before the reasonable part of her brain stamped that out with a roll of its eyes. "Anyone coming with us, besides Jim?"

"Everyone," he said, looking at her. "Or, rather, I should say, leaving with us. This location is compromised. Within four hours, we will be _gone_."

"Oh, Christ," she huffed, running a hand through her hair. "Do we even have the manpower to scrub this place of evidence in that time frame?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "A lot of it has already been going on, out of Adler's sight. Most of our data has been digitized and removed. As for the physical evidence... Once our people leave, the tunnels are going to be burned, and then flooded."

"Yeah, that'll do it," she snorted, rubbing the back of her head. "Alright, I better go decide what I can't live without in that flat of ours."

He nodded. "I need to go report to Jim and put out the information to everyone else. I'll meet you there soon."

"Yeah, you got it," she agreed, distractedly, walking past him while running through a list of things in the flat that needed to be kept. Just when she was growing to like the place, too.

He texted Moriarty that Adler was dead while on his way to go light a fire under the asses of various department heads. If Jim wanted to meet with him personally, that would be his next stop.

Jim had no such desire, however, and simply busied himself packing a small bag with essentials like toothpaste and deodorant and high-quality clothes, because he couldn't depend on their next safe harbor having them.


	123. A Thousand Leagues Above The Sea

They managed to clear the place in three hours and fifty-six minutes, and he lit the fire personally before walking out to the road in front of the church to meet Lorna and Jim at the car, leaving Armetti's people to deal with the flood. He paused for just a moment to take a breath of real, unfiltered air. Then he got into the driver's seat of the car, and started it up.

Lorna was in the back, Jim had shotgun. Neither of them had communicated where they were going to sit, but a tacit understanding that Jim didn't sit in the backseat unless it was a limo or an Escalade was there. "So, where are we going?" Lorna asked as the car started, raising her eyebrows a little.

He pulled out onto the road, along with four other identical cars, and they started off. "The airport," he responded, glancing to the side as one of the other cars turned off onto an alternate route. Eventually they'd all be going different directions. He'd personally swept all the cars for bugs, and placed signal jammers, but there was still the possibility of actual, personal surveillance, and he wasn't interested in making it easy for anyone following them.

"And then?" she prompted, eyebrows rising further. She hadn't been told the plan at all past fucking over Adler, and she felt like she was probably qualified to hear it, considering that for a little while she'd been Jim's right hand.

"Right now? Switzerland. Just for a night or two, while we wait for our teams at the network to give the go-ahead." They turned onto the freeway.

"Ohh, Switzerland, that's nice," she chirped, sitting back pleased about their destination for once.

He snorted in amusement, and Jim just rolled his eyes. "I'm sure it will be enjoyable for the twelve to forty-eight hours we're there."

"I'll have to buy a watch to bring home," she quipped, just to amuse Sebastian and annoy Jim.

Moran smirked. "I'm surprised that your mind didn't immediately go to swiss chocolates," he shot back.

She made an offended noise. "Are you calling me _fat_ , Moran?"

"What?" He sounded startled. "No! Why would you- no, you like chocolate. That's all, _Christ_." He snorted, and pulled into the fast lane, accelerating. Jim rolled his eyes.

"Would the two of you kindly shut up?"

She snickered, leaning back in her seat. "Gotcha. Totally had you going. And yes, boss, now I will shut up."

* * *

The rest of the ride took place in silence, until they pulled into the airport. Jim had been texting the whole drive, and now started directing them through the airport, until they stopped in a back parking lot. Moran was reminded of when they had first fled, and the situation was similar, a young man waiting for them to guide them through the bowels of the airport.

Lorna was more aware of her surroundings this time around, and kept a close eye on the proceedings, for future reference. What future, she didn't know. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

He was tense as they walked through the airport, constantly waiting for Ines's people to jump them, but half an hour later they were on the airplane and taxiing down the runway.

Everyone relaxed a little as the plane made it into the air. It was unlikely Ines would manage to have it shot down. Lorna decided to spend the long flight to Switzerland in Sebastian's lap, and so sank into it and curled up, not leaving room for much argument.

He rolled his eyes as she climbed into his lap, but shifted a bit to be more comfortable, looping his arms around her waist. Jim watched them almost curiously, an odd expression on his face.

Lorna could feel Jim's eyes on them, but she studiously ignored them, closing her eyes and resting her head on Sebastian's shoulder. She would sleep through as much as the plane ride as possible to pass the time.

Sebastian let her drift off, fingers playing absently with the ends of her hair, thinking over the coming days.

Jim watched them for a while, watching Harrison fall asleep. He felt confused, and he hated to feel confused. "Why?" he asked suddenly, without any preamble, eyes shifting to Sebastian's. "Why did you choose this?"

He glanced over at the other man, and was silent for a while, trying to find words that the other man would understand. "Why do you play the game, Jim? It's the same thing. I don't know _why_ , she just... she makes me feel alive. Happy."

He didn't say anything for a minute, just looked at the enormous, scarred mountain of a bodyguard in front of him with the short, apparently spotless slip of thing sleeping in his arms, and was still confused, but a different kind of confusion. He disliked that confusion even less. "How much does it bother you that we were fucking while you were.. gone?"

He turned his attention back to Lorna for a moment as she shifted a bit in her sleep, and shrugged. "Logically, it doesn't bother me at all, sir. I was dead. You had absolutely no reason to do otherwise."

"Logically," Jim repeated, raising his eyebrows a little. "Implying another train of thought."

He sighed, and looked back up at Jim. "We can't all be perfectly logical, sir. But any emotions I might have on the matter are my problem. Not yours."

"I wasn't scolding you, Moran. I was... Curious," Jim said, with just a hint of disgust, directed at himself.

He caught the sentiment, but didn't comment on it, instead formulating his response. "It's... difficult to explain, sir, to be honest," he admitted quietly. "I completely understand that I was gone. That she needed you, and..." He trailed off, deciding to avoid mentioning that Jim had needed Harrison as well. "I guess what bothers me the most about it, boss, is that I wasn't there. I failed, and I caused the both of you a lot of trouble, caused her a lot of pain because of it. I don't like the reminder."

Jim sighed quietly. He had conflicted feelings. _Feelings._ Which shouldn't have existed at all. On the one hand, he had a desire to make Moran jealous - he loved poking at primal instincts. On the other, he was friends with Moran. It was a conundrum.

He considered Jim quietly, trying to understand the man's expressions. They were common expressions, but not on Jim's face, and the contrast was disorienting. "I won't let it bother me, sir, like I said..."

"I heard you the first time," he said simply, holding his eyes for a moment before looking away, eyes roving over the interior of the plane.

He nodded just a little, and considered letting it drop. It would be the smart thing to do. But some part of him was curious, too. Insanely intrigued by this new side of Jim that he had never seen before. "Sir... If I could speak freely for a moment?"

Jim's eyes slid back to Moran, and he nodded a little, his expression blank.

He hesitated a moment, then straightened just slightly. "It doesn't bother me that you're showing more emotion. No one else cares. And while it can definitely present some weaknesses, sir, I believe you could also see it as a new chapter of challenges you haven't gotten to test yourself against before. We don't think less of you for it, sir, if you decide to emote every once in awhile." He shifted slightly, aware that the line was miles behind him, and didn't dare look at Jim directly. "In closing, trying to shoot me while on a plane is a terrible idea, if you decide to kill me please use a knife."

Jim snorted, a smirk appearing on his face despite himself at the last remark, though his finger tapped on the arm of his seat in a staccato rhythm. He was agitated. He himself didn't know how to do what Sebastian was asking him. How the hell was he supposed to emote when he didn't know what he was feeling? "It's not that simple," he said after a minute, jaw tight.

"How so?" he asked, genuinely curious, and alive, apparently. A good sign that Jim was in a decent enough mood for this conversation. And where else, when the only ears that could possibly hear them belonged to the pilot- cordoned in his own compartment- and Harrison- asleep on his lap, oblivious.

"You assume that I know how to do that," he said, a little strained. "I don't. Did you? With her?"

He snorted in amusement. "Sir, I tried to kill her, and left her bleeding from a neck wound while I went out and got high. Draw your own conclusions."

He chuckled. "Yes, I remember that. Have you _ever_ heard the last of it? God, she's as mouthy as you are, except she can say whatever she so desires to you."

"She cannot," he objected. "In fact, that particular scenario was a result of her saying something she shouldn't. Though admittedly she has a bit more freedom now."

Jim made an amused noise. "How much are you censoring her, now that she's got a ring on her finger?"

He raised an eyebrow. "...Some," he said defensively. "How much are you censoring me, really?"

"We have a very different relationship. I don't think there's much of a comparison. You've never slept in my bed, let alone lived with me," he pointed out, voice quiet. It was odd, how he had changed since Moran's fake death. That raw, vulnerable period where he'd distracted himself with the one thing that Moran had ever really put a part of his soul into, it had... Stirred him up. He felt discombobulated. Now he felt... _Needs._ "I don't know what it is anymore, honestly. I've haven't been this confused since I was _three,_ Sebastian."

He sighed, shifting Harrison very gently out of his lap into the window seat, and turning to face Jim, elbows on his knees. "I'm not trying to make this worse for you, Jim. I'm just saying... I'm not going to judge. Honestly... it's fascinating to see."

"I know that," Jim rolled his eyes, flicking his wrist a little. "The problem is that this is all very.. _internal._ And if it's not in my brain, I'm not _good_ with internal. At all."

He shifted a little, trying to think. "Is there a way that I can help, sir?"

Jim sighed, running his hand through his hair. He was silent for a minute. He braced his elbows on his knees and sighed again. "I miss... Fucking."

He let that sit for a moment, awaiting further details, and when they weren't forthcoming he pressed for them. "...In general, boss? Or Harrison, or me...?"

"All of the fucking above, Moran," he snorted.

He nodded a little, treading carefully. "Neither of us are opposed to you joining in, sir, if that's what you want..."

Jim rubbed his eyes, letting out a tired breath. "I don't know what I want, that's the _issue."_

He nodded just a little. "Well, sir, I've been in your situation to an extent. Consider me a reference resource if you like."

"I don't see how that will help me if you can't even tell me _why_ it happened to you. I don't guide myself with feelings."

"Neither do I," he retorted, looking just a touch insulted. He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. "You tell me first, Jim- Why did you shoot yourself on that roof?"

Jim leaned back heavily against the chair, an air of sullen boredom about him. "The game was _over._ Little Sherly lost, so _predictably._ I knew going into it that he would assume I could stop it, so I went in prepared to stop him from winning. There wasn't a downside." Not the whole story, but definitely the driving reason.

"Well, we can argue about the downside later," he said, brushing the comment aside. "But that isn't why, Jim, not really. Why was it so important that you won? Why play the game at all? You got no financial gain from it, not compared to your usual endeavors. You lost your security, plastering your face across the media- I was in a living nightmare trying to keep you safe. And you only gained power over one very small group of people. So, no gain in power, no gain in wealth, a deficit in security... Why did you do it? Why did you play the game at all?"

"Because I'm _bored,_ Moran," he snapped, only keeping his voice quiet to avoid waking up Harrison, because this was not a conversation he wanted her hearing. "Being at the top of the pyramid is boring. There's no _challenges._ It's _stagnant."_

He nodded just a little, not phased by the irritation. "So going against Holmes improved your quality of life," he suggested softly. "Harrison does the same thing for me. I don't have anything outside the job, boss, and for a while that was fine. I didn't need it. But once she and I started living together... It was better to go home to her than an empty flat. It was better to sleep next to her than in an empty bed. Rough times were easier. Good times were better. And when I left her, going back to normal, it just wasn't enough anymore. Like you said... there wasn't a downside."

Jim sighed, shutting his eyes. Everything in him felt conflicted. There was no answer to be found, considering every angle. It simply was outside the bounds of normal fucking logic. "I... Need to think about this."

He nodded. "Sorry I can't help more, boss... Words aren't really my specialty."

"This isn't going to be something that words will resolve. Therapy doesn't work on me. My school-teachers learned that, eventually," Jim smirked.

He smirked. "This isn't therapy, boss. This is friends, talking. There's a difference. Another one I learned the hard way with Harrison."

He laughed, surprised (surprisingly). "How'd you learn that at all?"

He shrugged, still smirking. "About the fortieth time she tried to get me to talk to her... I mean, I'd let her talk to me, if it made her function better. Told myself that if she was a better employee it was worth it, and accidentally started giving a shit. That was my first mistake." His grin widened a bit, and he glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping Lorna. "But I wouldn't talk to her. I think it was after that hole..." His finger absently went to trace his words over the blank scar on his left forearm, where his accident in India had left a gap in the perfection. "A therapist couldn't have gotten me out of where I was, boss. I don't know if even you could have, at the time. Harrison was the only one in any sort of position to get me back on my feet. Because somewhere, under everything, I trusted her. Even if I didn't remember her." He shrugged. "A therapist couldn't have done what she did," he repeated.

"God, you're such a sap sometimes," Jim rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance there. Honestly, the change in him was hilarious. And as something he had never seen coming, it was almost pleasant. Something to break the monotony.

He rolled his eyes. "Anyone else would be dead for saying that, I hope you know," he muttered, leaning back in the seat.

"Of course I know," Jim scoffed. "But that's the beauty of being your employer. I can poke fun at how you've changed."

He flipped him the bird with his good hand, and sighed. "It'll be good to have the network back."

"It will. I look forward to some proper fixing jobs," Jim muttered.

He nodded in agreement. "Proper sniping and security. No more fucking grifting, no more being kidnapped, no more fucking _Holmes_ brothers..."

"I miss my penthouse," Jim sighed, closing his eyes. "It was laid out so _perfectly."_

"Mmm... I doubt Ines has let it stay that way, but we'll get it back the way it was," he said calmly.

"What do you estimate is the security risk of staying there, now that another party has taken residence there?" He asked, returning to business talk.

He sensed the shift, and followed it easily. "Minimal, sir, if we contain Ines and her circle. Most of our people will come back to us, then it will just be a matter of restructuring. But if Ines escapes or we notice too many leaks, we can certainly have a relocation strategy in our pocket."

"How much of Adler's leak contained our location? That was something that she had intimate knowledge of," Jim pointed out, a little pointlessly.

"I'm aware, sir. But to be honest, I have no more idea as to the content of that leak than you do. We're going to need to evaluate on the fly."

Jim nodded, falling silent. He needed to start to consider different routes this situation could take. _Feelings_ could wait until things were stable again.

He was quiet for a bit, turning the situation over again as well. "Sir... Do I have your confidence?"

Jim's eyes shifted to Moran. "Yes," he said simply.

He nodded. "Just checking if I needed to hire someone else to restructure the security."

"You have worked with me for the better part of a decade. Every time it looks like you've betrayed me... It's just unlikely by now."

He nodded just a little. "I appreciate that sir," he said quietly. Lapsing back into silence.

Lorna slept for most of the plane ride, and only woke up about an hour or two before landing, which was a truly impressive feat. She noticed something different in the air, but she got the sense that asking would go poorly, so she kept the observation to herself.


	124. Switzerland

They landed at a small airport at the base of the Swiss Alps, and Lorna leaned back from looking out the windows to raise her eyebrows at Sebastian. "You didn't say we were going skiing."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "Lorna, we are going to Switzerland. Do you honestly think I was just going to have us holed up in some village next to a cow plot?"

"Kinda, yeah," she laughed. "Not that I'm complaining - never been to a ski resort before. Oh my god, we can be in a hot tub with _snow_ around us!"

"Precisely," he said with a smirk, standing up and offering her a hand. "Who says we can't hide out in style?"

"Not you, apparently," she grinned, taking his hand and getting up to follow him. Jim was already ahead of them, at the doorway off the plane.

"Nope," he said with a grin, handing her a coat provided by the pilot, and pulling one on himself. He slipped an arm around her shoulders as they disembarked behind Jim, the frost on the runway crunching underfoot.

She was glad for the coat and the arm around her shoulders - getting off the plane from more temperate New York and into mountain air was slightly jarring. She could see a jeep parked on the side of the small runway, idling, and behind it, in the distance, what looked to be a ski resort. "God, you take me on the best vacations."

He smiled, squeezing her shoulders a bit. "You ever been skiing, boss?" he asked as they got into the jeep.

"That's a mystery, isn't it?" Jim said tonelessly, and Lorna snickered.

He elbowed Lorna gently in the arm as they got to the car to shut her up, reminding himself to avoid her ribs- which were still tender if you hit them the right way. He climbed in after Jim and gave Lorna a hand up, sitting between the two in the welcome heat as the door closed and they headed off towards the resort.

"So I hope that they have some decent clothes here, because I brought neither warm nor sultry clothes, and if I'm going to be at a ski resort I need both. Because I need to be warmed up either way," she smirked, leaning against his shoulder.

Jim made something that sounded suspiciously like a gagging noise, and Moran smirked. "There are plenty of shops here. We can all get some warmer gear."

"Good," she said, ignoring Jim. It was far easier these days. "All I brought with me are blackouts."

He scoffed at that. "'Nothing sultry,'" he muttered. "Have you _seen_ yourself in blackouts?"

" _Will_ the two of you _kindly_ shut up?" Jim asked, an edge to his voice. Moran shut up.

Lorna pressed her lips together to keep herself from snickering, leaning back a little so Jim couldn't see her smirk behind Sebastian. It really was quite useful that he was so much bigger than her.

He slid his arm around Lorna again, tucking her into his side to hide her struggling expression, his own stone blank as they approached the lodge.

Lorna finally managed to get herself under control as they pulled up in front of the lodge, slipping out from under Sebastian's arm as she opened the door and stepping out into the freezing air. "So we have about the best rooms here, right?"

"You keep asking these incredibly insulting questions," he said, rolling his eyes. "Yes. We have their largest suite. The same, suite, sir, for security reasons, but you have your own room, bathroom, and heated balcony." He glanced at Jim.

Jim didn't exactly look thrilled. "Fine. Keep it down," he said, with a pointed glance at Lorna. She didn't bother being offended. She knew she could get loud.

He nodded just slightly. They entered the wall of heat that was the lodge, and Moran walked over to get them checked in.

The place _screamed_ wealthy eccentrics, but it was a lodge in the Swiss alps, so it was almost required to. They were in one of the main lounges of the lodge. It was mostly log-cabin style architecture, with large beams the size of trees spanning open space. Floor-to-ceiling windows on looked out onto the landscape, and doors led deeper into the lodge itself. There were serving staff walking around with hors d'oeuvres and taking drink orders, and a live band somewhere out of sight.

The people in the lodge screamed wealthy eccentrics, too, and Sebastian kept careful eyes out for anyone they had reason to be wary of.

To Lorna, the people walking around screamed _easy marks,_ so she gave up on watching them after giving each of the ones in sight a three-second scan. Jim looked bored out of his gourd, but because that was his default expression, she couldn't tell what he was really thinking. The lady at the front desk handed Moran a set of keys with a smile. "You'll find your rooms on the other side of the lodge."

He just nodded his thanks, already walking away, motioning for Jim and Lorna to follow. He already knew where their room was, along with every entrance or exit - public or otherwise - and the security layout of the entire complex. It was about a five minute walk and an elevator ride to their suite, and he keyed them in, handing Jim and Lorna each a key-card as he did so.

The rooms beyond lived up to what they had seen so far. It had a high, rough-timbered ceiling, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a private deck and jacuzzi, and beyond that, a gorgeous view down the mountain. The room was warm, heated in part by the centerpiece of the room, which was a large stone fireplace, and a gas fire with logs that for a moment he thought were real.

The decor was tasteful, but simple, something the interior designer in him appreciated, and he nodded to a door to the left which led to Jim's rooms. "That's your side there, sir. We're to the right."

"Excellent," he said, and peeled off from their three-person formation to open up the door to his side of the apartment and disappeared, leaving the engaged couple to themselves. Lorna had already moved forward to stand in front of the windows, feeling a very strong urge to whistle.

"God damn, this place is beautiful. Why aren't our headquarters here, again?" She chuckled, looking over at Sebastian with a grin.

He laughed. "Tell you what; if we have to move, I'll make the pitch to Jim," he said, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest.

"The heating bill would go up, but we could add hypothermia and frostbite to our intimidation list," she hummed thoughtfully, leaning back comfortably against him. Then she sighed. "I guess we can't fuck in the jacuzzi, can we?"

"I mean, we _could_ ," he said, grinning. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Jim shoots both us in pure annoyance," she laughed. "Come on, us fucking in communal space? That's bound to go wrong."

He thought about that for a moment. "We could invite him."

She raised her eyebrows, surprised. "I don't know how just... _Inviting_ him would go. He seems to decide for himself when to fuck us."

He considered that for a bit. "He told me he missed it," he admitted quietly. "I'm not sure what to do about that."

She almost sputtered. "Wow, I knew I was a good fuck, but I didn't think I was _that_ good of a fuck," she joked weakly, feeling pretty shocked. "Jesus... I don't know either. Maybe we _do_ fuck in a communal place?"

"That's sort of what I was thinking, yeah," he sighed, bending to press his face against the top of her head.

"Well that's going to be interesting," she muttered, looking with furrowed brows at the jacuzzi. At this point, she might have fucked Jim more times than Sebastian had.

He snorted in agreement, then nodded toward their side of the suite. "Let's go see our accommodations, shall we?"

She nodded, smiling again, and slipped her hand into his. "Sounds like fun."

He gripped her hand, stepping back and heading for the right-hand door. It led to an airy hall- all windows on one side, and doors on the other. One led to a kitchenette and dining area, another to a large, ornate bathroom. The door at the end of the hall opened onto a sizable bedroom, with windows on two sides, a balcony overlooking a western ridge, and a cozy looking reading loft on the northern wall. The bed was large and circular, piled high with warm throws and pillows. A gas fire crackled in a fireplace. He grinned. "Forget the network. Let's live here."

"Don't you tempt me," she warned, though her voice was awed. This place rivaled Sebastian's, it was so beautifully done. Everything looked like it was in the exact spot it had been made for. Some part of her agreed wholeheartedly with him - why go back to the network, when they could live off their vast sums of wealth in a place like this until one of them died of old age? "God, I'm going to _cry_ when we have to leave."

He grinned, taking a step closer and hoisting her up into his arms with a laugh. "Well, then, let's come back! Buy a place- hell, buy _this_ place- honeymoon here, come back whenever we want. We _have_ vacation days we never use..." He kissed her neck, feeling oddly boisterous.

She squeaked as she was picked up, laughing as he kissed her, squirming a little in his arms, though her chest warmed up at talk of honeymoon. "God, let's totally buy this fucking lodge," she giggled, "What would even _do_ with all the space? Keep running the place?"

"Fuck, who knows?" he asked, grinning. "Sure, why not, might as well generate a little revenue!" He walked over to flop onto the bed with her still in his arms. He sank almost a foot into the mattress, and laughed in surprise. "Jesus."

She chuckled, curling up on him. "We should totally honeymoon here. Maybe other places too, but totally here."

He grinned, stroking his fingers through her hair. "Alright. Well, for the moment we have probably about a day here, so there's not much time to waste. Start making your to-do list."

"Ugh, only a _day?_ Starting now?" She groaned, tilting to look at him mournfully. "We can't delay a _little?"_

He smirked, flicking the back of her head. "That's up to Jim. I wouldn't say no."

"We'll lure him in with fucking, he won't know what hit him," she teased, grinning up at him.

He laughed. "You're so much trouble," he muttered, shoving her off of him playfully onto the mattress. She almost disappeared in the fluff.

"Aah!" She exclaimed, spreading out her arms to try and stop her descent. "Jesus! How are we going to sleep in this?"

"Like this," he said, shifting over to create a valley that she was sucked into by the forces of gravity, deposited haphazardly against his side.

She squeaked again, bracing her elbow against his side. "Oh my god I'm going to die help me."

He grinned, hoisting her up onto his chest, effectively insulating her from the peril of the mattress again. "Alright. Fine. Be a wimp."

"Fine, as long as I'm not smothered in feathers," she retorted with a laugh, relieved to be on firm ground again.

"Mm... Alright, well. I for one want to go try the jacuzzi. What do you think, should we bother going out to buy bathing suits?"

She scoffed. "What? Why would we ever? Even in public, it's not exactly like we're an assault to the eyes," she pointed out.

He grinned. "Gonna be a cold walk out there."

"No, it's going to be cold stripping in freezing air," she retorted, sitting up off him and using him as a brace to push herself off the treacherous bed. "C'mon, if we end up only staying a day I want to make the most of it!"

He sat up, grinning. "You can strip out there all you want. I'm stripping in here, in the nice heat, and then spending approximately point-three seconds on the dash to the hot water. Enjoy your frostbite." He stood up, pushed her playfully back onto the mattress, and pulled his shirt over his head.

"Ugh, fuck, you have a point," she groaned, then struggled off the bed and started stripping down as well, though her eyes were on him. The better she got, the more voracious her sexual appetite became. She wanted to be on him all the damn time, or the other way around, and it was almost a distraction. It didn't help that their recent fucks had been quick interludes between sleep and business, when they both had a spare moment of energy.

He noticed her eyes on him, and gave her a smug grin as he stepped out of his trousers. "What?"

"Just admiring the view," she hummed, grinning at him as she pushed her pants over her hips. "What, I can't look?"

"Nah, I just find it more fun if I point it out first," he shot back with another grin, tossing his trousers at her head and shucking his boxers before heading for the main room. "Here's to Jim not being there already."

"Knowing our luck, he _is_ in there already," she rolled her eyes, following behind him and trotting forward a few steps to pinch his arse, smirking.

He caught her hand on the retreat on instinct, grabbing it with his bad hand without thinking. He released her a half second later when his brain informed him she wasn't a threat, and he swore quietly, shaking the ache out of his jarred finger and sending her a playful glare. They entered the common area with no sign of Jim, and he nodded to the slider door that opened to the snow-covered jacuzzi deck. "Three, two, one.."

As he said "Go!" and threw open the sliding glass door, all she really processed from there to the jacuzzi was biting pain on her skin, and then she submerged into the hot water.

He entered a second later with a splash, having slammed the door shut and followed after her, letting out a laugh as he did so. He had laughed more in the last few hours than he had in _years._ He felt _good_. Happy. They were going to get the network back. They were done with Armetti, at least for now. He was on good terms with Jim. And Lorna... _Lorna_...

The water was hot against his already frigid skin, and he sank into it gratefully, turning on the jets after a moment of fumbling with the controls.

"Ugh, that's the stuff, right there," she hummed, although she was all curled up into a little ball, still cold. "Can you make it hotter?"

He rolled his eyes, but upped the temperature a few degrees. "Come here," he snorted, reaching out to take her arm and tug her closer. "I just realized we forgot towels, so we're never leaving."

"Oh god, call Jim, maybe we can convince him to bail us out. We'll make a deal or something," she said, pressing up tight against his chest, stealing his warmth, although the water was slowly starting to warm her up.

"Yes, because yelling for Jim will end _so_ well," he snorted. "Even if he heard us and, by some miracle, came, he'd just laugh and leave again," he pointed out. He glanced over the switches and dials on the controls, flicking a few experimentally. He hit a button, and suddenly five large lamps came on over the deck, glowing with the warm red of heat lamps, and the snow started melting in the air. "Right. Never mind. We're fine." He turned the lamps off again. "Guess they don't want guests dying of exposure."

"God, this place is so luxurious," she said, in awe. "What kind of food services do they have, I wonder?"

"There's a couple restaurants here, no idea how good they are, but I can imagine, and room service. We'll have to experiment." He wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Mm, I'm looking forward to owning this as our fucking personal vacation spot," she hummed, settling back against his chest. "I mean, the network can survive without us for a week at a time, every once in awhile."

He grinned, a hand sliding down between her thighs. "So am I. Though I think Jim might be a bit ruffled at the sudden interest in vacation days."

She shifted a little at his hand, feeling goosebumps rise up on the back of her neck. "Jim has had us at his beck and call without vacation days for _years._ I plan on enjoying _some_ of my thirties not at work."

He grinned, hand sliding slowly down her leg. "I agree. I'm just saying it ought to be entertaining."

"We're both very distracting people," she smirked, though a little bit.. distracted. "I'm sure we can weasel our way into it."

His hand slid back up just as slowly, the water barely rippling around his shoulder. "Oh, I don't doubt that," he said with a grin, bending to press his lips to the back of her neck. The steam from the hot tub cooled on his face in the frigid air.

Even though she'd known before even stripping out of her clothes that this was going to happen, the tease was still horribly effective, and she could feel herself melting under his touch. She couldn't tell whether they were a perfect match for each other or both just incredible learners, but _fuck_ he touched her just right.

He grinned she fell silent, her breath occasionally hitching when his fingers found a particularly sensitive spot along the inside of her thigh. His hand continued upward this time, slipping into her. She wasn't as hot against his fingers compared to the temperature of the tub, but he still smiled, fingers rolling slowly.

She let out a soft sound, eyes falling shut, fingers tightening on the side of his thigh under the water. "How are you so... _Good_ at this?"

"Coming from the grifter... That's doing wonders for my ego," he said with a smirk. His movements felt clumsy to him, if he was honest. His left hand was not his usual choice. But he still knew her body, and he'd gotten better over the last few weeks. "You're so fucking hot... I get motivated to do well." He nipped her ear.

She shivered, shifting back against him with a rock of her hips. "I could say the same about you, you fucking Adonis," she murmured, biting her lip.

He smiled, the heel of his palm rocking against her clit. His bad hand lifted up to rest around her throat, not gripping, just present.

She groaned, turning her head on his shoulder to nip at his neck, eyes cracked a little. She caught something in the corner of her eye, and shifted, looking further back. "Seb... Jim is watching us through the window with a glass of what I presume is scotch."

He paused for just a moment, then grinned. "Well, you noticed him," he said, not looking over, his fingers moving again, curling inside of her, palm rubbing lightly over her clit. "Look inviting..."

She let out a mix of a laugh and a moan, hips rolling against his hand, and she couldn't manage to make a purposeful face at Jim except one of impatience and pleasure, and had to hope that as a reader, he would get the drift.

Jim watched them for a while, finishing his scotch. Harrison had caught his gaze, had smiled before Moran had gotten her attention again. He considered the situation. It had been easy enough to see the invitation in Lorna's gaze, but he wasn't certain if he wanted to take this step. He hadn't fucked either of them since Moran's return. He'd been... clean, as it were. But now... there were feelings, disturbing as they were, drawing him toward the hot tub.

He set the glass aside and removed his tie.

* * *

Ben Schuller - Cool For The Summer (Acoustic Cover)


	125. I Just Can't Say No

She grinned for a moment, seeing Jim remove his tie, then Sebastian got a good angle with his fingers and she gasped, arching off of his chest and bearing down on his hand. "Jim's joining us," she panted, grabbing his left wrist, though she couldn't explain what she wanted to do differently with it.

He put a little pressure at her throat, keeping her in place as she arched away, groaning happily as she ground against him as a result. "Good. Should be good for him..."

She rolled her ass against him again, trying to get that noise out of him again, and heard the door open behind them, and then some truly vicious swearing. A moment later, and there was a splash as Jim leaped into the jacuzzi, looking harassed.

Sebastian smiled as Jim entered the pool, stifling a noise as Lorna purposefully ground against him, just to spite her. "Hello, sir. Glad you could join us."

"Are you? I can't tell, she's covering you up," he quipped, relaxing into the bubbling water a little, now that the shock of the cold air was fading. Lorna knew, of course, that Sebastian had stifled a noise; she could feel him tense under her, and she wouldn't have any of that. She did it again, slower this time.

He couldn't help the strangled noise that made it past his throat this time, his head dropping back in pleasure, his grip on her throat tightening a little.

She smirked in triumph, half-lidded eyes on Jim, and she raised her eyebrows a little. "What, you need a bigger invitation?"

He didn't comment, just walked over to put a hand over Sebastian's at her throat, leaning forward to kiss her roughly. Moran grinned, regaining himself and shifting his hand between Lorna's thighs away, closing instead around Jim's cock.

She kissed him back eagerly, the double hands at her neck sending a thrill up her spine, though she made a noise of complaint as Sebastian's hand left her to pay attention to Jim, and held her hips stubbornly still in retaliation.

"Hey," he huffed, rolling his hips upward a bit as he slid his hand along Jim's length. "I only have the one usable hand at the moment."

Jim rolled his eyes, still kissing Lorna, and slid his free hand in between her thighs to replace Sebastian's, and she kissed him harder in response, nipping his lip when he slid his fingers into her.

Sebastian grinned a little as Jim got involved, and returned some of his own attention to Lorna, teeth digging playfully into the back of her neck. His touch with the boss was gentle- this, he was not as experienced with left-handed, and he didn't want to try anything too complicated.

Jim pulled away from Lorna's mouth for a moment to catch his breath. He shifted a bit toward Moran's hand, but mostly for the moment he was watching, eyes on the two people in front of him, their bodies flushed from the heat of the pool.

She groaned as Jim curled his fingers, arching a little, but his hand at her throat tightened and she could tell that too much movement was out of the question.

Moran winced just slightly as Jim tightened his hand over the sniper's on Lorna's throat, and he grinned, pushing his finger down a bit more firmly on Moran's bad hand. His bodyguard froze, and dropped his left hand from Jim's length.

"Boss," he said, in a voice that was completely toneless, tense, out of place in the midst of their romp. "You can do whatever you like anywhere else. Don't fuck with my hand, or this ends."

Jim had frozen, too, Lorna's breathing the only movement between them, as he considered whether to be angry. A second later he eased his grip up and Moran snatched his hand away, closing his eyes for just a moment, apparently gathering himself. Jim watched him closely. He actually looked a touch pale.

Then his eyes were open and he leaned forward over Lorna to kiss Jim roughly, apparently eager to get things back on track.

Jim kissed Sebastian almost viciously, with roughness and a lot of teeth, determined to put in his ounce of cruelty somewhere, and hissed as he felt teeth in his shoulder, an urging for him to continue moving.

He wasn't surprised when Jim came back at him with a vengeance. He wouldn't be surprised at all if Jim cut into him again tonight. He didn't care, as long as his hand was left out of the equation. He matched Jim bite for bite, egging him on. He could feel Lorna's impatience as she squirmed in his lap, and he grinned a little against Jim's lips, his hand finding the boss's hip and tugging him forward suggestively. Jim caught the drift, removing his fingers from Lorna and shifting his hips between her legs instead, pushing into her with little patience.

She let out a soft moan as he pushed into her, shifting her hips impatiently, rubbing back against Sebastian, keen to include him as best as possible, as Jim started up a rough rhythm, attention torn between her and the blonde beneath her.

Sebastian made a pleased noise, his hips rolling upwards to get a little friction. Jim's hand was at his shoulder, fingers biting down hard enough that his nails broke skin, and he felt the familiar sting of blood welling to the surface, tinted by the burn of chlorine. He met the other man's gaze, and gave him a cheeky grin, which earned him a hand in his hair, gripping so hard he couldn't help jolting slightly underneath Lorna. He closed his eyes, catching his breath, before he wrenched himself slightly against the grip, grinning.

He could tell Jim was getting frustrated with him. He could _feel_ the power of the other man's thrusts increase in response, could feel Lorna sliding against him in the water. His grin widened.

Lorna clutched onto Jim's side with one hand, the other on Sebastian's thigh, her breath coming hard and fast in her chest. She loved the feeling of being caught between their power struggle, of some of that energy and frustration being directed onto her, but didn't know how to convey that when all she could do was mutter swears under her breath and shudder as Jim deepened his thrusts.

Jim released his grip on Moran's hair, eyes flashing, but gave the best retaliation he could by turning his focus solely to Lorna. He shifted his grip to her hips, lifting her easily in the water until she was almost floating on her back, her head on Moran's shoulders, fucking her enthusiastically while depriving Moran of contact.

Sebastian swore quietly, but knew that there weren't many more orifices available without lube at the moment, so he contented himself with Lorna, turning his head until he could speak in her ear. "You know, watching him fuck you is almost as good as doing it myself... I wish I had video of all the times you fucked while I was away... I could drive myself crazy."

The hand at Sebastian's thigh moved to grip his hair, turning to bury her face in his neck as much as possible, fingers clenching at his words. Jim laughed, pulling her as hard onto his cock as he could manage, eliciting a gasp out of her. "Trying to get yourself off with only words, Tiger?"

"Since I seem to be the only one capable," he shot back, still grinning, his good hand reaching up to scratch lines up Lorna's side.

"That seems to be making assumptions," Lorna panted, fingers sliding through his hair, landing at the base of his neck and digging her nails in. "We're in _water,_ Sebastian."

He arched slightly under her grip, pleased, but didn't follow her comment. "So?"

Jim just smirked, pushing Lorna's thigh toward her chest and muttering a string of gaelic swears.

"I will.. survive without lube, Sebastian," she clarified, though her breath hitched as Jim got a new angle.

"Oh. Jesus," he muttered, his distracted brain catching up with her finally, and he let out a groan. "Jim, care to share?"

"I think... mmm... I think you can ask more sweetly than that, Sebby, don't you?" He made no move to lower Lorna.

Sebastian swore, shifting a little. Now that there was the prospect of getting a little relief, he was desperate for it. "Fuck... _please_ , Jim..."

Jim gave a toothy grin, and didn't respond right away, thrusting into Harrison a few more times, before he relaxed his grip on her hips, shifting her back toward Moran's lap.

There was a little bit of adjusting before she was back where she was before, with Jim still fucking her, although more slowly, to keep her from moving overly much, and then she was close enough to roll her hips back into Sebastian's, and did once before Jim's hands tightened on her hips again, holding her still, and he kissed her again, hard and distracting.

He shivered slightly as she ground against him, and then he was sliding his good hand down her waist and over her arse, pressing against her entrance and pushing in slowly, careful. He spent a few minutes stretching her carefully, aware that- water aside- this was going to be uncomfortable without lube and not wanting to make it worse. Eventually though he couldn't wait any longer, shifting his hand to grip her waist as he lined up and pushed very slowly into her, groaning at her heat, and at the sensation of Jim moving right next to him.

She grit her teeth at the discomfort, biting her lip to try and distract herself, and was helped by Jim's hand sliding between them to glide over her clit, and his teeth scraping across her skin, besides the fact that he'd only slowed down his hips, not stilled them.

Sebastian ran his right hand through her hair gently, soothing a bit as he started to move, just slowly at first, matching and opposing Jim's movements for the time being.

Her breath hitched in her throat as they started an opposing rhythm, hands gripping tight to Jim's upper arms, who was still being careful, though tension was beginning to build up in his chest. He wanted to be rougher than this.

Moran could see Jim struggling, and gave him an encouraging grin. "Go to town boss. She can take it." He shifted his right hand to Harrison's throat again, gripping gently. "Isn't that right, Lorna?"

Jim gave a small smile, and didn't need any further prompting, relaxing his strained control and starting to work his rhythm back up with a snarl of pleasure.

Moran kept his pace a bit slower, still, turning his head to Lorna's ear, speaking softly. "Oh, if I could tell the guys back home how well my fiancée could handle- _mmmm_ \- two cocks..." He grinned, grip on her throat tightening just a bit on the word _my_.

She smirked a little, but it soon fell off her face, the overwhelming sensations of both of them working her at different speeds making her have to gasp for breath, a shiver going up her spine. Fuck, she loved it when Sebastian spoke to her like that. "Who would you _ever_ gift that- that information to?" She breathed, turning her face a little to speak to him.

"Armetti i-is the first person that comes to mind, honestly," he laughed breathlessly. "Just to- to see the _look_ on his face.." Jim gave a particularly enthusiastic thrust, and Moran groaned as Lorna clenched around him in response.

"As if you haven't already ruined that man's life," Jim quipped, punctuating the end of his sentence with a hand lifting up to grab Lorna's jaw, getting control of her. "Did the two of you fuck right after that?"

"Which instance... mhn... which specific instance are you referring to?" Sebastian asked, grinning, letting Jim turn her head where he willed, but keeping his grip on her neck.

"After you told Armetti that you love-birds were getting _hitched?"_ Jim chuckled, rolling his hips against Lorna's, and swearing when she clenched around him in retaliation.

"Not nearly as enthusiastically as we would have liked," Moran said with a grin, starting to pick up his pace now. "Both still recovering, all that..."

"Not as- not as enthusiastically as this," Lorna moaned, almost boneless. " _Fuck_..."

She started slipping down his shoulder, and he shifted his hands to support her, keeping her head above water as he and Jim fell into a nearly-musical rhythm. He closed his eyes, concentrating on motion, on the feel of her body around his in hot water, of Jim moving with him and against him...

Jim was getting close, his eyes wild and dark, and he reached out to where he already torn into Sebastian's shoulder. He returned to the gouges, tearing them wider with a victorious growl and ripping a cry of pain and pleasure from Sebastian, the sniper's hips bucking hard into Lorna.

That returned tension to Lorna like blood in the water excited a shark, and seeing the look on Jim's face, dragged her nails down his chest. He leaned over her shoulder to snog Sebastian, his pace absolutely brutal, the burning feeling tightening up further and further in his stomach, and then Lorna tightened around him again and he lost it, coming with a few more harsh thrusts and a swear muffled by Sebastian's lips.

Sebastian felt Jim come, felt it as much at his cock as he did in the way Jim's fingers tore his shoulder, and the panted swear against his lips. He was on edge, himself, struggling to bring Lorna over, but he lost concentration as Jim's lips shifted suddenly from his mouth to his bloody shoulder. He couldn't hold out any longer, then, coming with a cry, back arching upward, lifting Lorna and Jim slightly in the water.

She shuddered, biting her lip as she was shifted back and forth between them, her core now searing hot, eyes shut, trying to chase what stimulation she could, chasing the retreating edge in desperation, knuckles white with tension.

Sebastian felt her struggling, tensing, and reached around, his fingers finding her clit and circling enthusiastically, trying to bring her over before she lost the edge.

Thankfully that did the trick, and she came with a gasp, arching up like Sebastian had moments ago, and Jim swore, over-sensitized, and withdrew from her in a hurry.

Moran did the same, more slowly, his touch stilling as she did, letting her catch her breath while he caught his. A moment later the bodyguard in him kicked in, and he reached out to turn off the hot tub and turn _on_ the heat lamps, shifting with a groan. "We should get inside..."

Jim was the first to move, rarely one to be slowed down by an orgasm, and stood, water dripping off his body. "I don't know if I can bring myself to move," Lorna said in the meantime, sounding utterly exhausted, leaning back against Moran. "And this might be the orgasm talking, but if you carry me to bed I kinda wanna have warmth on both sides of me..."

"That's an invite, Jim," Sebastian said with a smirk, shifting and easing Lorna into his arms, standing carefully to ensure his legs were sturdy.

Jim looked at the two of them like he didn't quite understand what was happening. An invitation? His brows furrowed almost imperceptibly as he considered the offer. One part of him weighed the pros and cons, debating what kind of control or power it would give him, but the unpredictable part of him, the one that did what it liked regardless of consequences, won out. "I don't know if I've ever seen you sleep in a bed before, Moran. Should be interesting."

He grinned, before climbing out of the tub and hissing slightly at the snow on his bare feet. " _Fuck_. Fucking weak-ass heat lamps," he muttered, heading for the door, Lorna tucked close in his arms. He was surprised, but pleased, that she'd invited Jim. He doubted the boss would have agreed had he been the one to bring it up. "Come on, boss, let's find some fucking towels."

Jim was right on his heels, and only regained his personal space when they were safely inside. "Towels," Lorna mumbled, waving a hand toward the bathroom, as if they needed a reminder.

"Yeah, getting right on that, chief," he chuckled, amused by her post-orgasmic semi-coma, and the way Jim practically rode piggyback until they reentered the warmth. He set Lorna down gently on the toilet in the large, opulent bathroom, considering her for a moment before turning on the shower (pausing to admire the three shower heads that came on). They were all covered in his blood and chlorine and various other fluids. A rinse wouldn't hurt things. "Do you want to go first, sir?" he asked, draping a towel around Lorna's shoulders.

Jim just rolled his eyes and turned around, heading out the door. "I have my own shower. I'll return shortly."

Lorna didn't even notice, she was so tired, her head held up in her hands. God, getting double penetrated was exhausting. "What just happened, again?"

"We fucked in a hot tub," he said, testing the water temperature and then reaching out to help her to her feet, taking most of her weight and setting the towel aside. "Come on, shower," he said, helping her shuffle, zombie-like, into the large, tiled space with him and shifting her under the warm spray from one of the shower heads.

She shut her eyes under the spray, accepting the rinse with dignity. "God, you always forget how exhausting two dicks are until you do it again," she sighed, leaning against him.

"I can't say I have the experience, so I'll take your word for it," he said, combing his fingers through her hair a few times just to get it a touch cleaner before turning to get himself under the spray, flinching slightly as the gouges in his shoulder protested. The bandages on his right hand were soaked and contaminated. He'd need to remove them, and at that point he was supposed to keep them off. He ignored that for now, focusing on Lorna. Once he deemed them appropriately rinsed, he turned the water off and found her towel, wrapping her up in it again.

"Mmmmm," she hummed as he wrapped her up, enjoying the warmth, and sat herself down on the toilet, all tucked into her towel.

He let her relax there for a few minutes while he dried off and examined his shoulder. He walked into their bedroom to find his bag and the first aid kit, and returned, using the mirror to get antiseptic where it needed to go. Then he leaned against the counter, unwrapping the soggy gauze around his finger and exposing the pale, gaunt finger to the light. It looked strange, left only in the splint. He flexed what he could carefully, wincing, before returning his attention to Lorna and bending to pick her up again, heading for the bedroom.

Jim was there this time, clean and wearing boxer-briefs, sprawled out in the sinkhole that was their bed. "These mattresses are ridiculous."

"Right?" Lorna laughed, in Sebastian's arms, looking comfortable as hell. Jim rolled his eyes.

"It's like she's drunk. Or high. Did you slip her something?"

He shrugged. "Two cocks is apparently more tiring than we assumed," he retorted with a grin, walking over to dump Lorna unceremoniously in the center of the bed and going to find a pair of pants for himself.

"The last time this happened I made you carry me to the flat and then I'm pretty sure I passed out after a shower," Lorna mumbled, tossing the towel off the bed and shifted to cuddle up to Jim, who looked unaffected except for shifting his arm around her to be more comfortable, eyes assessing Moran's reaction. Jim, unlike Moran - or Sherlock, for that matter - had always been comfortable with physical intimacy, it was just that he had no need for it. The only exception was that he wasn't excellent when surprised with emotional hugs.

Moran returned a moment later wearing a pair of boxers, and climbed in after her, grabbing the remote off the end table to turn off the light and dim the fire. The moon off the snow outside became the largest source of light. He shifted in toward the middle of the bed, throwing an arm over both Lorna and Jim, easily encompassing the two smaller figures in his reach. "I'm noticing a pattern, then."

"No shit," said Jim, in the dark. It lacked malice. He was feeling oddly mellow. Harrison was nestled between him and Moran, exuding contentment, and the arm over both of them was oddly comfortable. "Honestly, how did _you_ get used to aftercare, Moran? Kitten here just too cute for you to resist?"

He had been working on a sarcastic come-back, but snorted a surprised laugh at the question. " _Kitten_? And... I don't know. By the time we got around to doing anything where she actually needed it, I was already used to taking care of her, albeit in a more medically-necessary sense." He shrugged. He was surprised that Jim seemed so fine with cuddling, after the man's tense reaction to a hug just months ago, but he didn't question. Questioning was a rookie mistake. Jim was changeable. The sooner you could accept that quietly, the better the mood the boss would be in.

"Kitten..." Lorna chuckled between them, though she sounded half-asleep. Jim snorted.

"I wonder if I would have hired either one of you if I could have looked into a magic fucking crystal ball and seen this."

"Ah, but think how much more boring life would have been without us," Moran sighed, grinning. "And all the times you definitely would have died."

"Still would have saved myself unnecessary drama. I enjoy causing drama in others' lives, not necessarily in mine," Jim said dryly.

He rolled his eyes, sitting up for a moment to grab one of the lighter blankets and pull it up over them all. It was pleasantly cool in the room, but the three of them were also producing a fair bit of body heat. He returned his arm to around both of his bedmates, hand splaying comfortably across Jim's back. "Imagine all the _fun_ you would have missed, though," he pointed out, voice lazy.

He chuckled. "I'd certainly be fucking less. I can only assume."

He hummed his agreement. "So quit complaining and enjoy yourself. You're in bed with an incredibly hot, talented woman and your second-in-command. Stop to smell the roses, or something."

"Who, me?" Lorna mumbled between them, shifting to rest her cheek on his chest, her back still snug against Jim. He rolled his eyes.

"No, I'm the hot, talented woman here," he said sarcastically. "Go the fuck to sleep, Lorna."

"Make me," she muttered, then promptly drifted off, lulled to sleep by their warmth. Jim had his eyes on her in the dark, expressionless.

They were quiet for a while, but he was awake, and he knew by Jim's breathing that he was, too.

Eventually, he said, "Our getting married doesn't mean this doesn't happen anymore. If you were thinking it might."

The idea hadn't really occurred to him. He knew that they were already monogamous with each other, which on one hand he found extremely silly, and on the other very understandable. They were his right and left hands, and neither of them had ever done much of fucking other employees, excluding each other. They had rightfully high standards. "You're already engaged, Moran. Typically people begin exhibiting marriage behavior before they actually sign the paper. And here I am anyways. I wasn't concerned."

He nodded a little. "Alright. Good." He fell silent again. He was deeply curious, if he was honest, about what the other man was thinking about, but he remained silent. That wasn't worth the potential trouble for asking.

Jim was trying his best not to think. Not to second-guess this. There was no reason he couldn't have this.

He eventually decided that Jim probably wasn't going to talk again, and closed his eyes, letting himself drift off.

* * *

Jim fell asleep briefly in the night, as he occasionally did, and woke up in the morning still entangled with the engaged couple. He still didn't know what he felt about it, but he got up, deciding that it was time for coffee.

Moran woke as Jim got up, but didn't comment, somewhere oddly pleased that the man had stayed as long as he did. He just shifted a little, pulling the blanket up to cover Lorna's now-exposed back, and returned to dozing.

* * *

Playlist: Kesha - Boots


	126. An Old Dare

Lorna woke a little while later, considerably sore, her eyelids still heavy. She shifted, nuzzling into Sebastian with a sigh.

He smiled, still half asleep, and his grip on her tightened just a little. "Morning..."

"Morning," she mumbled, curling up a little, closer to him. "M' sore..."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised," he said, chuckling softly. "You want painkillers?"

"Eh, that seems unnecessary," she yawned. "Maybe something to drink. Am I drinking right now? I can't remember," she frowned, then shrugged. "Whatever. Convince Jim to let us stay here longer and I'll be fine."

He smirked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'll see what I can do. He'll need to decide if giving Ines more time is a good or bad thing. And you're drinking in moderation. What do you want?"

"Something fruity," she hummed. "Maybe frozen, just to flaunt our luxury."

He grinned, shifting away and rolling out of bed. "I'll call room service and talk to Jim. Back in a few."

"Mmkay, thanks, I love you," she grinned, all wrapped up in blankets and content as could be.

"Only when I'm your cabana boy," he shot back, grinning and pulling on a pair of trousers, heading for the door.

He went to find Jim first, to see if he wanted anything from room service. He wasn't in the common space, so he knocked on the door to the man's suite.

"Come in," he called loud enough to be heard from down the hall. He was sitting on a chaise, a book about physics in his hands.

He entered, walking down the hall to the bedroom and stepping in. It was similar to their own in style and class, but the decor and general setup were different. "Hello, sir. Sleep well?"

"I slept, which I'm sure you're aware is an event itself," he replied, shutting the book and putting it on his lap.

He grinned, giving a nod of agreement. "I'm going to call up breakfast. Do you want anything?"

"French toast and a Bloody Mary," he said simply.

He nodded. "Sir, what would you think of staying here for a few days?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

He put his hands into his trouser pockets, and felt his shoulder twinge rudely at the movement. "First off, Ines will be at the peak of her security right now. A few more days of confusion will leave everyone tired and vulnerable. That's our butter zone. Secondly... It's fucking fantastic, here, Jim. And after almost two solid years of bullshit.. It's a nice break."

"Didn't the two of you take a vacation to India for a month before things went to hell again?" Jim snorted, but waved his hand. "But fine. I won't argue. I'm enjoying breathing normal air."

He didn't bother pointing out that Lorna had been recovering for most of their time in India, that he had _died_ shortly afterward, and just nodded his thanks. "Alright. We'll keep an eye on Ines and move as soon as we need to. Anything else, sir?"

"No, there's nothing I need at the moment," he said, shaking his head. "I'll keep an eye on the situation."

He nodded, heading out of Jim's wing and closing the door behind him. He put in a call to room service for a breakfast feast of epic proportions, making sure that special attention was paid to Jim's order. He was pleased the boss wanted to eat, he didn't want him snubbing the food because it came up half-assed. Then he headed back to their room.

Lorna was standing by the floor to ceiling windows, her loosest blackouts on, for lack of anything else to wear, just looking out on the snowy mountain, peacefully. She wondered what it looked like in spring.

He admired her figure as he walked up behind her quietly, wrapping his arms around her. "Booze and breakfast on the way soon," he said quietly.

"Mmm, good," she hummed, leaning back against him a little. "What did Jim say?"

"We're staying here for a few days, for now, unless the situation changes drastically." He looked out at the mountain. "Just relaxing."

"Oh, thank god," she sighed happily. "I'm so pleased. I don't want to leave this damn place. It's so _beautiful."_

He nodded just a little, bending to kiss her ear and stepping back. "Come on, I ordered us a fucking buffet."

"Oooh, a buffet?" She grinned, turning around, "Sounds delightful. Ugh, I love being rich."

He smiled, reaching out to take her hand and heading for the main room. They entered just as there was a knock on the door, and he walked over to let the staff member in. Two entered, one with a folding brass table, which they quickly set up off to the side, and the other with a cart stacked with trays of food and drinks. They laid out a beautiful breakfast spread. Beans and toast, roasted tomatoes, eggs, prosciutto... the list went on. There was a platter of french toast for Jim, along with a bloody mary, and a fucking _decanter_ of some slushy fruit drink for Lorna. He was choosing to remain sober for the time being, just in case. The servers left without a word, and he grinned, grabbing a plate.

"Jesus Christ, Sebastian, how in the hell are we going to eat all this?" She asked, eyebrows up near her hairline as she stepped forward and got herself a plate of toast, assorted fruits, eggs, and bacon. "Like, _damn."_

"We aren't," he said cheerfully, piling his own plate high with roasted tomatoes, beans, portobello, and various meats. "That's the whole point. It's excessive. I'm having fun." He walked over to knock on Jim's door. "Food, sir."

There was no answer from Jim, but a minute later the door opened and he appeared. "Hey Jim," Lorna waved, leaning against the wall as she ate. "How's tricks?"

Jim paused from where he was picking up a plate, turning to raise an eyebrow at Lorna. "I'm not certain that the occasional fuck is quite license to be so informal the rest of the time, kitten..." He smirked slightly. "But I'm sure you'll find the line quickly." He returned to dishing out food, and grabbed his bloody mary, heading back for his rooms.

She snorted as the door closed, looking over at Sebastian with one eyebrow raised. "Did he just call me _kitten?"_

"Yes," he said through a mouthful of tomato, unphased. He walked over to a couch and sat down. "He started that last night. You found it hilarious."

"What the hell..." she muttered, moving to sit next to him, looking very confused. "Where did that _come_ from?"

He shrugged. "Who knows what goes on in that man's mind? Maybe a diminutive of 'tiger'? Or just the way you were acting. Sort of... kitten-ish, I don't know. Ask him." He shrugged again for lack of something else to do, and took a bite of beans on toast.

"Ask him - it's almost like you're not interested in seeing me live until our wedding date," she scoffed, biting into a strawberry. "You heard him. Can't be too familiar."

He rolled his eyes as he worked to swallow a mouthful of food. "There's a difference between 'Hey Jim, how's tricks,'- which I wouldn't even try on a _great_ day, and 'Excuse me sir, could you tell me why I've suddenly been dubbed "kitten"?'"

She chuckled, shrugging. "I either do completely irreverent or not ask any questions at all. I'm not good at the in-between, most days."

He rolled his eyes. "How in Christ's name you've survived this long is beyond me," he snorted, reaching out to steal a piece of pineapple off her plate.

"Beats me," she shrugged, smirking at him. "Maybe it's because I'm just so pretty."

"There is that," he said with a smirk, returning to his own food. "We should go outside today. Enjoy being able to see more than twenty feet away."

"Get me all bundled up and I'd love to go outside," she grinned, devouring her toast eagerly. "Feel some wind, for once."

"Sounds like we need to go shopping, then," he said with a grin. "Drink your fruity monstrosity and we'll go."

She rolled her eyes a little but did as he asked, chugging her boozed up smoothie for a moment before sputtering and recoiling. " _Brain freeze."_

He laughed, leaning forward and kissing her firmly, tongue slipping past her lips into her freezing mouth to press against the roof of her mouth and ease the pain.

She made a surprised noise but leaned into the kiss, hand cupping his jaw. He couldn't just do that and think she _wouldn't_ get distracted.

He grinned against her lips, setting his plate on the coffee table and doing the same for hers, without breaking the kiss.

She pulled him closer, smiling against his lips. It was so nice to just be able to enjoy each other like this, knowing they had no obligations hanging over their heads.

She was more dressed than him, which he considered unfair, but he didn't have much trouble circumventing her shirt, his hand sliding along the warm, bare skin of her waist. He nipped her bottom lip, teasing.

"Just a reminder that I'm kinda sore," she murmured, hands splayed on his side, thumbs brushing idly back and forth on his skin, kissing him softly, still smirking a little.

"This doesn't.. have to go anywhere," he retorted quietly between lazy kisses.

"Okay," she smiled, sliding her arms around his neck comfortably, leaning into him, lips soft on his. It still blew her mind that he was her fiancé.

He pulled her onto his lap gently, to make the angle a bit less awkward, and closed his eyes. It was so rare that they did this. Took the time to just relax and enjoy each other. He wondered vaguely when he'd started liking that sort of thing.

She didn't know how long they kissed, but eventually she drew back a little, smiling. "Weren't we going somewhere..?"

"Were we?" he asked, sighing. "Right. Clothes. Outside. We should see if Jim wants to go."

She chuckled, shrugging a little. "Yeah, I guess so. That's going to be a weird shopping trip."

He pushed her playfully off of his lap onto the couch, standing and offering her a hand up. "Let me go get dressed, and I'll ask him."

"Okay," she rolled her eyes, smiling a little as she took his hand and stood. "Don't take forever or I'll go without you."

"For Christ's sake, I'm putting on a shirt," he snorted, heading for their room. "Not doing my fucking makeup."

"Yeah, that would take you for fucking ever," she smirked, waving him away, and picked up her plate off the coffee table to finish up her breakfast while he was getting dressed.

He returned a few minutes later, clean-shaven and dressed, and walked over to the door to Jim's wing, knocking.

Jim opened the door, fully dressed and plate in hand from breakfast. "Moran. What do you need?"

"We were going to go shop for some clothes," he said, reaching out a hand to offer to take the plate. "And then take a walk outside for some real air and sunlight. Up for either?"

Jim handed it off to him and stepped out. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea. Vitamin D is _important,_ apparently," he said dryly, casting a glance to the outdoors that said he would have liked to punch it in the face.

He didn't comment, just walked over to put the plate on the food table for the staff to clear away, before walking over to open the door and quickly examine the hallway. Then he motioned the other two through.

Jim followed with ease, used to having a diligent bodyguard, but Lorna fought not to roll her eyes, more used to Sebastian being a little more subtle about his protection of her.

Sebastian fell in step behind the other two, letting them follow the signs to the shops. He could have led them himself- he knew where they were- but he preferred to keep an eye on their surroundings.

Normally Lorna would have walked a few paces behind and to the side of Jim, letting him take the lead, but that would have looked a little bit weird here, so she walked next to him, eyes on their surroundings. "They have shops in this place? God, it's like a whole _mall_ in here..."

Jim eventually turned to enter a store which had a wide selection of winter wear, and headed without much conversation for the coat rack.

Lorna peeled off and headed for the women's section, mostly ignoring Jim. Sebastian wouldn't care what she bought, either.

Sebastian found a white camouflage coat that was large enough to fit him, and headed for the women's section to find Lorna, picking up a hat and gloves along the way. He was almost certain they wouldn't have boots in his size. His own combat boots would be enough.

Lorna had amassed a small mountain of clothes in the women's section, which she had no intention of trying on; she'd learned a long time ago to judge clothes by eye. It saved time. She looked over as Sebastian appeared, and smirked. "You planning on wearing only the one outfit while we're here?"

"I have more clothes," he snorted. "I knew where we were going, remember? I just need a coat. And you? Planning on changing once an hour?" he asked, eyeing her pile of clothes.

"All I brought were blackouts, I need to make sure I have clothes for the next place we stay," she retorted, stubbornly. "It's not like I know where we're going."

"Ideally, home," he snorted, picking up a small green 'dress' that, had he crumpled it, he could have hidden it in one hand.

"Are we planning to move directly from here to home? I thought this was a staging area for another staging area," she snorted, raising her eyebrow at him picking up an article of her clothing.

"That's up to Jim. Ideally, though, if we're going to spend a few days here... I'd like to go straight home."

She nodded, gathering together her findings in her arms. "Do we need to do work from here?"

He shook his head. "I need to keep tabs on the network, but other than that we're fairly free. Once we take back the network, however, it's going to be a shitstorm, so be aware of that."

"Yeah, well, that's a given. I don't even want to think about the work it's going to take to put my department back together. No fucking way they've been filing everything properly. It's like they're illiterate," Lorna muttered bitterly, picking up the pile of clothes she had gathered and looking around for shoes.

He guided her through the stacks (higher than her head but well below his own) toward the shoe section, grabbing himself a pair of gloves along the way. "I expect the whole place is going to be a disorganized mess, personally."

She chuckled a little, shaking her head. "Yeah, I know, it'll be a mess. Still better than not having it. Hand me those boots, will you?"

He did as she asked, grabbing the box off the shelf and passing it down. "I'm not complaining. I cannot describe how pleased I'll be to be back. Everyone safe, alive and well, the network back under our control..."

She tore out the annoying packaging, silent for a moment as she yanked on the snow boots. "You know, it's honestly hard for me to imagine going back to that life. I haven't had it in so long. Not since I was in that labyrinth."

He nodded just a little, suddenly feeling very tired. "Agreed. How has that been, by the way? Before I was gone, you were struggling with nightmares, with life outside the labyrinth. Has that improved?"

She sighed, standing up straight and taking a few paces in her shoes, to see if they fit right. "I don't know. They morphed into nightmares about you. You were a background character at first, but then I had to start watching you die from the shit in there every night. I've been having less of the labyrinth dreams lately, though I think I'm still freaked out by big animals and pine trees make me feel like I need to worry about drowning."

He glanced out the window at the evergreen forests not far from the lodge. "Will you be alright out there?" he asked, returning his gaze to her.

She nodded, deciding the boots fit and unlacing them to put them back in the box. "One thing that place never was was cold. The snow makes everything different."

He nodded a little, accepting that for what it was, and picking up her pile of clothes, heading for the checkout.

She didn't speak again, waiting until they were walking away from the cashier to find Jim. "What about you? Dreams were never your problem, but shit was still fucked up enough..."

He shook his head. "I'm fine. Been through worse. You and Jim are my concern at this point." He saw the boss standing by the door to the shop, and headed that direction.

Jim looked over at them as they approached, having bought his own purchases a while earlier. He knew exactly what he ne eded, and he'd gotten it without any fussing about. His eyes landed on the bag in Lorna's hand and he snorted, raising his eyebrows at her. "You planning to outfit the Swiss army with that?"

"No," she rolled her eyes, adjusting the handle of the bag in her hand a little so it didn't dig into her palm quite so much. "Isn't Switzerland neutral, anyway?"

"Neutral, yes, but they still have an army. Well-equipped, well trained, and to my knowledge not exactly partial to slinky dresses, but I could be wrong." He nodded back toward their room. "Let's go change, we can go from there."

"Yeah, because I was planning on wearing blackouts outside," she sassed, though she followed him without hesitation, Jim taking the lead as usual, pulling out his phone and walking without looking. He was a pro at it.

"You know, Harrison, I once-again outrank you, so let's tone down the sass a touch, shall we?" he asked, hiding a smirk.

She stuck her tongue out at him, weaving around a child who had stopped abruptly in front of her, as children running around tended to do. "Make me, Moran."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You should be very grateful we're trying to remain a touch covert here, or I would do just that, right here and now," he retorted.

She smirked right back at him, deciding which way to take it considering where they were at in their relationship - something she could rightfully call it, now that they'd both stopped pretending and gotten engaged. "Stop it, you flirt. I'm already walking funny," she snickered, and heard a very exasperated sigh from Jim ahead of her.

He reached out to pinch her arse, raising an eyebrow at Jim's sigh. "Halfway your fault, there, sir," he pointed out with a slight grin.

Jim bit back a 'she started it' and just said, "Why do you think I didn't say anything else?" while Lorna swatted at Seb's hand.

He just rolled his eyes, and remained silent until they got to their room. He keyed in and walked in ahead of them to check that the room was undisturbed. He motioned them in a moment later, and headed for his and Lorna's room to change.

She followed him, stripping out of her blackouts as she did and changing into thicker, more substantial clothes. She watched him undress, eyes focused on him. One of the few good things about being separated from him for so long was that it gave her a new appreciation for him.

He changed quickly into wool thermals and the new gear, before sitting on the bed to lace up his combat boots. He felt her eyes on him and glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

She leaned against the wall by the door, shrugging with one shoulder. "I catch you looking at me all the time. I'm not allowed to look back?"

He grinned. "You're actually fun to look at," he retorted, finishing tying his boot and standing, grabbing his jacket. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, I'm ready," she said, rolling her eyes and pushing off the wall. "And you're _also_ fun to look at, so what's your point?"

He raised an eyebrow at that, but then shrugged a bit. "I guess I don't have one, then," he said, heading for the main room. The door to the porch was open and Jim was outside, leaning against the railing behind the jacuzzi and waiting.

Jim was dressed in gray, predictably, though he looked a little cold, if the flush of his cheeks was anything to judge by. She couldn't blame him. It was fucking freezing. But it was miles better than being stuck underground, breathing in recycled air. She couldn't really figure out why Jim was coming, though. She didn't think that being stuck without fresh air for long periods of time really bothered him. It wasn't like he left HQ every day.

Moran nodded to Jim, took a moment to survey the landscape, and then they headed down the non-slip steps to the cleared patio below their balcony. There were skis and snowshoes there, and Moran chose a set of the latter, stepping into them and strapping them on with practiced ease. Jim did the same.

Lorna took only a few moments longer than them to strap herself into snowshoes, glad for the time she'd spent two weeks stranded in upstate New York during the dead of winter. She hated how she walked in them, but she had to admit they were useful.

Of course, they made it about a hundred feet before her thighs started burning. "Jesus, Moran, could you slow down a little? Some of us have _normal_ sized legs."

He glanced back at her with a grin. "Hop to, Harrison. I don't want to have to carry you back. Put a little effort into it!"

"I _am_ putting effort into it! Sorry I haven't really had the chance to hit the gym while in a _hospital bed,"_ she shot back, immediately deciding to fight dirty.

He glanced back over his shoulder again, his gaze exasperated, and motioned to Jim. "Boss is doing fine. Quit whining."

"What he said," Jim said dryly, not looking back, and Lorna fought the urge to make a childish face at his back.

"Fine," she snorted, though not sounding particularly beaten. "I guess we'll just see if I let myself get sore like this again."

"I could just dare you," Moran retorted, though he paused until Lorna caught up, and lifted her up with a grin, slinging her playfully over his shoulder with ease.

She squeaked in surprise, gripping onto his thick winter coat to balance herself a little. "You would waste your one remaining dare on that? How frivolous of you."

"Frivolous of me to use a dare on excellent sex? I mean, I've had that thing sitting around for five years now, gathering dust. What else am I going to do with it?" he retorted, smiling at the squeak and walking a bit quicker to catch up with Jim. They were approaching the tree line.

Jim looked back over his shoulder at them, like a hound who had just caught wind of a fox. "What was that about a dare gathering dust?"

Moran raised an eyebrow. "You never heard about this?" He grinned. "This one-" he started, slapping Lorna's easily reachable arse playfully as he walked to emphasize who he meant- "Is fucking awful at poker. The Italy trip, back when we first went on a job together. We played on the plane over, and she ended up three... or four...? I think it was three. Anyway. Three dares indebted to me. Used the first two fairly quickly, but the third... just never had the occasion."

Lorna groaned against Sebastian's back, not pleased that Jim now knew of Sebastian's defacto get-out-of-jail-free card. Jim was silent for a minute as they made it to the trees, the only sound the crunch of snow under their feet. "Well, fucking hell, Moran, you've gone and wasted it now, haven't you?" Jim snorted after a bit, glancing over at them again. "You're bloody engaged now! What would she _not_ do for you? Harrison, any input?"

"No?"

Moran shrugged. "It wasn't like I really had any reason to use it before, either. I mean, the sex was plentiful and fantastic, I have more money than I know what to do with, I'm in charge of her at work, and she mostly listens to me elsewhere. What the hell was I going to use it for?"

"Well be _creative,_ Moran, I know you have it in you," Jim scoffed, only sounding like a teacher scolding a child just a little. "Dare her to do something _you_ won't do yourself, for whatever reason. Reputation, humiliation, sheer ability. _Something."_

"Stop giving him ideas, Jim!" Lorna called indignantly down at Sebastian's bottom.

Moran grinned, pleased by Lorna's situation, and turned things over a bit as his hand gripped her arse through her snow-trousers, just because he could. "Alright, Jim... You want me to be creative? Let's make this interesting."

Jim's eyebrows rose, and he stopped, turning with a few crunchy steps to face them. "Oh? Tell me what you've come up with, then."

He stopped, too, and after a moment, set Lorna down in the snow. His eyes were narrowed, planning. "Let's you and I make a bet, Jim... I propose that Lorna can, within one year, convince you of the positive and rewarding nature of taking care of someone else."

"What?!" Lorna sputtered from the snow, eyes wide on Sebastian, disbelief the dominant emotion on her face. Jim ignored her, eyes calculating on Moran's. "How the fuck am I supposed to do that, Moran!?"

Sebastian held Jim's gaze for another moment, before turning his attention to Lorna. "You're to trust him. Implicitly. Put your care in his hands. Let him feel what that feels like. Not constantly, but in situations where he would gain from it." He turned back to Jim. "But this only works, sir, if you agree to cooperate."

She put her head between her hands, trying to process the insanity of this request, and Jim nodded, just enough to be noticeable. "What are the terms, Moran?"

He considered that for a long moment. "You're to abide by the spirit of the game. I'm not going to spend a month creating a contract without loopholes, only for you to slide out of ones I never imagined. You're to care for Lorna, to the best of your ability, for her mental and physical needs, when she presents you with an opportunity to do so. You are to act as her guardian, comforter, physician, whatever is required. Think about how I might act. Consider it an experiment. Lorna, in turn, will put her trust in you to care for you, and allow you to fail if you deserve to. I think that by the end of a year, you will have an understanding of the rewarding nature of providing care to someone. If I win, I'll ask nothing. That will be satisfaction enough. If I lose..." He considered that, and then grinned. "You may have one dare over me."

Both of them were silent for a moment, though for completely different reasons. "I- Jesus- What do you mean, _trust_ him, Seb?" She asked helplessly, an arm sticking out to point at Jim. "What situation am I going to be in that he needs to take _care_ of me?"

"We'll start simple," Moran said, eyes still on Jim. "Tie you up, or something."

Lorna huffed, waving her hand at nothing in particular and then crossing her arms over her chest, glaring at Jim. "You're on," he said, simply.

He nodded in satisfaction, and then turned to grin at Lorna. "Consider yourself dared."

She groaned, rubbing her eyes. "Jesus Christ, you both suck. We are at _least_ waiting until tomorrow to tie me up. I am too sore for that nonsense tonight, got it?"

Moran smirked, but shrugged. "Fine. Tomorrow it is, then."

* * *

Aside from the implementation of what Lorna was now referring to as "The Dare," it was a fairly uneventful walk. Once Lorna was over the shock of it, she made Sebastian carry her around after a bird that she didn't know the name of, Jim rolling his eyes extremely hard behind them. That night, Lorna got into PJs and sank about a foot into the bed before she was stable, spread-eagled to try and maintain some balance. It didn't really help. "You're evil, Sebastian," she said, as he came in, brushing his teeth, "Evil! I mean, it's not asking me to play Russian Roulette or anything, but goddamn. _Find Jim's soul?_ What happens to _me_ if I can't do it?"

"No'ing," he said around the mouthful of toothpaste, before going to spit. He returned a moment later, pulling his shirt over his head. "Jim will have a bet over me. No pressure."

She sighed. A year from now, she would be free of that damn dare. It had been hanging over her head for half a decade. Not that she thought about it that often, but the memory of the first time she'd admitted to a sober and whole Sebastian that she loved him was a vaguely traumatic one, and she had never been keen to repeat it. She looked over at him. "You're not just signing over responsibility, right? I would rather Jim not be my _sole_ caregiver. I also do want somebody keeping an eye on him, making sure he doesn't go too far. You know him."

"Of course not," he snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. This will not be a constant thing. And yes, I will be monitoring him when I deem it necessary." He sat down next to her, raising her up a few inches in the bed.

She made a noise of relief as she was regurgitated a little from the mattress. "Alright, good, just checking. This is just... an in _sane_ job. I've known him longer than I've ever known another mark, but I know the least about him. I think I'm just going to have to treat him like I treated you. Let me know if that makes you jealous, because I'd like to repeat it again, just to see the look on your face."

"Less jealous, more confused," he muttered as he reached out to pull her over, shifting her on top of him. "What do you mean? Treat him like you treated me?"

"You weren't exactly inclined to take care of me, if you remember," she pointed out, shrugging a little.

He raised an eyebrow. "As I recall, I was actually _fairly_ inclined to take care of you from the beginning," he retorted. "I let you sleep in my bed when you had nightmares. I made sure you didn't die of alcohol poisoning..."

"That was only after we went through shit together," she pointed out, "before that, well. And after, you still weren't outwardly _caring._ You were pretending you were keeping an employee alive."

He waved off her explanation. "Sure. What do you mean about treating him like me, though?"

"Carefully, and... I don't know," she trailed off, frowning and shrugging a little. "Damsel-y? Very willing to please and very non-threatening while still maintaining my personality? It wasn't a calculated thing, just a survival tactic."

"And this is supposed to make me jealous because...?" he glanced down at where she was sprawled across his chest. He had pulled her there so absently, almost hadn't thought about it, and she hadn't either. But it was everything he'd been dying for, tormenting them both to win for the past year.

"It might start to resemble the early parts of our relationship," she said, looking back up at him, cheek on his chest. "Depending on how he reacts."

He shrugged, ignoring the funny feeling in his chest. "Like I said, it won't be constant. And I dared you."

"As long as you know," she said quietly, shrugging a little, the arm around his side giving him a light squeeze.

He squeezed back. "Do you think it will be a problem?"

"I don't know," she said truthfully. "But it's better to go into it with both eyes open."

He nodded a little, and shifted a blanket over her, reaching over to shut out the light. "Are you angry with me?"

She sighed, assessing that for herself. "No. Irritated, maybe. Certainly exasperated. And nervous."

He sighed, sliding a hand up her back. "Well. I could help you relax."

She snorted softly. "You got a bag of weed I don't know about?"

"No," he smirked, fingers starting to massage her back slowly, pressing into tense muscles. "You were sore, remember?"

" _Am_ sore," she corrected, though she relaxed a little as he started undoing the knots in her shoulders. He had magical hands.

He smirked slightly, kissing her ear and working out a knot under her shoulder blades. "Well, let me help."

She chuckled a little. "Of course, you've decided to start while I'm on top of you and the lights are out."

He snorted. "I feel as though you're questioning my sincerity," he chuckled.

"That statement only made me question you more," she laughed, kissing his shoulder chastely.

"Rude," he snorted, letting his hands still. "Fine. I can leave you alone if you prefer."

"Noo," she pouted, though he couldn't see her. "Keep going, please?"

He rolled his eyes, but didn't argue, his hands returning to her back, working at the rock-solid mess of muscles that was the base of her spine.

She groaned, slowly melting under his ministrations. "God... Still can't figure out how you got so _good_ at this."

He tilted his head, and shrugged a bit. "Mostly military training on hand-to-hand pressure points, and my own personal study of muscle and nerve clusters for torture."

"But most people could never turn that into massage," she protested, humming as he hit a spot that really needed addressing.

He smiled at the noise she made, his fingers circling the spot again carefully. "I have a talent for turning my work into my art."

She made a soft noise of agreement, putty in his hands. "And I thought I was the artist. Didn't you once ask if I could teach you how to draw?"

"I did at that," he agreed, working that particular knot out and moving on. "A request which you have never fulfilled by the way."

"Well we're getting fucked up all the time, it's hard to find the time," she smirked. "Remind me sometime. I'll do my best."

"Excuses, excuses," he chuckled, fingers relaxing when he found no more knots, hands sliding up her back slowly.

She fell silent, her eyes drifting shut of their own accord. A few minutes later, she was out like a light.

He felt her breathing slow as she drifted off, and smiled just a little. It was strange, these little moments of intimacy.

 _Married..._

He closed his eyes and drifted off a few minutes later.


	127. Night One

She woke up in the morning still sprawled on his chest, warm and comfortable, having long ago gotten accustomed to sleeping snuggled against his extremely firm frame.

He woke a few minutes later, and smiled to see her still curled up on top of him. "Hey..."

"Hey," she mumbled, not looking like she was very committed to getting up for the day. She was comfortable. She burrowed into his neck a little. "How'd you sleep?"

"Oddly well, for this fucking bed," he muttered. "You?"

"Oddly well, for this bed," she smirked, poking his chest once.

He snorted indignantly, pinching her arse gently in retaliation. "I make an excellent bed, thank-you-very-much. Would you rather I abandon you to the depths of the mattress?"

"No," she chuckled, then yawned, "At least I know I won't suffocate on you."

"Probably not," he agreed, shoving her off to the side with a grin. "You do drool in your sleep, though."

She made an indignant noise, scowling at him. "I do _not_ drool in my sleep."

"Well, this damp patch under your face came from _somewhere_ ," he snorted, sitting up and climbing out of bed to go to the bathroom.

She made a harrumphing noise that was lost as the fluff of the bed rose around her, and took a moment to remember that tonight was the beginning of their dare. She had no idea how it would end up.

He returned a few minutes later, and after a moment of consideration dug her out of the center of the bed. "Hey. Lazy ass. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, though her movement was kind of limited by his arms. "Does this place have a spa?"

He raised an eyebrow. "A spa? Probably... Why...?" He gave her a suspicious look.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be so suspicious. I was trying to think of things that won't wipe me out before tonight."

"Don't be suspicious," he snorted. "No, I'd love to go spend the day half-naked and surrounded by strangers and potential assassins. Sounds relaxing as fuck."

She chuckled a little, shrugging. "Okay, good point. Forgot for a moment. But honestly, what do you _do_ at a ski resort besides lounge in hot tubs and ski? And, side note, now that I'm thinking about it - when we own this place you need to hire spa attendants you trust. I'm sure some of the people working in our infirmaries have the training."

He grinned at that. "Suddenly so eager to receive massages from other hands, are you? I'm hurt." He flopped her down on the bed again and sat beside her, quickly enough that she bounced up a few inches off the mattress. He grinned. "Well, we could ski."

"And wear me out like that? What if I break my knee? What happens to your dare then?" She smirked, ignoring the bounce.

"Jim gets a real experience instead of a manufactured one," he said, amused, though he kept thinking.

She snorted, rolling her eyes at him. "Please. You'd kill me if I got injured doing something that mundane."

"True," he agreed with a smirk. "Well then what fun is a ski resort?"

"Relaxing in hot tubs surrounded by snow, drinking champagne by a fire, something about fur rugs, yada yada," she waved.

He snorted his amusement. Then he grinned. "I have an idea. Get dressed in warm clothes, I'll be back." He hopped up again and pulled on trousers.

She raised her eyebrows, watching him for a moment and then getting up to grab some clothes. "What are we doing?"

"Just... stay here," he said with a grin, pulling his shirt over his head and heading for the door to the rest of the lodge. "Give me ten minutes."

"Okay," she said uncertainly, watching him go and then moving to get into warm clothes, completely unsure of what she was getting into.

He returned just under ten minutes later, and practically bounded into the room, looking overly chipper and carrying two huge baking sheets. "Nicked them from the kitchen. Come on, we're going sledding."

She sputtered into a chuckle, and then a laugh. "Holy shit, are you serious? You know they probably have real sleds here, right? But I'm not arguing."

"Fuck real sleds," he said, tossing her a sheet and grabbing his coat. "Not the army way to do it."

"I'm not in the army, and you haven't been for more time than you were ever in it," she scoffed, catching the sheet and tucking it under her arm to follow him out.

"You say these things like they matter," he scoffed, heading for a large hill a few dozen meters from them.

"Because they do!" She laughed, jogging after him to keep up, snow crunching under her snow boots. "If you say something ridiculous I gotta shoot back."

"Please. I never left the army lifestyle. I just adjusted it to my particular tastes." He shot her a grin over his shoulder.

She snorted with amusement, a little bit winded as the hill steepened. "You know how pissed my step-dad would've been to know I was engaged to an ex-military man?"

He grinned. "No clue, but from the tone of your voice I'm guessing 'very'. What was his problem with the good ol' psychopathic summer camp?"

"He was a small-time drug lord with serious authority issues. He didn't like anything connected to authority, and the military was his least favorite, because they could tell him what to do with guns, if they had ever been so inclined," she chuckled as they reached the top of the hill, and paused as they looked down the slope. "How do you get on the sheet without it leaving without you?"

He glanced at her with raised eyebrows. "Have you never gone sledding?"

She raised her eyebrows right back at him. "I lived in London my whole childhood, which isn't particularly snowy, and for part of that time I was busy running drugs. When have _you_ had a chance to sled?"

"My mate Danny in high school invited me over to his family's place in the county over the holidays a few times," he said, shrugging. "Always went. His family wasn't pleasant, so we'd spend most of the time outdoors. Here, watch." He chose a good point at the top of the hill, evaluating, before he dug his heels in and sat on the sheet, shifting a few times, the pan threatening to sink into the snow. Then he gave her a grin and spun off to the side, pulling his feet up as he turned, and off he went, holding onto the metal for dear life and letting out a rare laugh.

She let out a startled laugh as he went careening down the hill, looking a bit mad all folded up on his makeshift sled, and decided that if he was crazy enough to do it, so was she, and after a moment of getting the position right, pushed off after him, screaming only a little as the snow took control of her momentum.

He dug his heels in at the bottom of the hill, and snagged her as she almost flew past, pulling her into the snow next to him and leaving her cookie sheet to clang onto the trees a few meters on. He was still laughing, covered in snow.

"Aagghhh! Snow in my shoes!" She yelped as he pulled her off her sled, eyes wide. "Fun though. Really fun."

"Wimp," he smirked, nipping her ear. "Come on, let's go again."

"Alright, alright, but you gotta let me up," she laughed, pushing off him to struggle to her feet in the snow.

He shoved her up by her arse, and handed her his baking sheet, trudging off after hers. He moved more quickly through the snow; it would take forever if she chased it down.

She waited for him to get the sheet before beginning the walk back up the hill, basking in being able to enjoy something so simple with him. They would never have a normal life - she wasn't sure whether or not she'd even want one - but it was nice to have things that weren't connected to survival.

* * *

They spent longer there than he would have expected. He lost track of how many times they walked up the hill, or went careening down. By the time they were trudging back to the flat, they were cold, starving, and he was feeling vaguely guilty about leaving Jim unguarded for so long.

To her surprise, Jim was already in the common room when they got back, eating a juicy-looking steak at the small table. A covered platter was beside him. "Hungry, kids?" He raised an eyebrow, cutting into his steak.

Sebastian took off his snow-covered coat, hanging it on the drying rack, and glanced at Jim, uncertain of the motives of the question. "Fairly, sir."

"Good, because I ordered dinner, and if you weren't hungry I would have made you eat anyway so I didn't waste the effort," he said, then put another piece of steak in his mouth and pointed to the platter beside him.

Sebastian didn't bother commenting, just stooped to undo his boots and kick them off, before walking - sock-foot - to the table and grabbing a plate.

Lorna decided that if Sebastian wasn't going to question it, she wouldn't either, and took off her boots and coat before following his example.

He filled his plate and sat, digging into the steak eagerly. Jim watched them both for a few minutes. "Did you enjoy gamboling around like puppies?"

She looked up as he asked, and finished chewing and swallowing before she responded, looking amused. "Puppies seem to have a pretty pleasant existence, sir. Thought it'd be nice to try it out."

"Mmm... Puppies don't interest me, Harrison. They're _boring_. Until you get them on a leash..." He tossed her a weighted look, and flashed a grin. "Then things get interesting."

She felt herself blush just slightly, despite herself, not used to this type of attention from him. But otherwise she maintained her composure, and raised her eyebrows a little at him. "Is that why you're eating again? Getting your strength before you take me for a walk?"

"My eating habits aren't your concern, kitten. They are _barely_ Moran's," he said, unruffled, cutting into his steak and taking another bite. "And I don't imagine it takes too much strength to yank you around, slender little thing that you are."

She shrugged a little, returning the majority of her attention to her food. "I'm scrappy. Probably have more hand-to-hand than you. Remember that Sebastian is ridiculously sized and you can't use him as a scale for anything."

"Fight nicely," Sebastian said calmly from his chair. "The goal is not to out-backhanded-compliment each other."

She made a face at him, and Jim looked irritated and thwarted, but sighed and didn't argue. "Nobody here knows how to fight nicely," she snorted.

"That, I suppose, is true," he said, setting his empty plate aside and standing. "Now... Let's see here. How to do this..." He walked over to run fingers under Lorna's jaw.

She hummed at his touch, Jim watching with inscrutable eyes. "What logistics are you trying to get straight in your head?" She asked, the question directed at Sebastian. She was smirking a little.

He grinned, fingers curling around her neck, getting a firm grip under her chin. "Just how exactly I want you..." He glanced up at Jim, and smirked. "Do you want to get the rope, or should I?"

"I know where it is," Jim said simply, pushing back his chair and rising from the table, heading for their side of the suite, while Lorna remained seated, eyes locked on Sebastian's, pulse jumping under his fingers. Jim was back a moment later, a coil of rope in his hand, though from here she couldn't tell which kind.

He smiled as Jim handed him the rope, the smooth weight of tactical double-braid familiar on his fingers. "To the chair, Jim? Or somewhere else?"

Jim made a considering noise, hands in his pockets, eyes casually assessing the room. "Not a _chair,_ I don't think. She won't be very accessible, will she? How about tying her up standing?"

He nodded in agreement, eyeing one of the tree-like beams overhead. He considered for a moment, then took a few steps, adjusted the coil in his hand, and threw half of it over the beam. Then he tied a slipknot and cinched the end up, creating a sturdy anchor-point. "Alright. Let's go."

Jim nodded in approval, and Lorna muttered "Jesus," under her breath, looking just a little nervous. She didn't usually go into these things with so much warning, and this clear-headed. She remained seated.

He walked over to Lorna, pausing just a moment and considering a word of encouragement. But it wasn't him that was supposed to be caring, here. He remained cool, hauling Lorna up out of the chair by her wrists and walking her to the center of the room, starting to tie her carefully into place, his rope work careful to pose no danger of strangulation, even if she were to lift her feet.

"Gee, Moran, if I didn't know any differently I'd say you'd done this recently," she quipped, very aware of Jim's hawk-like stare at her side, though she ignored him.

"Once or twice," he shot back levelly. When he was finished, her wrists were secured to her waist behind her back, and her ankles as well, though those were separate so that her legs could be spread if desired. The distance between wrists and ankles _just_ too short to prevent her from standing fully upright, leaving her leaning slightly backward, the weight of her body caught by the rope as it wound its way under her armpits and then up to the beam. Moran secured the final knot and stepped back to admire his work, before flicking a knife out of his pocket and starting to cut a slit down the front of her shirt, avoiding the rope where it crossed.

"This is impressive work," Jim murmured, from the side, stepping forward to run a finger across a line of rope, and, once Moran had cut her free of her shirt, across the skin of her shoulder.

Moran glanced over and smiled just a little. "Tying people up has been on my resume for a while, boss," he shot back, though the praise was pleasantly unexpected. He stepped back, pocketing the knife again and considering Lorna where she stood, a bit unsteady and vulnerable, topless and exposed. His eyes darkened.

"It doesn't always benefit me so immediately, however," he said, hand trailing from her shoulder down to her spine, touch feather light. She shivered, biting her lip.

"To be fair, Jim, I think it's the _dare_ that's benefiting you."

"Ah, yes, the _dare_ ," Jim murmured, counting vertebrae absently as his finger traced her spine. "We should do dares more often, Tiger... I like where they get us." He slid his hand upward again, and looped his finger through a curl of hair, tugging slightly, forcing Lorna's head back. Moran smiled, just watching for now.

"I tend to agree, boss."

Her eyes shifted from Sebastian to Jim, deciding to pay attention to the person who was touching her, her spine tingling as he tugged lightly on her hair. "You've only had the one dare. Don't you need a bigger sample size?"

He hummed absently. "Perhaps. But I know the two of you. You're predictable. The possible outcomes of future dares are much more likely to result in benefit to me." He leaned forward to sink his teeth into her spine, just below where the rope crossed her back from under her pinned arms.

She hissed in surprise, shifting unsteadily in her restraints, hands clenching. "Future dares? How do you imagine we'll rack those up?"

"Like I said," he murmured a moment later, when he released his bite. "You're predictable." He straightened behind her, pulling her back against him, which left a bit of pressure that would swing her forward if he released her. His hands slid up the front of her body, tracing along the lines of the rope that held her, before digging his nails in and dragging back downward. "Now... What to do with you."

Sebastian smirked, and walked forward, eyes interested as they roved over Harrison, planning. It was his role now to be the sadist, Jim's to counter him and keep Harrison distracted. But Jim wouldn't necessarily succeed, so he needed to be careful not to push too far. It was an interesting balance.

"What, you weren't planning all day?" She snorted, deciding that antagonizing the two of them was her best defense while she was tied up. The more riled up they got, the less in control they would be, in theory. Though the way Sebastian was looking at her... She had to tamp down on a shiver.

Jim looked about to retort, but Sebastian stepped in before he could, long legs crossing the distance between him and Lorna in an instant. His fingers slipped inside the cup of her bra, pinching her nipple and applying _just_ enough pressure to be uncomfortable, a threat. His eyes were on hers, calm, a touch amused. "You're very brash for someone in your position..."

She bared her teeth at him in a snide sort of grin, committing fully to the game of goading them on. They wanted complete trust, didn't they? Fine, she could give them that. Trust that no matter what she said, they wouldn't take it too far. "Well the two of you are just standing there with your thumbs up your asses, not doing anything. What else am I supposed to do, just quiver under your gazes?" She asked sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Sebastian didn't react with any particular expression, just tightened his grip on her nipple and twisted until he saw the pain on her face. "Manners are important, Lorna, dear..."

She grimaced, but didn't apologize, stubborn. "That's no way to motivate her," Jim snorted, leaning over her shoulder a little, hands resting at the small of her waist, breath tickling her ear. "She's pushing for attention. You're giving her the wrong kind, but it's still _attention."_

He looked up and caught Jim's gaze, and smirked just a little. "I don't particularly care _what_ she's looking for. I just like to see her wince." He twisted just a bit harder, grinning as Lorna flinched involuntarily, and then released, stepping away again. "But I suppose we could just leave her stranded for a bit. Depends on how interesting you decide to be."

Jim chuckled, nails digging into Lorna's sides for a moment before letting go, stepping away to deprive her of his body heat. "It's a shame we're not at home," he mused, walking around her slowly, "I'd love strap her to a vibrator for an hour, watch her squirm. Is she a crier, I wonder?"

"No," she answered, a bit dryly. He appraised her for a moment, then smirked.

"How would you know?"

Moran smirked, walking over to Jim and reaching out to get a hold on the other man's tie, tugging it experimentally, feeling just a bit brazen. "It's definitely a theory worth exploring. We do have a year. Still..."

Jim's eyes flashed to Moran's, darkening despite himself. Moran was being bold today, and he was inclined to let himself like it. But he wouldn't lie down that easily. "Can I _help_ you, Moran?"

Sebastian grinned a bit cheekily. He knew Jim's warning voice. This wasn't it. "Actually, I think you can. Take the shirt off, sir, if you don't mind. Leave the tie." He gave it another small tug before dropping it. "I might need it."

"Aren't you the bold one today," he smirked, hands rising to begin unbuttoning his shirt, Lorna watching them both intently. The one time either of them had a tie on while fooling around, and she didn't have the hands to yank them around...

Moran glanced at Lorna, and hid a smirk. He knew from watching her play with her marks that the tie was a personal favorite. Might as well use that knowledge.

Jim tossed his shirt aside, and Moran pulled his own over his head, glancing at Lorna, who had to be careful not to unbalance herself. "What do you think, Jim... She'd make a better display piece without the rest of her clothes, don't you think?"

"I think it hardly needs saying," he agreed, removing his belt and dropping it at Lorna's feet in case they needed it later, and unbuttoning his trousers, though he left them on for the moment.

"Display piece? What, are you going to jack off to art?"

He smirked, tossing Jim the flip knife from his pocket. "For the moment. I think she needs a little while to get good and frustrated. Don't you? Like a nice steak... Needs to settle for a bit before you bite in..." He hooked his finger through the tie around Jim's neck, pulling him over to bite his shoulder.

Jim dragged his nails down Moran's chest in retaliation, grazing his own teeth across his neck, desire flaring up in his chest. Again. Christ, he hadn't fucked anybody with this little of a gap between since he was nineteen.

Moran smirked against Jim's skin, feeling Lorna's eyes on them, and hissed just a little as Jim's nails bit into his skin. He straightened, then, releasing the boss with an amused smile, and nodded toward Lorna.

Jim flicked the knife open and walked over to Lorna, until he was just a few inches away. For a moment he considered cutting into the woman. He raised the knife, pressing the tip into her sternum, considering her eyes as he did so, but after a moment he eased the pressure and cut down instead, severing the center of her bra before lowering the knife to cut her trousers and knickers free as well.

She had a flash of anxiety when the knife rested over her chest, but then he moved on and the moment passed, and suddenly all she was wearing was her bra, in the style of a shoulder holster. The air was a little chilly. "And I _just_ bought these."

"I'll buy you replacements," Jim said casually, standing again and using the knife to flick her bra off to the side, exposing her breasts and eyeing her up and down. Sebastian walked forward, then, grabbing the tie and using it to pull Jim back against him, his free hand reaching down to slide over Jim's thigh through his trousers, playful. His eyes were on Lorna. "It's a shame I can't leave any scars, really..."

She couldn't help but groan at the sight, some of the defiance gone from her eyes, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. "Fuck... Why are the two of you so far _away,"_ she huffed, shifting in her bonds, and Jim laughed, pressing further back against Moran, and very purposefully grinding his arse back into the other man's hips.

"To teach you some patience."

"Good luck with that one," Sebastian scoffed, his fingers still looped lazily through the collar of Jim's tie, keeping casual control. "She hasn't learned it yet. I don't think she's going to." He took a short breath as Jim ground against him, twisting the tie to tighten it on Jim's neck just a bit. His other hand shifted over the bulge in Jim's trousers, massaging slowly. He could see Lorna shifting impatiently, and grinned toothily.

Jim laughed, the sound only slightly affected by Sebastian's hand. He was finding the tie around his neck somewhat enjoyable as well, but judging by the way Harrison was staring, she liked it more. Could she _have_ more of a strangulation fetish? "Have you ever _tried_ teaching her? You're pretty impatient when it comes to her."

"I resent that," he snorted. "I'm incredibly patient. It's how I put up with her for so long. But I'm all for giving it another swing..."

"I meant about keeping your hands off her. I never caught you fucking in public until she came along, Moran," he snorted, sliding a hand behind him and shifting it under the waistband of Moran's trousers.

"I suppose that's fair," he agreed, closing his eyes and smiling as Jim's hand went wandering. He shifted his hand from the tie to his neck, pulling the smaller man back against him a bit more firmly. "What do you think, Harrison? Do I need to learn to be patient?"

"I think if you were more patient I would spend a significant amount of time dissatisfied because I chose to get myself off instead of bothering with you, except it wasn't as good. In other words; don't you _dare,"_ she growled, glowering at him. She desperately wanted to be in Jim's place right now, and it was taking notable effort not to beg for it.

He could see her straining against the ropes, fists clenched, and he smiled, thumb tracing along Jim's jugular as he ground forward into the man's hand, bending to bite his ear. "Aw, look at her," he murmured, plenty loud enough for Lorna to hear. "I think she's jealous..." He rubbed his palm along the cloth-covered shape of Jim's cock, and the boss made an odd noise that he immediately decided to pretend he hadn't heard, despite the part of him that flared with possessiveness. He glanced up at Lorna, eyes alight.

Jim smirked. "I think she is," he agreed softly. He met Lorna's gaze. "What do you want, kitten? You can tell us," he said with mock sympathy.

She groaned, looking pained. She was wishing that he'd tied her up so she could at _least_ clench her thighs together, try to get some sort of relief, but all she could do was watch them longingly. "I want one or both of you to _touch_ me, goddammit. Please?"

Sebastian smirked, tilting his head and starting to trace a lazy pattern of nips and scrapes along the side of Jim's neck. "What do you think, Jim? Does she deserve it yet?"

"Doesn't really matter if she deserves it," he chuckled, squeezing Moran through his pants, "if she pisses either of us off, she's tied up."

"True," he said, just a touch breathlessly. "Well then... Let's have fun."

"Thank god," she mumbled, looking at them both needily. But with Jim held firmly against Moran by the throat, he wasn't going to make the first move. Her eyes shifted to Sebastian.

He tapped his finger against Jim's throat once, twice, and then released him, letting him step away with a small grin. "Just had to savor the look on your face," he said lightly, walking over to her. Jim followed just behind. Moran reached out, then, his hand hovering tantalizingly close to Lorna's skin. "You just want it so badly..."

She moaned impatiently, looking up at him with pleading eyes. " _Seb..._ C'mon, you remember being tied up, don't you? Have a little sympathy, _please."_

"Oof, don't ask the sadist for sympathy," he chuckled, though he finally gave her a little contact. "Just makes me randy."

"Good, I need to wind you up so much that you'll give me what I _want,"_ she muttered, not satisfied with his hand sitting still on her skin. Jim smirked.

"That's your normal tactic, isn't it?"

Moran sighed. "See, now I just feel used. Have you been grifting me, Lorna? Manipulating me into fucking you to new horizons?" He released her neck again, completely aware that he was driving her insane, and let his fingers dawdle down her chest instead. "Can you imagine, though, Lorna dear? Can you picture all the times I've pinned you to the wall, left marks on your neck for days to come..."

"Yes," she whimpered, very quickly becoming a mess under his undivided attention. "I love it when you do that. Love it when you mark me. _Crave_ it, sometimes."

Jim smirked, watching with interest the way Lorna twisted closer to Moran's fingers, just trying to get closer. He wasn't touching her, but he was doing more than he could have done with a knife or any other instrument.

He considered that. It was usually his move. Playing people like instruments, bringing them to the edge. Moran or Lorna were usually his counterweight. Soft where he was harsh, harsh where he withheld. But now Moran demanded a counter. Had made it clear that Jim was not in control here. The dare stipulated that Jim had to learn to care... So care he would.

He stepped forward, his hand palming across Lorna's back, sliding down over her arse, giving her a little. Giving her just enough to keep her sane.

She made a soft noise of appreciation, arching back into his hand as much as she was able, eyes fluttering shut, skin singing under his touch. Fuck, they'd touched her so little, and she was aching for more. "Please... Please, more," she murmured, opening her eyes again, pupils huge. " _Something."_

Sebastian grinned, letting Jim have his moment. It was a true reversal of their dynamic, and he imagined the boss was turning the situation over carefully. He tapped his finger against Lorna's sternum. Once. Twice. "You heard her Jim... Give her... _something_..."

Jim raised his eyebrows, smirking at Moran, and slid his hand further down and between her legs, and slid two fingers into her, smirk growing wider as she gasped and then moaned as he curled them. "Like this?"

"That will do," Moran said softly, smiling and tracing his fingers back up to her throat. "Not too much yet... We wouldn't want her coming just yet... would we, Lorna?"

Jim smirked, rolling his fingers slowly, not quite enough.

She groaned, eyes screwing shut. " _Seb..._ Jim, please.." she pleaded, eyes opening again to meet Sebastian's, which was a mistake, because what she saw there only made her more turned on. "Untie me, fuck me, just... _Please."_

Sebastian grinned, gripping her neck, then, and leaning in to whisper in her ear. "I'm not the one you need to convince, am I? I'm content to just let you hang here all night."

She shivered, eyes shutting again, breaths uneven. "Jim... Jim, please. Either let me out or fuck me proper, I'm begging you. _Please."_

Jim closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in the tremor in her voice, the way her body strained around his fingers. She was in agony, waiting. This moment... this moment was blissful. He had the power to make or break her, here...

"Cut her down, Moran. But leave her bound."

Sebastian cocked his head, and walked over, reaching out to get a grip on Jim's tie. "That sounded an awful lot like an order," he said conversationally.

Jim grit his teeth, and stilled, contemplating whether to call the game then and there. But he took a breath, closed his eyes, and said, "Please cut her down."

"Better." He dropped the tie and picked the knife up off of the ground, turning to slice through the line holding Lorna to the beam.

She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding as the tension keeping her bent backwards was released, and she straightened. Her arms were still tied behind her, and walking might be a little awkward, but at least she wasn't tied in place anymore. Not that it gave her much of an advantage. Hands-less, she might as well have been tied up anyway. So she broke the odd tension in the air between the two of them with a breathless, "Now what?"

Moran watched her adjust to freedom, rolling her shoulders, and laughed when she spoke. "She really is incorrigible," he murmured, walking forward to get a grip on the rope around her chest, reaching out with his free hand to grab Jim's tie and throw the man a grin. He paused to relish that. The two of them (so much smaller than him, both) in his grasp, his control, for just that moment. It was intoxicating.

Jim tugged back against Moran's grip, daring the man to go further, eyes dark and amused, challenging. Lorna, meanwhile, looked rather like she was going to melt into a puddle of want, her cheeks flushed and teeth worrying her lip. She was impossible to ignore for long. Jim turned his attention away from Moran and slid a hand into her hair to drag her into a searing kiss.

He released his grip on the two of them as Jim turned away, grinning and walking around behind Lorna as she kissed the other man. He slid his hands up her sides, gripping her hips for a moment, and then ground forward against her arse slowly. He was starting to lose patience, and stepped back to rid himself of his trousers.

She groaned against Jim's lips, pressing herself up against him as tightly as possible to make up for her lack of hands, which he took advantage of, hands going to grab her arse and pulling her even tighter against him to grind his hips into hers, his breath coming a little harder in response. He was also beginning to lose his patience, but in the interest of keeping Harrison occupied he would wait for Moran to step back in before he also divested himself of his trousers.

Moran returned a moment later, fully naked now, and eager. He saw Jim's impatience, and didn't hesitate to pull Lorna away, grabbing her by the back of the neck. He didn't leave her alone long, though, turning her around and pulling her against him, bending down to kiss her just as roughly.

He just about knocked her breathless, melting into his arms, kissing him with all the desperate need they'd instilled in her. Jim was a good fuck, a great fuck, even, when she was in the right mood. But nothing was better than Sebastian's calloused grip, than the feeling of his solid body pressed hard against hers. She leaned into him hard, trying to take as much as he would give her. God, she loved him.

She lost that train of thought a moment later, as Jim returned sans pants and pressed up against her back, fingers digging into her hips.

Sebastian grinned when he suddenly had something to push her up against (not a wall, but Jim would have to do) and didn't hesitate, pinning her against the boss as he left her lips to bite at her throat, his hands tangling in her hair, pulling her head back. His hips ground forward against hers, pushing her back against Jim. Jim responded in turn, grabbing Lorna's hips and pulling her back against him, hungry.

Lorna was getting a little impatient. _Both_ of them were grinding against her, hot and ready to go, and neither of them were doing it where it counted. "Jesus Christ, will one of you _fuck me already?"_

Seb laughed, and Jim shrugged, shoving her forward against Moran and pulling her hips back. He took a moment to reposition before he pushed into her roughly, while Sebastian acted as a brace.

She swore, very suddenly needing to come to terms with the fact that it was really hard to balance herself without use of her arms, and relying entirely on Sebastian. Jim pulled out almost to the tip before slowly pushing back in again, smirking as she moaned, though he could feel a light sweat break out on his skin as he resisted the urge to put up a punishing pace.

Sebastian let her get used to Jim, admiring their movements, before stepping back a little, and shifting his grip on her, smirking a little as he lowered her head to waist-height. "Well, Harrison? Don't keep me waiting..."

"Fuck!" Jim cursed, gritting his teeth as she squeezed around him, his grip on her hips going white-knuckled for a second as he got a hold of himself again, a flush rising to his cheeks, and then one hand shifting from her hip to her tied wrists, holding her in place. "Christ, kitten, I'd tell you to stop sucking his dick so hard that you do _that_ just for a few words of his, but that would be defeating the point, wouldn't it?" He panted, getting himself back under control. She didn't hear much of it. She was too distracted with the blood rushing in her ears, and the sight of Sebastian's cock before her eyes. She wasted no more time to lean forward a little with the leverage Jim gave her to close the distance and flick the tip of her tongue over the head of his cock, before sliding it as far as it would go into her mouth, with the intention of giving him sensory overload. Revenge.

He was entirely amused by her visceral reaction, by the abject _want_ in her eyes, but he quickly forgot all that as she dragged her hot, rough tongue across the head of his cock. His breath stopped in his lungs, and his grip on her shoulder tightened hard enough to bruise as she took him deeper. " _Christ_..."

Jim started to move again, his feet braced so that he could still give Lorna a bit of support as he started to roll his hips forward again, still slowly, his body slick with sweat.

She would have smiled at his reaction if her mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied. She swirled her tongue around him, humming lightly, and then played a trick she hadn't used in a long time, and pushed herself farther, took him deep enough that she could swallow around him.

"Jesus _Christ_ ," he gasped, buckling forward, his hand threading roughly into her hair, pulling her onto him as she swallowed around his cock. Jim reached across to grab Moran's arm, using it as leverage to start moving against Lorna a bit more energetically.

If she had had the breath to spare, she would have moaned. She was beginning to unravel, and standing was becoming harder by the minute. Jim had reached a point where his own pleasure trumped the need to tease her to the point of madness, and now he was in it for himself. He would see to her once Sebastian was out of range of her teeth.

Sebastian wasn't going to last long anyway, his hips rolling against Lorna's mouth, his breaths shallow and stuttering. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair. "Fuck... Gonna come-" he managed. He released his grip in Harrison's head, letting her pull away if she liked, his hand shifting to her shoulder with his last ounce of concentration to keep her steady. He let out a rough cry, knees threatening to buckle.

She pulled away just to get a breath, and was inadvertently rewarded for it as Jim took the opportunity to slide his hand from her hip, down her front, to press firmly against her clit, groaning as her hips jumped unexpectedly, and he pounded into her harder, his other hand wrapping around her throat, half-strangling the desperate sounds spilling from her lips at the sudden overwhelming sensation of somebody giving her attention where she'd so badly needed it. She just about screamed as she came, though it wasn't as loud as it could have been, considering Jim's grip on her throat, and then she was bringing him over with her and he was cursing violently into her shoulder as he came.

Moran watched them finish with a bit of a dazed feeling, his lips quirking up in a bit of a smile. He was tempted to kneel in front of Lorna, pull her into his arms, but that wasn't his job here. That was up to Jim.

Jim shifted slowly, pulling away. He was tempted to slink off into his room, but he caught Moran looking at him, and realized that the circumstances of the dare weren't over yet.

Lorna very suddenly lost the ability to stand, and dropped to her knees, exhausted, arms still tied behind her back.

Jim took a moment to catch his breath, before he knelt beside Lorna and reached out to untie her hands.

She groaned in relief as her shoulders were relieved of the tension, letting her hands rest in her lap. Jim glanced up at Sebastian, eyebrows raised.

He raised an eyebrow. "She's all yours, boss," he said with a shrug, heading out of the room. "I'm going to shower." He needed to remove himself from the room, otherwise he was going to pick Lorna up and bring her with him.

Jim sighed inaudibly, and then decided that the longer he waited the more awkward this was going to be, and bent down to pick her up. He did not do it as easily as Moran.

He shifted Lorna in his arms a bit, trying to figure out how his bodyguard carried either of them so easily. Probably something about push-ups.

"Any chance of you walking on your own?" he asked dryly as he walked toward his quarters.

She muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like "fuck you" and jabbed him with her elbow so she could get to her feet, and stumbled her way into the shower, where she sat down, pointing a finger at the faucet. "On."

He raised an eyebrow, but complied, turning the shower faucet on. He was tempted to leave it freezing, but that wasn't particularly useful to his own desire to shower, so he shifted the knob toward a more reasonable temperature and leaned back, waiting for it to heat up.

She didn't even flinch under the cold water. She had done it many, many times before. So she just sat and waited for her brain to come back to her. "Where's.. _Seb?"_

"He left me with you," he said calmly, stepping in once the water heated up and starting to rinse off. "You really do give novel meaning to the phrase 'fuck your brains out'."

She snorted, shrugging a little. "Endorphins. I'm like... basically high," she muttered, waving a hand at him. "You're bad at this. Bring me my fiancé, please."

"Are referring to the fiancé who dared you to teach me how rewarding it is to care for people?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because you're failing."

"You have to put in the effort first, Jim," she retorted, but quietly and reluctantly accepted his point as valid. She stood, albeit shakily, and got out of the shower, grabbing a towel and beginning to dry herself off. "'M going to bed. Going to nap."

He considered her quietly, but decided he was done with this game for now. It wasn't remotely entertaining. "Very well. Go sleep."

She nodded, and left the room, heading for Jim's quarters and crawling in between the sheets of the bed, not minding the absurd fluffiness for once, and drifted off, curled up.

He finished showering and dried off, heading for his room. He was surprised, however, to find Harrison in his bed. He'd assumed she would return to Moran.

He considered her for a long moment, trying to evaluate her game. He walked over to the bed, watching her slow breaths.

What was the value of caring for someone? There were certainly rewards to be won, favors to be brokered, but that wasn't the spirit of the bet.

Oh well. He had no other answer, so it appeared he was winning.

Some small part of him was rankled by that, however. There was something he was missing. Something he was as yet unable to understand that someone as simple as a local grocer apparently _could_.

He let out an annoyed snort, and after a moment climbed into the bed next to Harrison. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against him. She was warm. He recognized no other change in his physical or mental state. But he would keep monitoring.

She shifted a little, already half asleep, and curled up into him like she did with Moran, burrowing into his neck a little and then sighing contentedly. She was far too tired to be picky about who she was stealing warmth from.

He was surprised when she suddenly curled up against his chest. For a moment, there was an odd, warm sensation that he couldn't attribute to the body pressed against him. It only lasted a second before it flickered away, but it left him confused.

He pushed the feeling aside and tried to sleep.


	128. Still Into You

She woke up sometime in the middle of the night, disoriented and confused, and got up out of bed, wondering how long she had been asleep. Long enough, considering that it was now pitch black outside. She figured she'd held up her end of the deal for the time being. Time to find Sebastian.

He was awake, reading in their room. He was flopped across the chaise lounge on his stomach, the book open on the floor. He looked up as the door opened, and shifted to sit up, adjusting his tee and plaid pajama bottoms. "Hey there. Welcome back."

"Hey," she smiled, walking over to the dresser to get out some pajamas. "Didn't mean to be gone so long. Passed the fuck out."

"I figured as much," he said, standing and walking up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back against him.

She leaned back into him a little, pleased to be able to spend time with him again, pajamas forgotten for a moment. "It was weird, not having you there."

"How did he do?" he asked softly, fingers tracing absent patterns across her stomach.

"Poorly," she snorted, "He mostly said vaguely insulting things. And he didn't pick me up well. Which is one of my favorite parts."

He smirked, shifting and scooping her up into his arms. "I'll take that as a suggestion. And you didn't expect him to be very good at it, did you?"

She made an 'eep' noise as he picked her up, wriggling a little. "Of course I didn't. But it makes me miss you. Put me down, let me get some clothes on, huh?"

"That seems like it would go against my best interests," he grumbled, setting her down.

"Hey, I'm smaller than you, I lose body heat faster," she retorted, opening up a drawer and pulling out a soft set of pajamas. "Plus, it's comfy."

He sighed, reaching out to slide a possessive hand over her bare arse. "Fine, if you insist..."

"You almost literally _just_ had your way with me," she laughed, turning around to face him as she pulled on her top. "You're incorrigible!"

"I'm not trying to fuck you, I just like your arse! Is that such a bad thing?" he asked indignantly, though he was hiding a smirk.

She rolled her eyes, still chuckling. "You were feeling me up! It's not like my ass _disappears_ when I put on clothes."

"Really? You're kidding. Thank god you clarified that, here I was thinking that your ass defied object permanence," he said sarcastically, smiling now as he walked over to flop onto the bed.

She rolled her eyes harder, pulling on her pants and then walking over to get into bed with him, settling against his side. "You are so sarcastic, Jesus Christ. How have you not been killed?"

He smiled as he reached out for the remote, turning off the lights. "When you're as sarcastic as I am, you have to have the survival skills to back it up."

"Yeah, yeah," she snorted, resting her cheek on his shoulder, eyes still open in the dark. "Which came first?"

"I'd say they were fairly concurrent," he said as he curled back around her. "But probably the survival skills."

She hummed in response, letting silence fall for a minute. She couldn't imagine him as a sarcastic kid, and there was a very obvious reason for that. She almost wished Riordan was still alive so she could rub their happiness in his face.

He didn't let his mind wander for too long, returning to the present before he shot his mood in the foot. "I should hang you from the ceiling more often."

She snorted in amusement. "We aren't usually in a room where the ceiling allows that to happen. Are you going to install ceiling mounts to hang me from in our flat?"

"Would you object if I did?" he asked, grinning and pressing his lips to the back of her neck.

"No," she smirked, rolling her eyes a little in the dark. "I might make fun of you, though. Can't promise otherwise."

"You can make fun of me all you like. I'll tie you up and leave you there for housekeeping to find," he muttered against her skin.

"Bullshit. No way you would do that. Too risky. Someone might stab me while you were gone, and then where would you be?" she scoffed.

"Short one pain in the arse," he said with a grin, pinching her butt playfully.

She made a noise of protest, reaching back to poke him. "Exactly! Short! Implying you're meant to have me around!"

"That is the worst argument I've ever heard," he said flatly, rolling onto his back and pulling her up onto his chest. "I mean, just pitiful."

She rolled her eyes at him, settling down against his chest. "You want me to go into detail about how well we do without each other, or just stick with the light dancing around it?"

"See, that's a much better argument," he says, smoothing a hand up her back and wrapping his arms around her snugly.

She just gave an exasperated chuckle, listening to the slow beat of his heart. It was a sound that had comforted her for years now. "Jesus," she sighed after a minute, voice soft. "We have been together a long time. It's strange to think of."

"Yeah. Not even _Jim_ would have called it, the odds were so low," he agreed. She was warm against his chest, her breath tickling his neck.

"Jim never did call it," she chuckled. "He was in denial as much as you were."

"Denial is such a strong word," he sighed. "Disbelief seems more accurate. It isn't our fault that you came in and threw our perfectly balanced relationship off-kilter."

She made a _pfft_ noise. "Please. I didn't _come in,_ I was in the organization for at least six months before we met face to face."

"And then you start working with Jim and I, and _poof_ , everything explodes," he retorted, smirking.

"And who would you be fucking with such regularity and enthusiasm?" she smirked, raising her eyebrows at him, though she doubted he could see them.

"No one," he agreed. "Though on the flip-side, I could murder a lot more." He grinned.

"What do you mean you could murder a lot more? It's not like I _discourage_ you," she scoffed, disbelieving.

"Yes, but if I was getting my rocks off with penny-candy hookers," he explained patiently, "Then I would have a nearly endless line of victims. I'd be the next Jack the Ripper."

"Ugh, not even expensive hookers? No wonder you would need to murder more often, you wouldn't be completely satisfied," she snorted, features scrunching up disdainfully. She didn't enjoy the idea of Sebastian and a line of dive bar bimbos. But then, she was an oddly jealous person.

"People look when expensive hookers disappear," he pointed out, sliding a hand through her hair. "No one cares about crackwhores."

"Like you would get caught by the fucking police," she muttered. "But damn, you lucked out with me. Sounds like you were doomed to a life of sub-par sex."

"I'd have splurged every once in awhile," he retorted, but he smiled a little. "Still, not great sex, no."

"Ha, splurged," she snickered, well aware it was immature.

He rolled his eyes, snorting. "Oh, yes, that's excellent."

"I'm still getting over the whole balls joke you made a while back. Recovering, actually," she teased.

"I'm sorry testicular humor is so traumatic for you," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes in the darkness.

"It's the worst kind of humor," she said seriously, though she was smiling. "They just shouldn't be mentioned at all. They should be a secret."

"Secret balls," he snorted, smirking. "Sounds like a bad romance novel."

"Ugh," she muttered, wrinkling her nose. "A _baaad_ romance novel. At least you could get some enjoyment out of an Austin Powers-esque pun movie. Almost zero cringing."

"You just have no sense of humor," he muttered, smirking.

"I have a _great_ sense of humor," she scoffed, insulted. "You almost killed me a few times because of it, I'm fairly certain."

"That doesn't count as 'great'," he retorted dryly.

She made an offended noise, elbowing him a little. "Better than balls humor!"

"Says the woman who just giggled at 'splurged'," he retorted, jostling her.

"You've got a point there," she admitted good-naturedly, shrugging. "But speaking of which, let's get back to the whole _where would I be without darling Lorna?"_

"Oh, no, I think that ship has sailed," he said cheerfully. "I think we've moved onto _shut up and sleep now, darling Lorna._ "

"Are you ever surprised you've never suffocated me? Cause I kinda am," she muttered, relaxing against him despite her words.

"Eh, you'd wake up and tap me if you were dying," he said, unconcerned.

She snorted. "I meant on _purpose."_

"Oh. In that case, yes. Very." He flicked her ear gently. "Sleep."

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, and then fell silent. With the exhaustion of the day, even _with_ her nap, she passed out in fifteen minutes.

He wasn't far behind her, glad to have her back beside him. She belonged there, now.

* * *

Playlist: Paramore - Still Into You

So we're nearing the end of what's currently written, guys - we're still writing, so this will continue getting updates, but not the every day schedule you all have been used to ;)br /

However - we do also have a WW2 AU of these three (although much shorter and also still in development) going on - would y'all be interested in me uploading that?


	129. Gas Light

_Two and a half months ago:_

Keira knew that something big had happened, because for the first time since Ines had taken over the network, she went two days without seeing anybody. If it hadn't been for the extremely rudimentary sink in her room, she would have been close to death. On the third day, they seemed to remember that she was there, because the guards started bringing food again (along with decent water). Did they answer her irate questions about what the fuck had been happening? No, but she hadn't really expected them to. Patience just wasn't really her style.

* * *

Ines tuned out what the doctor was saying about her hand as he carefully changed the bandage and replaced the immobilizing cast. It was nothing she didn't know. The surgery to repair her tendon had gone well, but it was still going to be six weeks before she could begin the painful therapy process to regain her right hand's function. She had developed an unwelcome sympathy for Mycroft Holmes in the past few days.

Still, her mind was far from her injury. Instead, it was focused on the cause. _Moran. Fucking Moran, playing me for an idiot this whole time, and I bought every goddamned line._

The three were in the wind. But she wasn't without assets. The network was still hers. And cozy in a holding cell in her basement was the answer to her fury.

 _I know your weak points, Moran. You're going to regret crossing me._

Ines left the infirmary on a mission. She didn't bother taking the painkillers the doctor had recommended, tucking them in a pocket for later. Instead she headed for the elevator and the basement.

It took her all of three minutes to reach the cell, but it was another ten before she actually approached it and had the door opened. She needed to plan.

* * *

Keira spent her time in the cell occupied with only a few trains of thought. The first was her father. It was an extremely conflicted line of thinking. On the one hand, the man was alive and well, which was about all she'd found out before Ines had had her stuffed into this holding cell. On the other hand, every thought that she'd ever vainly entertained of him caring at all for her was dashed to pieces. Why would he have her locked up like this? Was she on the chopping block? A waiting list for people who he needed to destroy to shore up the weak spots in his life? Either way, she was beginning to grow to hate him.

Another train of thought had to do with her own particular situation, and whether or not she could do anything about it. Jim Moriarty's cells weren't built with exploitable weak spots or advantages. Everything was bolted or welded down, and the walls and doors were practically seamless. Not to mention they didn't risk giving her anything as basic as a plastic fork that she could fashion into a tool or weapon. Really, she wasn't very optimistic about her chances of self-rescue. So brute force, unfortunately, would probably not be an option. She had to find some other way to keep herself alive.

* * *

When Ines finally did go in, she was much calmer, but there was danger in her eyes. It jolted her, just a little, when she saw the girl. She really was the spitting image of her father, even with the blond in her hair starting to grow out. It was the eyes that did it the most. Those shockingly blue eyes that seemed too quiet to be trustworthy.

"So. Tell me, Keira. What were your father's instructions to you?"

Her head snapped up as the door opened, her body tensing from where she sat on the shoddy cot, preparing to fight. "Wow, the woman herself," she said sarcastically, ignoring the question as her eyes slowly scanned Ines. She took particular notice of the injury on her wrist. What had happened there? Her father? She couldn't guess why else Ines would come in here herself, ask this line of questioning. "You're not going to properly introduce yourself or anything?"

She ignored the bait, considering the girl for a moment. "You have one more chance to answer," she said calmly. "What were your father's instructions to you?"

She leveled a dead stare at her, blue eyes cold. "My father hasn't spoken to me since before he ' _died,'_ and even that was... fuck, I don't even know how long before. I don't have _instructions._ Why? I thought he was your toady, or whatever."

Ines sighed, considering the girl. She knew, almost for a fact, that Moran had not spoken to her. Still, that wasn't the point. "You really are so much like him, aren't you? But he broke, too. Tell me why he left you here, Keira darling? What sort of mischief does he have you up to?"

"Yeah, because I'm capable of causing _so_ much mischief in here," she sneered, rolling her eyes. "Christ, like he would ever trust me enough to leave me with a _plan._ Also - he _left?_ That son of a bitch. I bet he didn't even think to bring me," she muttered, sullenly. She didn't know if she completely believed what she was saying, but she needed Ines to believe it. She really didn't know anything - torture would just end badly for her.

She shook her head. "You expect me to believe that he left his only daughter here for me to toy with on a whim? Disappointing, Keira. I really expected you to lie better." She headed for the door. "I'll give you the night to consider the consequences of lying to me."

"Yeah, like Moran has ever cared about his child," she scoffed, shifting back to lie down on her cot, hands behind her head.

Ines didn't respond, just shut the door and headed for the elevator. That was enough for today. Pushing too quickly would gain her nothing. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bottle of painkillers, and started reading the label as she got into the elevator. Her hand was throbbing.

Keira sighed, and eventually shifted to become more comfortable, intending on sleeping. Why had he left her? Did he really care so little?

* * *

Keira's dreams that night were stressful, and involved a lot of her father, laughing while standing over her, a gun in hand. It was almost haunting, seeing her own eyes staring back at her.

Ines spent much of that night creating a proper plan. She found writing things down to be tedious, and had long ago learned that drawing was, for her, a better method. She lay on the couch as the moon rose and fell, drinking water and sketching, and blamed the half a dozen sets of blue eyes staring at her from the paper on the painkillers.

* * *

That morning, she forced herself to have breakfast before she did anything else. Then she called down to security, and had them move the woman to a new holding cell. One with a table, with straps. A little fear never hurt anyone.

She didn't bother fighting them on the way out of her room - she was too busy trying to take in her surroundings, get a glimpse through the doors which had portholes to see through. She didn't learn much. It all looked pretty much the same since she'd gone in.

The table was not a pleasant surprise for her. Then she put up a fight. The guard elbowed her in the face before she could grab his gun, and they slammed her on the table just the same, and strapped her down tight. Fuck. _Fuck._

Ines walked in about twenty minutes later, a small, unpleasant-looking woman at her elbow. The woman was wearing latex gloves. Ines walked over so that Keira could see her face. "Have you thought about what I asked?"

"You _betcha,"_ Keira replied cheerlessly, glaring at the two of them, kind of upside down. "Look, if Moran cared enough about me to use me in a plan to cause, and I quote, ' _mischief,'_ he would have bothered to bring me with him. I didn't even know he _left._ I have nothing to fucking tell you."

Ines shook her head. "Moran is fiercely loyal. He doesn't leave anyone behind, not unless he plans it. So what are you doing here, Keira? Are you loyal to your father? Or to the network?"

"He doesn't _care_ enough about me to be loyal to me, don't you get it?" she snorted, rolling her eyes at Ines, though she was still keeping track of the woman with the latex gloves. "It doesn't _matter_ who I'm loyal to because honestly, I'm _not_ loyal. People have to earn my loyalty, and nobody here has put enough effort into me for me to give any back. The network pays me, but that's as far as it goes. I'll further it's ends because it saves my own skin."

Ines raised a hand as the torturer stepped forward, eyes on the blue-eyed woman on the table. She had been intending to torture her today. To leave her a scarred, rumpled mess of a human being, just to spite Moran. But a new plan was occurring to her now, one she much preferred, and she smiled internally. She lowered her hand slowly, waving her lackey away. Then she walked forward and- a bit awkwardly with her left hand, undid the straps. "I don't make a habit of punishing my employees for the actions of their parents. You've done nothing to suggest disloyalty... Go back to work. But remember that I will be keeping a careful eye in you and your communications. Your father is a traitor. Finding him is a priority."

"Uh... yeah, sure," she said uncertainly, sitting up, very taken aback. That was it? Not even a real slap on the wrist? Just a warning that her communications would be monitored? She slid to her feet, rubbing her wrists a little. "Um... is my room still, like, mine?"

She shook her head slightly. "No. It was given to a new recruit, and your belongings were put in storage. For the time being, your father's suite has been cleaned out. Why don't you stay there until we find something more suitable?"

That was even more disconcerting. "Uhhhh... sure? Where do I go to get my thumbprint scanned in, or whatever needs to be done?"

"I'll bring you to security. They'll also provide you with an anklet that will monitor your whereabouts, at least until I'm certain of my decision." She nodded for the door. "Come with me. Margaret, we won't be needing you after all. Go back to whoever else you were working on."

Margaret made a noise of affirmation (apparently she was a very chatty woman) and turned to walk down the hall, not moving to take off her latex gloves. Keira followed Ines, cautiously. This felt something like a trap. Though she doubted that there was any way this could go without her feeling vaguely uneasy. "An escort from the head honcho herself? Yeah, that's going to make me real popular with the guys..."

Ines laughed at that. "Perhaps not. I apologize for that, but you're a person of interest to me, whether you're associated with your father or not. I intend to keep tabs."

"Yeah, I figured," she sighed, looking irritated, but she knew that there was no point arguing. "Doesn't mean I gotta love it, does it?"

"No, I suppose not," she agreed, calling the lift. "But if you prove to be telling the truth, it will have certain perks."

"Yeah? What kind of perks? Not being required to wear some oh-so-fashionable ankle jewelry?" She quipped, glancing Ines' way sardonically.

She grinned a little. "You really are _just_ like your father. It's a wonder he didn't take a liking to you. Yes. Less ankle jewelry. But I've also done some research on you, Keira. Your culling report is impressive. You have the makings to be an even better hitter than your father. Something bigger, if you chose. I like to see women growing in this industry. You interest me."

Keira glanced at Ines out of the corner of her eye, unsure where this conversation was going. It sounded awfully... Flirtatious. She decided to ignore that, for now. She could deal with it when she was sure what to do with it. "Yeah, well, opposites attract and all that, I guess. And I should be so lucky to be a bigger hitter than him. That's a hell of a name, he's got. Christ, the money he must make..."

She nodded a little, stepping into the lift as it arrived and pressing the button for the next floor up. "Trust me, his rates were obscene. Worth every penny, however. Or it would have been. As it is I'm feeling a bit cheated. Desertion of contract, all that. Still. That isn't the point." She glanced at Keira. "I know potential when I see it."

"A contract. Pfft. Now there's the dream," she snorted, leaning against the wall, arms crossed across her chest. She still didn't want to touch whatever Ines was getting at. Nobody gave out compliments for free.

"Not a dream. Not with you." The lift opened and she stepped out into security, motioning for Keira to follow as she wove her way through to the current chief of security's office.

She didn't know how to respond to that, but was saved by the chief of security, who was a rather dour-looking woman Keira had never seen before, as they entered her office. "What?" she asked, impatiently, looking up from her computer. She didn't flinch when she saw Ines.

Ines didn't seem ruffled by the lack of formality. "Sorry to bother you, Mag. This is Keira Moran. I need her authorized to have access to Sebastian Moran's old flat, to be outfitted with a tracker anklet, and to be set up for the full system of communication monitoring. Get someone on it who won't make any mistakes."

Mag swore, picking up a lit cigarette from an ashtray on her desk and taking a puff on it as she turned to her computer, ignoring them for a moment as she hammered away at her keyboard. "Right," she said after a minute and another couple of puffs. "See Andrew for the anklet and Fallow for the scan. Anythin' else?"

"No, that will do nicely. Thank you, Mag," she said pleasantly, heading out the door and flicking her wrist to summon Keira along. She headed for a cubicle, knocking on the fabric wall slightly. "Good morning, Andrew. I need to get Ms. Moran here situated with a tracking anklet. The best model you have, as far as comfort and security are concerned. I have a few other things to attend to, but once she's done, bring her to Fallow for access to Sebastian Moran's old suite and communications monitoring. The works. Call me with any questions." She glanced at Keira and gave her a grin. "Have fun."

"Yeah, thanks, I guess," she snorted, giving her a sarcastic wave. The sooner she was free of this crazy woman, the better.

Ines left, then, heading for the lift and her office, a small smile on her face. This was working out well.

* * *

Keira suffered through the process of getting an anklet fitted and locked and tested, and then getting her thumbprint scanned and waiting for the new authorization to be patched in, and finally she was allowed to leave the security office, and take the lift up the officer's apartments floor. She'd never been up here before, except that time with Lorna, and she had to press the button several times before she realized there was a thumbprint scanner that she needed to use before it would even let her get to the floor. Now she understood the story about the old chauffeur Harrison had offed in the elevator - she'd always wondered why people referred to it as _he tried one too many times to access the floor she was on._

The elevator had never opened onto such a still hallway for her before. There was always something happening on the other floors: people walking past, talking to each other or on the phone; the sounds of an argument coming from down the hall; the distant bass of music being played in someone's quarters. But this was silent.

She wasn't really entirely sure why Ines had given her her father's flat as opposed to the other unoccupied apartments on this floor, and wondered about it as she keyed in. It was cleaned out, but not completely. Sebastian Moran hadn't done much to personalize the place, but even with most of his things removed, it still seemed like a part of his personality remained. Maybe just because it was so austere. The one other time she'd been here, it had been an absolute mess, but she had been able to see the decor beneath the empty bottles. The couch was the same one she had seen before, and none of the furniture seemed to have been replaced - she could see scratches and scuffs and tears in some places, which had a personality of its own. No, even by removing the odds and ends from this flat, they hadn't really cleaned out Moran. He was still here, lingering in the simple layout and efficient use of space.

She walked over to sit on the sofa, unsure of what to do with herself. Her phone had been confiscated when she'd been locked up, and no one had bothered to give her a new one in security - judging by the intercom/phone on the side table, they hadn't thought it was necessary. She wondered what her girlfriends thought of her disappearance. Would they understand, once she could reach them? God, she hoped so. There was only so much she could bear to change.

Ines watched Keira absently on the security monitors as she did other work, letting the system track her progress throughout the building. Moran's flat was, for the most part, a security blackout zone, but she and Mag had access to cameras. Anyone else didn't have the clearance. With Mag overworked, she could be fairly certain that she was the only one watching the woman at the moment, and there was something oddly intimate about it. Seeing the way she relaxed a little when she thought she was alone. Moran had been the same way. He'd known he was being watched, but still, a few sharp edges softened. The machine became human. A human that drank tea sometimes instead of coffee. A human that liked the Addams Family (especially Lurch, judging by the way he smirked.) Now his daughter was the same way, shoulders sloping slightly out of their stiff posture as she sank into the couch.

Keira decided after a short sit that she needed to take stock of the apartment, and got up to do just that. Had anything personal been overlooked? Maybe Moran had left something for her after all. She'd be pissed if that was the case, but some part of her (probably the stupider part) hoped that it was true. _Some_ sign that he had cared, that he hadn't forgotten her, or just _ignored_ her. She went through the kitchen first, just because she didn't expect to find anything there. The only thing that stood out was a half-gone bar of some expensive Swiss chocolate, which she doubted housekeeping had brought her but had probably been too insignificant to take away. The liquor cabinet was unsurprisingly mostly empty, save for a bottle of rich bourbon on the top shelf. She wondered why this one had withstood Harrison's descent into alcoholism. She left it where it was for now, though she was tempted to have some of it. She didn't know if she wanted to disrupt it.

* * *

The next few days, their interactions were limited. Ines intentionally kept away. Let Keira get used to the changes she had encountered so far before she introduced any others. She kept the younger woman busy doing paperwork in hits, not letting her into the field, controlling her movements throughout the building with careful assignments and requests from different persons around the building. Getting her used to control, to a rhythm.

It was nice to be active again, even if it was fucking office work, and Keira accepted the duties without complaint. Better to be compliant than be locked up, bored and doing nothing. After a few days, she felt locked into a pattern, and it chafed, but she couldn't bring herself to complain. She had to remember that things could be so much worse.

Ines could see the occasional moments of tension, but eventually, even those lapsed. The routine was simple, and undemanding, and utterly boring. She kept her there long enough to suffer, and then had Mags call her in with the news that she was being transferred from Hits to Security, the better to keep an eye on her.

Keira was irritated with this development. Security? Fucking _security?_ God, it was almost an insult. First Ines came to her, telling her about her vision for Keira becoming a bigger name than Sebastian Moran, and now she was transferred to _SECURITY?_ What the fuck was she supposed to do here?

The answer didn't come until almost a week later, three weeks after Keira had been released. Ines sent word that Keira was to be sent up to her office immediately, and sat back to wait.

Keira didn't waste any time. Normally, she might have, just out of spite. But god damn, security was boring, and the only time it wasn't was when everyone had been doing their job incorrectly. She knocked on the door briskly, impatient to get this over with.

Ines called her in and stood from the couch as she entered, walking over with a smile and a hand outstretched to shake. "Keira. Good to see you."

Keira gave a bit of a forced smile, shaking her hand. She wasn't sure what this was about, so she couldn't be outright sullen. Even though sullen was always just a breath away. "Hi. What's up?"

She stepped back, motioning for Keira to follow her to a couple of comfortable chairs, at ease though she could sense the girl's frustration. "I've gotten a return of the security evaluation I requested. I'm pleased with the results."

"Uh, good," she said, looking down at the seat she was in. It looked enormously expensive. "I try. I assume you didn't call me up here for a pat on the back, though."

"No," she agreed, nodding a little. "I've called you here because, as I've said, Mag finished her security evaluation, and because I've been pleased with your work, I'd like to make you an offer." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, dark skin shining slightly in the fluorescent light. "I have been looking around for a good candidate for my personal bodyguard. It needs to be someone I trust. Someone with potential. Someone I can spend significant periods of time with. You fit the bill. Now, I'm aware you aren't experienced in this _particular_ area, but you have many of the necessary skills, just not the know-how. Transferring you to security resolved some of that. The rest would be taken care of by on-the-job training with a seasoned bodyguard for the first few months." She leaned back again, smiling softly. "You'd see the world I see. Make personal hits if I need them, rub elbows and make impressions on the right people. It's the right stepping stone to becoming head of a branch someday. Who knows, maybe even my second. What do you think?"

She blinked, overwhelmed, but that was the only indication of it. By now, it was clear her father had abandoned her, and she was well and truly on her own. She needed to take care of herself, and fight her way to the top as soon as possible, to make sure her position in the new regime was solid. There was no choice, really. "When do I start?"

* * *

Playlist: Fall Out Boy - Champion


	130. Respect The Shotgun, Or Get Vaporized

Playlist: Survivor - Eye Of The Tiger

* * *

Moran woke early on their fourth day in Switzerland, even for him. The world was still dark, but the sky was greying, and he was wide awake.

He didn't stagnate well. They had been here too long. Their window of opportunity was closing.

He glanced at Lorna. She was asleep on the bed. For someone who hated the cold, she loved it here. She had been the happiest he had ever seen her the past few days. Part of him wanted to stay here, for her sake. But that was a fanciful notion, and he squashed it immediately.

He walked over, grabbed his bag from under his bed, and started packing.

She woke up that morning and saw his bags packed on the chaise lounge, and she knew their vacation was over. The real world would only wait so long for them, and none of them could afford to waste that time. What else would they do, if not this? All of them could live _extremely_ comfortably off their hoarded fortunes, but Jim was incapable of being satisfied with the mundane, and Sebastian had a compulsion to stay active, to keep moving in some way or another, much like a shark. She could never retire without him, even if she could have left Jim's employment. So she would follow him wherever he and Jim were going, and she wouldn't drag her feet about it.

She yawned and then shifted to slowly get up, running a hand through her hair. Time to get packed.

He was out in the main room, eating breakfast and talking quietly with Jim about what was to come. The boss hadn't slept, but he never did the night before a big play, and Moran hadn't been shocked that Jim had known that this was the day his bodyguard's patience with vacation would run out.

Lorna shuffled in, dressed but still groggy, and heading to make herself coffee. She would join in their discussion after she was a little more awake.

Moran sipped his coffee and looked at Jim. "Well, I can't go in. Ines would come deal with me immediately. And _you_ are certainly not going in."

"That only leaves one of us for the job," Jim said, eyes shifting to Lorna as she clanged around the kitchen. "And she's not exactly low profile, either."

"No," he agrees. "So that leaves it to us to make sure Ines is distracted enough to give her the time she needs."

"And how are you going to do that safely?" Lorna asked, sitting down at the table with her coffee. She still looked tired.

"First of all, _none_ of this will be safe, not really. But if we were to start feeding images of ourselves into surveillance systems, have people break into a few CCTV cameras here and there, making it confusing but plausible..." He shrugged. "All we need to do is keep her confused and furious long enough for you to get us in."

"Alright," she shrugged. "I'll make it quick, then. You letting me be armed for this?"

He shook his head. "If you're patted down again after our man supposedly brought you in, and they find out you're armed, it could blow the whole thing. We'll bring a weapon for you with us." He glanced at Jim. "Unless, of course, you've reconsidered my recommendation that you not join me, sir..."

He gave Moran a dry look. "She _ousted_ me, Moran. I will be there to see it happen to _her."_

He sighed, but nodded just a little. "Alright, then. _We_ will bring you a gun, Lorna." He sat back just a little. "Once there, they'll take your prints, supposedly for records, but they will be entered into the clearance data for security. You'll let us through checkpoints. Our people will make sure that isn't an issue. After that it's a matter of getting to the elevator and going up. We'll have to break through the doors to Jim's office via the fire escape, but I know my system. There are fail-safes I put in place in case I was ever locked out and didn't want to be." He smirked just a little. "For this plan to work, none of us can get killed. So... Don't do that."

"How are we going to keep in contact? Or are you not?" She followed up, looking between them. Jim was looking at his nails. He knew the plan already.

He held up a small plastic box with a sheet of sticker paper inside. On it, upon closer inspection, were three small, clear circles, stuck to the paper. "Throat mics. You won't be able to hear us until you meet us, and we give you an earpiece, but we'll be able to hear you."

She nodded. "Alright. So if you get yourselves captured, how am I supposed to know? Or is it a moot point by that point?"

"You're in the middle of the network run by Ines, who has evidently just discovered Jim and I sneaking in. Draw your own conclusions," he said dryly, packing the mics away.

She snorted mildly into her coffee. Jim pushed his chair out and stood. "The plane takes off in three hours. We need to be on the tarmac before then, so don't keep me waiting."

Sebastian nodded as Jim headed for his room, and stood as well, glancing at Lorna. "Are you ready to go?"

"After I drain the rest of this bad boy, I'm good," she nodded, tapping the cup in her hand against the table in emphasis, then stood and knocked the rest of her coffee back. "Okay. Let's go home."

He nodded just a little, sliding an arm around her waist as they headed for their room and pulling her into a rare, frivolous side-hug before releasing her and going to grab their luggage.

She chuckled to herself at that, just because she felt good enough to, and headed for the door to put on her boots and jacket. She would linger in the feelings of a much-deserved break for as long as she could before she was required to step back into work mode.

He followed a few minutes later, setting the bags in the middle of the room and going to find Jim's. He returned with the bags, their employer on his heels, and they headed for the door.

* * *

The plane ride was uneventful, and they spent most of it quietly discussing the plan and various complications which could arise. By the time they landed in London, Moran had confirmation from one of their people that things were ready on their end.

Lorna fidgeted a little as they got into the waiting car, beginning to grow a little anxious. She hadn't grifted in a _long_ time. Before America, before Moran's death, before India, before the labyrinth. She hadn't grifted in at least a year and a half, if not a little more. And now she wasn't going on some two-bit mission to steal information for a backwater politician with enough money in their name to hire Jim, she was going on a mission to take back the whole fucking network. If she didn't do it, who knew when their next chance would be if she wasn't shot right there?

Moran was nervous as well, though he was better about not showing it, keeping his movements carefully controlled. Still, he disliked the idea of sending Lorna in on her own, and the idea of Jim accompanying them. Both went against his duties as a bodyguard. He should be going in first, if not alone. Should be shielding them from Ines. But that wasn't how this worked, so he bit his tongue and sat silent.

The car ride was uneventful, but there was no reason for it to be otherwise, so her quiet sense of relief felt a little unwarranted. The sense of relief was very quickly replaced by anxiety. She took a deep breath as they stopped across the street from the above-ground entrance, the law front firm that was used as an excuse for owning such a big building, and she held out a hand to Sebastian, eyes flitting over to him. "Throat mic?"

He took it out of the box and handed it over. "Right there," he said, nodding quietly to a tall woman in a leather jacket walking down the road. "Follow her. She'll 'make' you, you let her take you down, and we go from there."

She nodded, pulling out the plastic sheet and peeling off one of the practically invisible little circles, sticking it onto the downward slope of her throat, close to her collar, as close to her voice box as possible. "Alright. Hard to test whether or not this thing is working in here, and it's going to be odd if I just hang out in front of the car for a minute, so I suppose we're going to have to trust it'll work out. We good to go?"

He nodded just a little. "Go." He didn't want to linger, or think too much. Jim smirked just a little.

She only reached out for a second to touch his shoulder before she opened the door and got out, falling easily into the pedestrian traffic to tail the distinctive leather jacket in front of her, easily spotted between men and women in black suits and bright t-shirts. The agent turned a corner a few blocks later, and when Lorna rounded into the alleyway behind her, her gun was raised.

"Whoa!" She yelped, hands jumping up by her head in surrender. "Jesus, lady! You dropped your wallet!"

"Hands on your head, Harrison," the woman said without preamble. " _Now_."

She muttered a swear under her breath, putting her hands on her head. She was pretty sure she recognized this woman from the grifting department. A recent hire, probably, considering she was coming up blank on a name. Interesting that she was loyal.

The woman walked behind her, pulling her hands behind her roughly and cuffing them. "You're bold, coming into our territory. Or stupid."

"Stupid, probably," she quipped, giving her a look at the rough treatment. "And watch it, will you? I haven't done shit to you, no reason to yank me around like a stiff puppet."

"Lotta reason, actually," she retorted, closing the handcuffs a touch roughly. "But you'll get briefed on that later. Let's move."

"Ooooh, I'm going to get _briefed?"_ She smirked, letting the woman guide her forward, "Good lord, I feel so privileged. Who am I supposed to thank?"

"Shut up," she growled, putting her jacket around Lorna's shoulders to hide the cuffs. She pressed the gun into the small of Lorna's back a bit firmly as she headed for the street. "Walk quickly, don't look at anyone. You make a noise or a signal and you're dead."

"I would mime locking my lips and throwing away the key, but, well," she snorted, falling quiet as they reached the street, letting her face go blank, following the guiding movements of the gun at her back.

The walk through the street was uneventful, and five minutes later they entered the first level of headquarters, checking in with the front desk and heading for the elevator. This particular lift shaft only went up one floor, dead-ending on the security level for processing, which was precisely where they were headed.

"What, are you going to have Security _process_ me?" Lorna scoffed as they stepped out of the elevator and didn't head for the other shaft, which while behind several lines of red tape would have been standard for any prisoner brought in for Jim's immediate attention. Really, though, she only said it to inform them as to where they were.

"You think I'm just gonna waltz you straight into the big office? Not everyone is as impulsive as Moriarty," the woman scoffed, shoving Lorna forward a bit roughly as they headed across the floor. Other officers were looking up, standing, walking over, eyes wide. A moment later the floor supervisor, a woman with 'Mag, Fuck Off' scrawled on a 'hello my name is' sticker on her jacket, pushed through the crowd, eyeing Harrison up and down. "Get her to holding. I want her strip-searched and hosed down."

"Listen, I know I'm a looker, but wanting to see me wet? That's a little bit far," she suggested, smirking with all the bravado of a woman desperately pretending someone was coming for her. Her eyes shifted over the crowd, scanning for familiar faces and finding a fair number. She didn't call them out, wary of singling anybody out as being on first name basis with her.

" _Go_ ," Mag said, and Harrison's captor shoved her off toward the rear holding cell.

She intentionally walked Lorna a bit close, a bit roughly, and found a chance to breathe, " _Where's your mic?_ "

She (purposely) tripped a little as they crossed the threshold to the holding room and managed to lean her weight all the way back to avoid face-planting, and as she reached optimal ear-to-mouth distance whispered a single word. " _Throat."_

Her captor didn't respond, just unlocked her cuffs and shoved her into the center of the room, gun raised. "Strip," she said lazily.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to it," she muttered, rolling her eyes a little as she started unbuttoning her shirt. It was a little less daunting a prospect than before India, but she was still self-conscious of the scar from her de facto open heart surgery. The woman didn't really seem to care about the broad scar on her chest, just walked out to grab a hose from outside the door once Lorna was naked, and started to spray her down with frigid water, missing the throat seemingly without thought.

"Fuck, fuck!" She started swearing up a storm as the freezing water hit her, dancing on the spot, her teeth gritting. She was sure it made for amusing radio.

The woman smirked, seemingly entertaining herself for a few minutes hosing Lorna down, before she finally let the spray stop and nodded to her. "Get dressed."

"Yeah, uh huh, thanks," she snapped, teeth chattering, gathering up her clothes from the dry corner and hurrying into them, shivering. "Christ, why is that even a policy? It's not like you're going to fucking eat me."

"Because it's fun." She leered. "Come on, let's go."

"Yeah, yeah, fucking whatever," she muttered, following, still cold from the water. God damn. The woman was good at her job, though.

She walked her another cell over, motioning for her to go inside. "Don't even think about trying to get out," she smirked. "The lock is fingerprints only, and we'll know you tried."

"Yeah, I know, I used to be partially in charge of this fucking building," she rolled her eyes, stepping into the cell, somehow with a movement that was mocking. "Get out of here. I'm sick of that smile."

She tsked. "Sorry, honey. I was just reminding you. Everyone knows you didn't have much time for details, bouncing between the bosses' dicks."

Her eyes narrowed, stare hardening. Ally or not, she couldn't let that stand. "Watch it, _honey._ If you're going to call me a slut, at _least_ get the details right. One, I became the head of my department of my own merit before I fucked Moran, two, there was no bouncing _between,_ it was either Moran or both of them, and three, if you think I'd let details slip past me just because of a little fuck you have an entirely misplaced idea of how the grifting department operates. Don't ever call me honey again. We'll see how fast I can kill you, then."

She chuckled, closing the cell door. "Good luck with that, honey. We'll see how that works out for you." She headed down the hall.

Lorna came very close to straight up seething as the door shut, and moved to go sit in the corner for five minutes to wait for them to go back to their business a little. "I'm going to kick her ass once we get Jim in here again, just fair warning," she muttered under her breath.

Moran and Jim both rolled their eyes. Moran was perfectly still, while Jim was tapping out a staccato rhythm against the dashboard. "She does know that that woman is the key to moving her _out_ of the cell, yes?" he asked dryly. Moran didn't respond.

Once she'd judged that five minutes had passed (which involved some very tedious counting on her part to make sure she didn't rush) she stood again and pulled her wet hair into a ponytail, which was incredibly complicated when you had nothing but your own hair. Once she'd finished that, she moved to the door, moving her thumb to hover over the reader, and took a deep breath. "Here goes."

Moran watched the street in the direction of the network, as if he could see what was going on, waiting.

She pressed her thumb to the sensor, biting her lip, and a few tense moments passed before the green outline blinked and the door clicked, and she let out a breath. She pressed the tips of her fingers on her left hand to the door and ever-so-gently pushed the door open, leaning to keep her line of sight with the door. No one in the immediate vicinity. Good, the woman was doing her job. There was a small, unoccupied office just across the hall, and it was going to have to work. "I'm out," she murmured, stepping out and slowly shutting the door behind her to make sure it was quiet, before carefully crossing the hall and slipping into the office, shutting that door as well and sitting down at the desk, pulling over the thumbprint scanner and hoping the holes Sebastian had built into the security net were adequate enough for her to get access to the doors from here.

Her luck held out. "Doors are yours, gentlemen. I can loop the security cameras for three minutes, then I'm turning them back on so _I_ can see if anyone's sneaking up on me."

They wasted no time, making their entry through a side door that Moran had altered to read as a storage closet on the blueprints. That had been one of the riskier moves, but it was paying off now. Moran walked ahead, gun in hand, eyes scanning the empty hallways.

Jim walked just behind, also with a gun, almost visibly vibrating with energy. Finally. _Finally_ they were taking back his network, and he would lord it over Ines as he dismembered her and locked her away. It took a lot of self-restraint not to turn on the dramatics, to find a good time to burst into some distracting song and dance. He really doubted his bodyguard would approve, though, and in this case he had to defer judgment.

They worked their way through the lower level quickly, heading for Harrison. Sebastian left two unlucky guards' bodies in the back of a small closet, his finger marks bruised dark on their throats.

Lorna stared at her watch, watching the three minutes pass, grinding her teeth a little as it neared the time, her free hand hovering over the keyboard, ready to undo the loop. She couldn't risk anybody else noticing, and she _really_ couldn't risk somebody walking in on her while she was unarmed. She was capable of hand-to-hand, but the fact was that this was the security department, and one mistake here could lead to a sucker punch that would put her out immediately.

The door clicked open at two minutes and fifty-seven seconds, Moran and Jim slipping through and shutting the door tightly behind.

She slapped the button and the footage flickered as the feed returned to normal, and she turned, holding out a hand. "Gun, please. I'm feeling twitchier by the minute being unarmed."

Moran already had her piece in hand, and gave it over, along with an earpiece. "Here. Let's get moving."

She nodded, putting in the earpiece and quickly checking the gun's chamber and the safety before she opened the door for them, her face tight, blank of emotion. Things were going well, so far, but she didn't want to jinx it.

They worked their way through headquarters with practiced grace. They all knew these halls like home, and made it to the elevator with few issues. Lorna's thumb did exactly what it needed to, and the lift started upward.

The lift, however, did not continue to where it was supposed to go. It came to an abrupt halt on the floor beneath Jim's- Ines', actually, for the moment. Lorna exchanged a look with Sebastian and turned off the safety on her pistol.

Moran remained outwardly calm, but internally he was tense. They had decided to take the lift over the stairs because it was faster, and they passed less cameras, but this had always been a risk. He held his gun carefully, ready to shoot whatever the door opened on.

The doors opened to reveal Keira Moran with a shotgun and a small band of men behind her. The shotgun was pointed into the elevator. Lorna took a tense breath. "Put down your weapons," Keira said coldly, her ice blue eyes looking at them like they were strangers.

He didn't shoot.

He should have shot in that first instant, before she had a chance to speak. Should have downed her before she knew what had happened. But his finger faltered just slightly on the trigger, and the opportunity was lost.

He _faltered_.

"Don't be an idiot," he shot back, gun still raised.

Keira cocked the shotgun, and Lorna winced slightly. She'd always been afraid of them. She had seen how they could pulverize - almost vaporize - someone's head. "Don't make me ask again."

He considered the situation, but there wasn't much choice, and he slowly lowered his gun. "Been a while, kid."

"You don't say," she replied dryly, wrinkling up her nose sarcastically. The shotgun remained trained on them. "Don't pretend you care. It's unbecoming. I see you, Moriarty, stop," she snapped, zeroing in on Jim as he shifted his gun upwards a notch. He looked pissed. Lorna was looking for a way out of this.

"Keira, you know Ines is going down. Do the smart thing, here."

"She'll be just fine, actually," Keira said with a small smirk. "Guns on the ground. Let's go."

Lorna thought about lifting her gun and shooting Keira right between the eyes before she could react and startling the hell out of the men she was with, but it was a hell of a risky thing to do, and she didn't know if she could bring herself to do it. Sebastian's daughter. It would feel like shooting a young version of him. It was odd, how they had a little difficulty getting along. Sebastian loved her, and Keira was just like him, but for some reason they butted heads. She crouched and put her gun on the floor.

Sebastian did the same, and glanced back at Jim. "Gun down, sir," he said quietly. He was between the other man and the shotgun, but that didn't necessarily afford much protection. Not at this range.

Jim grit his teeth, glaring at Moran for a second before he crouched and followed their lead, his stare making it clear that he knew exactly what Sebastian had done, and he was not pleased with the hesitation. Ines had been smart to convert Keira to her cause. It was his only weakness that he didn't carry around on his arm or shield behind his back. It was the only thing accessible from headquarters.

He felt the heat in Jim's gaze, and knew he was going to pay in pain for that failure later. He deserved it, he knew he did.

He stepped forward out of the lift with his hands in sight, slowly, but before they were beckoned, pushing the limits of their control.

"Slowly," Keira warned, taking a few steps backwards as they stepped out of the lift. The men behind her adjusted their grips on their guns. Lorna tripped a little on Jim as she stepped out, trying to catch his attention. She'd picked up a small knife in the office on the way out, and she wanted to use it. They couldn't allow handcuffs to be placed on them. That would be it. One of them might be killed before they could escape again.

Jim saw the motion, saw the twitch of muscles in his sniper's back as the man planned, and hid a smirk. This would be _fun_. He nodded just slightly when he knew Harrison was looking, and watched, knowing Moran was just a breath away from making his own move.

Keira's eyes were glued on the biggest threat in the room, and Lorna was glad that Keira had never seen her in action. She was no Sebastian Moran, but besides him, she counted herself among the most capable in the room. Keira wasn't keeping track of her.

The second she stepped carefully into arm's reach of her, she struck out like a snake, shoving the barrel of the shotgun upwards and only wincing slightly as Keira pulled the trigger in surprise, showering them all with plaster, and making the man who looked up at the blast swear as dust rained into his eyes. One down for the count. Before Keira could get control over the shotgun again Lorna hit her, closed-fist, in the center of her face, and she went down with a sharp crack, yanking the gun but losing hold of it. Lorna spun it, braced it, and fired it into the faces of the two men closest to her.

Moran had moved a split second after Lorna had cleared the gun from his chest, barrelling into the two men nearest him and getting a handle on one of their guns, kicking the other in the balls before he had the chance to fire and then shooting him in the head. The next few moments were a spray of bloody mist as he and Lorna moved through the small crowd, executing with precision.

As the last man fell Lorna let the sights of the shotgun fall to encompass Keira, bloodlust clear in her eyes. "I didn't even have to use the knife," she said pleasantly, smirking. "Now Keira, don't give me a reason. I'm engaged to your father and I'd rather not have to blow you away in our moment of triumph."

Keira's face twisted in disgust, and she leaned back a little from where she had been moving to sit up. She raised a hand to pinch her broken nose. " _Engaged_? Jesus." She laughed. "You _have_ gone soft."

She pumped the shotgun, the shells clattering out of the barrel and landing at her feet. "Keira, darling," she said sweetly, "You've seen me willing to kill myself because he was dead. But if you're not careful, the last thing you'll see is me killing you for myself. Or, more realistically, blowing off your feet, because we might need the top half of you. Christ, Keira, I've had _quite_ enough of being called soft. Especially by you. You know who else I let get away with that? _Nobody._ It might take me a day, or a week, or a year, but everyone who calls me soft I _gut,_ you understand? I have survived worse than you could ever fucking imagine. I think I've fucking _earned_ a little fucking happiness. I don't have time to have three fucking girlfriends at once, or to get a fucking dog, or to have a weekly poker night with the guys. But I have _him."_ She lifted the shotgun and shot up into the plaster, this time on purpose, glaring down at the younger Moran as white flakes fell onto her hair. "And I have this gun. So am I going to get a little goddamn respect, or am I going to have a spat with Sebastian later?"

Moran could see the fire in Keira's eyes, the stupid pride he knew only too well. Her lips were forming a smarmy response when the butt of his stolen pistol paused the conversation. Kiera slumped sideways, unconscious, and he knelt to tie her up with a belt he'd taken from one of the bodies. "We don't have time for this. Let's move."

"Fine," she said, taking apart the shotgun with practiced hands and dropping it to the side. She didn't want anybody else having easy access to it, and it was impractical to carry it around. When she was done, she looked up and found Jim looking at her funny. "What?" she asked defensively, raising her eyebrows at him.

"You know how to take apart a Remington 870? I was under the impression that you didn't know anything bigger than a pistol."

"I had to do a hit with one of these, once. Had to practice taking it apart so I could ditch it out a small window of a moving train's bathroom."

Moran just rolled his eyes, walking back to pick up their guns out of the lift. "Let's go," he said firmly, handing Jim and Lorna their weapons.

"No need to be snippy just because you utterly failed, Tiger," Jim purred softly, taking the gun and heading for the stairwell.

"Honestly, he's completely ignoring how badass I just was. I have a particular hot vibe with shotguns," she sighed, playing along with Jim. She wasn't necessarily pleased with Sebastian, either.

He ignored them both, well aware that he deserved the barbs and not particularly in the mood to field them. He walked past Jim with long strides, making the stairwell and clearing it- an easy task since the well only went down from this level. "We're good," he said quietly. "Let's see if we can get the lift running."

"Do you have that kind of electrical experience? Because I don't," Lorna raised her eyebrows.

"Well, seeing as the sole access to Jim's floor is through the elevator, we have two options." He walked over to it, and started fiddling with the button panel. "Wait here to get shot..." He hid a victorious smirk as he pressed something and the lift panel popped free, reaching in and emerging a moment later with a small switch. "Or we use the override I had installed months ago."

Jim snorted, and Lorna perked up, grinning. "What? Oh, you devious bastard. That's fantastic. Now let's go fuck that bitch up so we can get our damn apartment back."

He kept his expression neutral, though he was rather pleased himself, and waited until the other two joined him before he pressed the switch. The door closed, and the lift started upward.

Lorna shifted anxiously as they rose, biting her lip. Finally, it was coming to a head. Months of planning, of distractions like sickness and interpersonal drama, of Sebastian's injury... And finally things would return to some semblance of their fucked up normal.

Moran was buzzing with energy, but he stayed stock still, gun raised, ready.

The lift door opened smoothly, and now all that was between them and Ines was a single door. Admittedly, it was a wood-panelled two-inch thick solid steel door, but that was only an issue if you didn't have a one-time security override code that was supposedly for a peon maintenance worker scheduled to service the bolting system some time this year.

Moran scanned his thumb and punched the 13-digit code in from memory, and the mechanisms of the door- which had been deadbolted, it seemed- slid back. He felt another thrill of victory as he pushed it open. _This is_ my _security system, you bitch. Just try and stop me with it._

A bullet hit the door with a sharp _PAAANNG_ noise as it opened, and Lorna shoved Jim out and to the side of the door frame so Sebastian could focus without worrying about his own safety. She ignored the exasperated look Jim gave her. "Stay the fuck back!" Ines snarled, loud enough to hear even though Lorna couldn't see her.

Moran stayed shielded behind the door, gun in hand. His trigger finger was aching in protest, but he barely felt it, body thrumming and _alive._ This was what he had been born to do. Combat, infiltration, protection. "You're alone up here, Ines. Someone broke the lift. And you must be a rough shot with that tendon still recovering- sonuvabitch when those things get damaged, isn't it? So put the gun down before I decide I'm annoyed."

"All it takes is one shot, Moran, don't test me," she hissed, her hand shaking anyway. She was glad he couldn't see her. Smart of him. She was _reasonably_ certain she could hit him if he poked his head out. How hard could it be? "And they'll fix the fucking lift. Your kid is just as stubborn as you, Moran. She'll come for me."

"She did express some loyalty to you, but it's tough to work your way past a bullet in the brain, no matter how stubborn you are." He sighed. "It's a shame. She had potential. I hate having to put down potential. But I've killed better." He shifted the door slowly, keeping it between him and the voice.

She put a bullet in the door frame, her hand suddenly too tight on the gun. "You _KILLED HER?!"_ She screamed, her gaze hazing with rage for a moment, and she half leaned over the desk, her fingers gripping the edge of the wood too hard. "You _FUCKER."_

Moran would have glanced at Jim and Lorna with a confused expression, would it not have jeopardized his concentration. As it was, he took a glance at where the bullet had struck and how, working angles and edging the door open a little further, knowing he was still likely safe. "What do you care, Ines? I mean, really? Someone as heartless as you? Your cunt was even cold when I fucked it," he sneered, pushing buttons.

Lorna made a choked sort of scoff off to the side, disbelieving and a little annoyed, and Jim elbowed her, hard.

"I think Keira would have disagreed with you, Sebastian," Ines snarled fiercely. She wasn't going to lie down and take it; she was going to give as good as she got. "I can tell you _hers_ wasn't."

Sebastian Moran did not lose control. He was a calm, cold soldier, who didn't lose control, who was emotionless, and who didn't miss.

One of those statements was true as his bullet ripped Ines's gun out of her hand, and a half second later his hot barrel rammed against her forehead, free hand grabbing her throat. "Go ahead and explain," he growled softly.

Ines gasped for breath, the gun searing a circle into her skin, her hand wrapped around his wrist ineffectively. "I didn't- didn't _force_ her, if that's your concern," she said hurriedly, with a little difficulty. Despite her bravado, her anger, she very much did not want to die. "I was just- just playing with her feelings at first, but, fuck, I don't fucking know, I'm not Moriarty, I have emotions too," she said desperately. "It just _happened."_

"You fucked my daughter," he growled, twisting the gun against her skin. "And if Moriarty hadn't already _claimed_ you, I would make _sure_ you remembered how bad an idea that was."

She took a deep breath, eyes darting to the door as Lorna and Jim stepped through, both with varying degrees of a cruel smirk. Lorna's, unsurprisingly, was the less amused of the two. "You've just made a plethora of bad decisions, haven't you?" Jim hummed. "Don't worry, Moran, you can have a turn with her."

"I appreciate that, sir," he said with a grin, pulling Ines over the desk and shoving her to her knees on the ground, his gun pressing now into the back of her head. "Lorna, care to tie her up?"

"Sure thing," she agreed cheerfully, though her eyes were dark and intense, and took the rope Jim handed her before she walked behind Ines and slipped under Moran to start roughly tying her up. She hoped the bitch got rope burn.

Ines hissed in pain as the rope yanked on her bad hand, and Moran grinned. "Glad to see that still hurts."

Jim stepped forward slowly, crouching in front of the bound woman. "Hello, Ines..." he crooned in a friendly voice. "Good to see you again."

She spat into his face. "I should have killed you when I had the chance, Moriarty."

He barely flinched at the spittle, considering her for a moment before reaching for his pocket. He nodded to Moran, who braced the woman, not quite sure what the boss was up to. Moriarty emerged with a pocket knife, flicking it open, and reaching out to grip Ines's arm, drawing the knife down her bicep and flaying away a wide strip of skin.

Ines screamed, and Lorna chuckled, pulling away a little, on her knees still. "Alright, that's done," she said, ignoring the woman writhing in pain a few feet away. "What next?"

Jim sat back, using the skin scrap to wipe the spit from his cheek, before dropping it to the side and wiping his bloody fingers on Ines's trousers. "Now we go find out who's loyal and who isn't."

Lorna nodded, getting up from her knees and brushing off her hands on her trousers. "Alright. Tell me what you need me to do and I'll do it. I assume you have a plan?"

He rolled his eyes at the implication that he might _not_ have a plan, and stood as well. "You and I will be reading the crowd, kitten. And Sebby will be giving the pink slip to whoever doesn't make the cut, assuming he's got the stomach for it." Moran's eyes flashed angrily at that, and his grip on Ines tightened roughly, but Jim just smirked. He wiped the bloody knife off in Ines's hair- the woman hissing and moving away angrily- and flicked it closed, stowing it away in his pocket. "As for this one... She doesn't leave our sight. Sebby, make sure she can't wander off." Moran shook off the percolating anger, and considered Ines, before reaching out a foot and pressing it down _hard_ on her leg. She screamed in pain, struggling fruitlessly to try and get away, but Moran just leaned more weight in, and a moment later there were a series of cracking, crunching noises as several bones splintered. Jim nodded in approval.

Lorna smirked in satisfaction, crouching down in front of Ines and taking hold of the woman's chin. "You know, I think I might want to call in a specialist like she did for me, with your permission. What was his name? Gavin? Garrett? Greg? Something like that. He's dead, of course, but I'm sure we can find another one." She patted Ines' cheek and stood, her eyes cold. "We'll kill him afterward, of course, but what if you do something in the future that's punishable?" She hissed, and as Ines took in a labored breath to spit something back, Lorna slapped her, open-fist, hard enough to make the woman fall onto her side. Then she shook her hand out and turned to the others. "Alright, sorry. Where were we?"

"Rooting out traitors," Jim said, looking vaguely bored. "Ideally we'd just kill everyone and start fresh, but that's too much turnover. Things would go to hell. So we find a happy medium."

"Alright," she smiled, and clapped her hands together once, heading for the door. "Let's get this done. I want to sleep in my own bed tonight."

* * *

In the end, it took them almost nine hours.

Moran dragged Ines around by the collar, the woman slipping in and out of consciousness, and shot whoever Jim and Lorna decided had too much sympathy for the woman, or whoever shot at them first. He didn't bother trying to keep track of numbers- it was the most people he had killed in one day in a long time. There were pools of blood and piles of bodies on every floor, in every hall. They gathered a following of the loyal, who started taking those Jim 'spared' for questioning to the cell blocks. Moran sent one such group to deal with the bound Keira, ignoring the looks he got from Jim and Lorna.

When they finally reached the basement, Lorna collapsed into a chair in the breakroom, running a hand through her hair with a sigh. "Jesus fuck," she muttered, tiredly. "That was exhausting. I never want to look at another person again."

Moran grunted his agreement, leaning against the wall. They had deposited Ines in the priority security cell, and only a series of security scans from two of the three of them could open the door. His arm and shoulder ached from dragging her around all day, and his right hand was screaming angrily at him. It would have been overworked even on a good day, but recovering from damage as it was, it was furious.

"How's your hand?" she asked, quietly. She wouldn't have asked if Jim had been in the room, but as soon as they'd had everything secured he'd disappeared back into the elevator, determined to fix things in his penthouse and to see what state the network was in.

"It's been better," he said quietly, using his left hand to extract the gun from where it was sort of clawed in his stiff right, and tucking it away in his shoulder holster.

She nodded, falling silent for a minute. "We should deal with Keira. Before we get some rest. I don't want to, but I don't know if letting her stew will make things easier."

He glanced at her, eyes guarded, but she didn't seem to be attempting to fuck with him, so he nodded just a little and straightened slowly. "Fine. Let's go."

She stood, letting out a long breath, and headed for the door, placing a hand on his shoulder as she passed, and then paused by the door, looking back at him. "How do you want to play this, Sebastian? It's your daughter. Your call."

His eyes were closed off when they met hers, and he considered her for a moment before answering. "We'll see where her loyalties lie and go from there. What needs to be discussed?" His voice is flat.

She sighed, eyes falling shut, and raised her hand from the door to rub at her brow. "Fucking... Whatever, Sebastian. Be like that," she shook her head, hand falling back to the door and pulling it open so she could step through without another look at him. She didn't have the emotional energy to deal with him like this.

He was perfectly content with that solution, and followed behind her down the halls to the cell Keira had been placed in.

Lorna waited outside the door for him, and gestured at it dryly, prompting him to go before her.

He didn't say anything, just scanned his thumb and opened the door.

* * *

Playlist: The Killers - The Man


	131. What To Do About Keira

Keira sat on the far side of the room, chained to the wall. Her nose and face were covered in dried blood, and a nasty bruise had spread across her temple. She looked up as they walked in, and sighed, muttering a swear under her breath. "Where's Ines?"

"She's been dealt with," Moran said calmly, meeting her gaze, studying her reaction. "Jim is back in command now."

Keira took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "Is she dead?"

He considered lying, but decided it wasn't to his advantage. If Ines was dead, Keira had nothing else to lose. "No, but at this point she's wishing she was."

"Fuck you guys," she growled, though it was clear that she didn't have much steam left in her. "Just... Fuck. I know you can't let her go, but don't hurt her. Please."

"And why not, exactly?" Moran asked softly, taking slow steps forward. "She kidnapped and tortured me, captured and tortured Harrison and _James fucking Moriarty_ , took the network, and had a good old time pretending to be the pretty pretty princess. So tell me, spawn of mine- why _precisely_ shouldn't I hurt her?"

Keira took a deep breath, biting the inside of her cheek, eyes still shut. She couldn't look at him for a moment. Then her eyes snapped open, glaring up at him. "Like _you're_ a saint? You _LEFT ME!"_ She snarled, yanking against her chains. "Didn't bother to send a single word! But _SHE_ actually cared about me! Unlike you!"

His gut was icy, but externally he remained unaffected. "And my leaving you behind was enough reason to become a traitor?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"You obviously didn't view me as part of this side," she snapped, jerking her head towards the two of them. "You're not a traitor if you don't have anyone to betray."

He laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Just because you don't get bailed out with the ranking officers doesn't mean you don't owe the network a little loyalty. I would have thought you were intelligent enough to understand that."

"I saw an opportunity for advancement and I took it," she spat, furiously. Lorna remained in the corner, arms crossed over her chest, watching the two of them carefully. She might need to intervene at some point.

He nodded just a little. "Clearly that went well. You betrayed the network, Keira. I'm tempted to put you down right now. The only reason we aren't dismantling you the way we are your little _girlfriend_ is because I stood up for your pathetic ass."

"Do it, then, motherfucker," she growled, eyes challenging, blazing with fury-

His eyes flashed, and he was reaching for his gun-

Lorna stepped forward, putting a hand on Moran's shoulder. "This is enough for tonight. We're not going to get anywhere." He shrugged her off, but for the moment his hand dropped. He needed to check that they didn't need her for any security protocols, anyway. He turned for the door without a word.

She watched him go, then rubbed her eyes, and looked down at Keira. "Don't antagonize him, please," she sighed. "He's already close to snapping. And if he kills you he will regret it for the rest of his life." She shifted into a crouch so that she could meet Keira's eyes better. "You once asked me if I didn't have something else to live for besides him. Don't you have something else to live for besides Ines?"

"Fuck off," she hissed, but there was a touch of fear in the back of her eyes. She had seen Moran go for the gun, knew she had been seconds away from the end of her rather short life. "If he wanted me to be a sweet little angel he shouldn't have _left me_ to be tortured for information. The only reason I _wasn't_ is that Ines is actually a decent human being, unlike you bastards."

"He made a mistake, Keira. He'll never admit it, but that's what happened. We left in a rush, ahead of schedule. When he realized he left you behind we were in America, and there was nothing he could do," she said levelly, unaffected by the girl's words. "He didn't leave you because he didn't care. He left you because he was preoccupied with protecting Jim and me, and because I got attacked. We shot our way out of here."

"Oh good. Glad it only took him a few days to realize I wasn't in his goddamned checked bag," she growled. "Don't give me excuses. I know for a fact you don't give a shit about me. The only reason we're having this conversation is that you don't want him getting depressed on you."

"I don't know where either of you got the impression that I don't care about you," she said wearily, looking up at the ceiling with a bit of a huffed breath. "You irritate me, yes, we don't get along.. but Jesus, Keira, how can I not care?" She met her eyes again. "You're a lot like your father, and we both know how I feel about him. It's hard for me _not_ to like you."

"Please," she scoffed. "You almost put me down upstairs. Get the hell out, Harrison. This is embarrassing to watch."

She snorted, then chuckled. "And your father cares, and he almost put you down a few minutes ago. Granted, we both have tempers the size of Russia, but honestly, Keira, look for the common denominator," she smirked, standing and heading for the door. Another moment and she was gone.

Moran was leaning on the wall outside. He was half-expecting to hear a gunshot, but Lorna emerged a few seconds later. He shut the door behind her firmly, and headed for the lift.

She ignored him, feeling a little bitter about his attitude towards her, and when they stepped into the elevator she chose the opposite side of him. She didn't need to be subtle about a cold shoulder.

He was quiet for a minute as the lift doors closed, then turned to glance at her. "Why did you stop me?"

She looked over at him, gaze empty. "You would have regretted it for the rest of your life."

He snorted. "You were furious at me for faltering up there, and down here you switch sides? Make up your mind, Harrison."

She scoffed. "Up there she had a shotgun pointed at the three of us, and we were in the middle of a mission. You fucked up, and we all could be dead because of it. But the mission is over, we're done, we're alive. She's not threat anymore. Killing her in cold blood will fuck you up. Remember O'Hare?"

"Yes, thanks, throw that in there. Really fucking stellar pep talk," he growled, stalking out of the lift as it opened and heading for his flat.

She knew that was playing dirty, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She'd decided back in America that she was done taking his shit. She would fight back, and if he wanted to keep her he needed to pull his head out of his ass and accept her help, for the nth time.

He keyed into his flat with the security override when his prints didn't work, and was pleased to see they hadn't changed that, at least. He pushed the door open, and then sighed, closing his eyes and pulling the door partway shut for just a moment. Then he pushed through. It was clear that Keira had been living here. Her things were all over and the place smelled different than it usually did. Not bad, just not him. He left the door open for Harrison if she wanted, and went to find ice for his hand.

She paused in the hallway, unsure whether or not to take the invitation, then decided that it would have been pettier for him to have closed it, and stepped inside, shutting it behind her and walking over to the familiar old sofa to lay down, pulling out her phone and tossing it on the coffee table. Maybe she could nap.

He did a careful sweep of the place, looking for bugs (he found many), bombs, poison, or other traps. Other than the surveillance devices, which he destroyed, the place seemed clean. Eventually he wandered over to where Lorna was sprawled on the couch, and took a slow breath. "Sorry," he said quietly.

She looked over at him after a moment, and nodded. "It's okay."

"I should have killed her," he said softly. "I fucked up a job because of her. Put Jim at risk. I've never done that before." His voice was carefully controlled, as was his expression, but his left hand- holding ice to his right- was tense.

"Have you ever been surprised that badly before?" She asked quietly, raising her eyebrows a little. "I was pissed, I'm not going to lie, but I get it."

"Christ, Lorna, I fucked up, but don't patronize me. I was in fucking special ops. I've dealt with grenades, land mines, sniper nests... _yes_ , I have been that surprised before." He pushed a hand through his hair, agitated. The off-blond was starting to grow out, and there were streaks of silver at his temples. He started to say something else, then shook his head and turned to go into the bedroom.

"Sebastian, I wasn't patronizing you," she said sharply, sitting up as he tried to leave. "I'm trying to.. _understand,_ if not help. Having to shoot your own daughter is loads different from anything you had to do in special ops, especially with our propensity towards murder. Just - whatever," she sighed, waving a hand and standing, grabbing her jacket and heading for the door. "I'm going to get something to eat. I'll see you later."

He didn't bother responding. He was tired, and pissed off, and sore, and didn't want to talk to anyone right now anyway. He flopped back on his familiar bed, and tried to ignore the glaringly open other half, closing his eyes.

She took the lift down to the lounge, where there was a small group of people from her department, talking quietly amongst themselves. Very few of the grifters had needed to be disposed of, which she attributed to the average IQ of spies, and not to her reputation. "Kelly! Jesus, can't believe I'm saying this, but I missed your sorry ass," she laughed, once she recognized the tallest man there. He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks a little pink. Ah, Kelly. "There any food in this place?"

"Yeah, Harrison - think you guys offed a few folks with leftovers in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you find, anyone alive will deal with it." Kelly followed her over to the fridge quietly. "So... where have you guys been holed up? What's happened the last few months?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him for a second out of ingrained caution and then returned her attention to the fridge, where she grabbed a promising container of Thai food before straightening up. "America. Armetti. Took out a couple key players in order to fuck up things around here enough to distract everyone. And here we are," she said brightly, pouring out what looked and smelled like drunken noodles into a bowl.

"Here you are," he agreed. "It's good to have you back. Things were terrible under that woman."

She chuckled, popping her food into the microwave to heat up. "Yeah? How was she running our department?"

"I set fewer things on fire, and I understand why you're always miserable," he sighed, leaning against the door of the fridge. "Like I said. I'm glad you're back. Even if I have to eat more cobwebs."

She laughed fully this time, leaning against the counter and rubbing the center of her chest where the laughing pulled at that tight line. "We're long past those days, Kelly. You're actually competent these days. Thank god."

He stood a little straighter at that, and his smile was big and pleased. "Thanks, boss," he said cheerfully. "Couldn't've done it without you kicking my butt."

"I know," she smirked, "And now you have a vested interest in keeping me alive so you don't have to do my job. Win for both of us."

His expression sobered as he nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Don't go anywhere for a while. Your job is terrible."

"No promises," she grinned, winking at him and then pulling her food out of the beeping microwave.

"No winking," he protested. "I mean it. I don't want it. I hate being in charge of these people." He glanced at a few of the other grifters.

She waved him off. "I'm going to go on vacation if I feel like it, Kelly. I've done enough managing in these five odd years to earn it."

"Darn it," he muttered quietly, though the frown didn't stay for long. "What are you doing scrounging down here, anyway? Don't you usually eat up top? Are the flats that trashed?"

She took a few bites of food before answering, stalling. "No one's stocked my flat, and I'm giving Moran some space at the moment. And I'm not begging from Jim."

He nodded just a little, sensing a line and not pressing further. "Well... you're tired. I'll leave you be. But it's good to have you back."

"Thanks, Kelly. Expect a pay raise once we get the system sorted again. And forward me a list of anyone who's done a good job stepping up while I was gone," she said, leaning against the counter and holding up her plate in a 'cheers' motion. "See you."

He nodded a little, leaving her to her corner and heading off into the quietly mingling crowd.

When she finished eating she headed down to the grifting department to start damage control, putting off going back to the flat. She didn't know what she could say to him that wouldn't start a fight.

* * *

She returned to the flat during the early morning, dark circles under her eyes from working through the night after an extremely taxing day.

He hadn't really slept, just lying in bed, dozing and staring at the ceiling, occasionally getting up to find more ice for his hand. Harrison didn't come back that night. Around five in the morning, there were noises in the outer room, and he came out with his gun up, in no way relaxed. He leveled it at the figure in the dim light, before recognizing Harrison with tired eyes and clearing the rest of the room. He sighed, walking back into the bedroom and putting the gun aside with a wince as he uncurled his bad finger.

She followed him in, stripping out of her clothes on the way, too tired to bother doing it in one place and so leaving herself a trail to clean up when she woke up, and collapsed wordlessly into the bed in her underwear, curling up under the blankets and falling asleep practically immediately.

He lay down beside her, curling around her and looping an arm over her waist. He still felt miserable and exhausted, but not enough to deprive himself of her, or sleep, any longer.

* * *

She woke up at around noon, and she was disoriented. It took her a second to process the day before. God. They'd finally won.

He was still sleeping, breaths slow and occasionally ruffling her hair, grip on her loose but encompassing.

She carefully extricated herself from him and got up, heading into the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat for breakfast. She was too hungry to go back to sleep.

He woke a few minutes later, realizing that she was gone, and got up, rubbing at his eyes with his left hand. His right was stiff, trigger finger blossoming with dark bruises. He headed into the kitchen, nodding to her just a little and opening the freezer to pull out an ice pack.

She made herself a pot of sub-par coffee (apparently Keira had no taste) and toast with jam, and ate in silence, trying to wake herself up a little. She didn't speak to Moran yet. She wanted to see how he would act, first. That was usually safest.

He sat at the table, eyeing the coffee but not there quite yet, icing his hand. "Where were you last night?" he asked quietly, glancing out at the sunset colors reflecting in the windows of the building across the street.

"Working," she sighed, rubbing at her eyes. "Lot of shit to clean up in my department. Kelly could only do so much."

He nodded just a little. "Well, at least everything seems mostly intact..."

"Yeah," she agreed with a shrug, finishing off her toast and sitting back to sip at her coffee. "I have them cleaning up what I'm not required for, so I don't need to be there immediately anymore."

He nodded just slightly. "Good. I imagine Jim will want both of us readily on hand for the next few days." He adjusted the ice pack on his hand, not really looking at her. "I'm sorry for how I acted yesterday. I was being an ass. You were right, and much more forgiving than you needed to be."

She was surprised. She hadn't expected that, not so soon. "Thanks. And, well, things tend to go better when I keep my mouth shut."

He smirked just a little. "That isn't really fair, though. I... I'm trying..." He didn't know where he was going with that sentence, and let it trail off, before starting again. "You want to marry me for some reason, and that's... I should be less of an ass."

She looked over at him, chest clenching a little, and reached across the table to offer her hand. "That means a lot, Sebastian."

 _Sebastian_. She so rarely used his full name. It only seemed to come up when they were being serious, or at the very least, fucking. In a way, he disliked it, because lately it almost always seemed to come up in the middle of uncomfortable conversations.

He reached out and took her hand in his left, his fingers cold from holding the ice pack in place on his right. He looked at their hands, not her face, his fingers tracing over the ring on her finger. For some reason they had decided to be serious about this. He needed to act like it.

She gently squeezed his fingers, her eyes landing on his other hand. "How is your finger?"

"Sore as fuck," he muttered, smirking just a little tiredly. "Not really too pleased with my choice of activities yesterday. But I'll live."

"It's a miracle it's doing well enough to have completed yesterday at all," she smiled, which then turned into a smirk. "Which means I can taper off the being gentle."

He raised an eyebrow, looking up. "You've been being gentle, have you?"

"I have. That, and tied up," she smirked, shrugging a little. "And now I have you all to myself again."

"For the time being," he conceded, standing now to go get himself some coffee. "Though I am not objecting to that line of thought."

She leaned back again, picking up her own and downed the rest of it before it got cold. "What do you mean for now?"

He shrugged. "The dare is ongoing. Jim will try something again eventually."

"The dare is for me," she pointed out, stuffing down a small amount of jealousy.

"True. His end is more the bet. I suppose I should say more than I won't necessarily have _you_ all to myself." He glanced at her. "Not that he's going to make you do anything you don't want to."

She shot a skeptical look at him. "We're both talking about the same person here, aren't we? Jim Moriarty? Owner of the both of us?"

"He won't do anything to you that you don't want," he repeated quietly, fiercely. "At least not... in that way."

She raised a hand to rub at her eyes, sighing wearily. "How do you know that, Sebastian?"

 _Because if he did, I would kill him._ But he couldn't voice that thought. Instead he said, "He isn't that kind of person."

"I highly doubt that, but it feels like a dark thing to argue about, so," she shook her head, waving off the conversation. "I'd rather not think about it."

He didn't respond, just sat back down with his coffee and taking a long sip, scalding his tongue in the process. He closed his eyes. He should be feeling _victory_ right now, dammit.

She sat back, looking around the familiar kitchen, wondering when it would start to feel like home again. It had been such a long time since this had been a safe place, a happy place. She missed those times. And now everything was no longer in the future - it wasn't _when we take back the network,_ it was _now._ What did they do next? She supposed that was the problem with having one goal for such a long time; now that it was complete, it was hard to know where to go next.

He eventually set the coffee down, looking at Harrison. She looked so... young... all of a sudden. Tired, yes, but despite her illness, she had regained her quiet strength, her sharp cheekbones, her clear gaze. He sat across from her and felt like he'd aged a decade since he'd last sat in this chair. He'd given up trying to cover the silvering of his hair, his bad right hand sat - painful and half-useless - on the table, and he was just... exhausted. Yesterday had promised to be a good, clean hunt and had ended messy and complicated. He'd fucked up. And here he sat, in his own damn kitchen, the feeling of uselessness he'd been trying to swallow since his injury cropping up again. He stood, then, downing the rest of his coffee and heading to the sink to rinse it out.

She watched him once he was no longer looking at her, wondering what he had been looking for. He looked defeated. It was an odd realization, especially now. The iron-core of strength still lay beneath the surface, and the fluid, steady way he moved hadn't changed, but the set of his shoulders spoke of dark thoughts. "What's your favorite city, Sebastian?"

He looked up from rinsing his mug, and it took him a moment to hear what she'd said. Then he was confused. "What?"

"London is my favorite city," she said, rubbing her thumb across a scratch in the table that had been there forever. She wondered where it was from. "What's yours?"

"I..." he trailed off, then shrugged a little. "Edinburgh. Not very Irish of me, but fuck it."

"Alright. Edinburgh. I can live with that. Not exactly the most romantic of places, but it's also not Siberia," she chuckled, then trailed off. "Once everything is back to normal, let's take a few days off. Get married. Kill some people. We'll pick a day Jim's free."

He leaned against the counter, setting his damp mug in the drying rack. "Once everything's normal..." He huffed a quiet laugh. "Whenever the hell that is." It seemed strange to discuss marriage here. That had all happened in a different time and place. Their time away from the network felt... _removed_ somehow, despite the scars it had left on them both. Being back here felt like a different world. He certainly wanted to get married, that didn't falter for an instant, but still, it felt strange. He straightened and nodded. "Sounds good to me."

She smiled a little. "Great. If you want we can film it and send it to Vince. I'm positive he'll absolutely cry."

"We should invite him to skype in live," he smirked, eyes lighting up a little. "Give him some sob story about you wanting him to be there."

She laughed. "I don't think that's going to work after the way we broke the news to him, but it's a good idea."

"Oh well. Worth a shot." He sighed, walking over to snag a kiss before he headed for the bedroom. "I need to deal with Keira today."

She pushed back her chair and stood to follow him. "'Today' might be optimistic. I think it might take some time to get through to her. You should start thinking of justifications to say to Jim."

He muttered something into the shirt he was pulling over his head, but nodded a little once it was off, heading for the bathroom to shower. "I'll think of something that doesn't scream 'shoot me'."

She followed him to the doorway because she had a thought. "Here's a reason: if we convince her to come back to this side, we can use her to break Ines."

He glanced at her as he got the shower going, and made a small noise of approval. "That isn't bad at all."

"I'm sure Jim will counter with something about breaking her anyway, to which I would respond that breaking her with Keira will be _far_ more entertaining for the lot of us," she added on, feeling pretty pleased with herself for thinking of it.

He stripped as he waited for the water to heat up. He was covered in minor bruises from fighting people the day before. He had one large bruise across his ribs where a particularly annoying cleaner had gotten a blow in, but other than that there was nothing too nasty. He stepped into the hot water, mulling the suggestion over. "It ought to work, as long as we can get her to get her head out of her ass." He sighed, leaning against the shower wall.

She stayed in the doorway, leaning against the wall, watching him passively. It was mostly because she liked to watch him move, but she took the time to assess the bruises on his body while she was there. It had been a while since he was the one to be injured. It wasn't really something that bothered her too much anymore. Hand to hand combat injuries were par for the course, and there wasn't much that could be done about that. He blinked as she spoke. "We have to do it in a way that appeals to her stubborn nature. She's contrary. Like you."

"I'm not contrary," he deadpanned, grabbing the soap and starting wash off the sweat and grime of yesterday, more thoroughly than he had during his brief shower last night. "And how do you suggest we do that, exactly?"

"Get Ines to say she was manipulating Keira?" She shrugged, unsure herself. "I don't know."

"No, no, needs to be more than that..." he muttered, absently rubbing soap through his hair. "We need Ines actively betraying her, somehow. I'll think of something. Shouldn't be difficult."

She nodded a little, leaning her head against the doorframe, a hint of a frown on her face. She'd never had the job of un-brainwashing someone before. And the stakes were high with this one.

He was quiet for a bit, rinsing off and then shutting off the water and climbing out. "We should check in with Jim."

She nodded, then paused. "We? Or you? I don't know where I stand with him anymore."

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. "You don't know where you stand? The two of you spent all day yesterday playing psychic twins."

"I was useful, yes, but am I an essential part of operations now? I've never reported with you before in that sort of capacity. Not unless it was a mission."

He shrugged a little, drying off and walking out into the bedroom. "He said he was going to start putting more responsibility on you, back in New York. You've ridden this out with the two of us. He'll likely want you on hand. You don't have to come in right away, but..." He shrugged again. "Call it a feeling."

"Fucking.. did he?" She muttered, rubbing her eyes. "Why on God's green earth.."

"Why do you think?" he scoffed, starting to get dressed. "He's been saying it since the _last_ time we were in New York, and that was _before_ you were trapped in a labyrinth together and I was a potential traitor. Face it. He's gotten used to you being around, being his second. He isn't going to let that go just because I'm back."

"I guess I've been repressing it," she grumbled, arms crossed. "I just operate under the assumption that he doesn't like me, so I avoid him. The labyrinth wasn't exactly a godsend for our relationship. We squabbled over heroin."

He shrugged. "Let's just say you're on better footing than I am right now and call it good." He finished buttoning his shirt. "You showering, or are you ready to go?"

"I'm ready to go. I can shower later," she said, uncrossing her arms and standing straight from leaning against the wall. "Let's go."

He nodded, straightening his collar one more time, heading for the door then the lift. It was all so odd, being back here like this.

* * *

Playlist: Mutemath - Used To


	132. Domesticity

They rode the lift up in silence, Lorna remaining still for once. Fidgeting wasn't worth it. She wasn't in trouble.

The doors opened and they headed for the office. Moran knocked, then pushed the door open when Jim called.

The change was remarkable. In just a few hours Ines had been almost erased. The whole place smelled like fresh paint, and the furniture had been returned to its former style and arrangement. Jim was sitting at his desk, looking for all the world like he had never left.

Lorna whistled as they walked in, giving the place a once-over. "Christ, we should send flowers to whichever department did this. Cleanup, maybe?"

"Contractors," Jim said absently from his desk. "I do have renovation needs every once in awhile. And Harrison, if you deign to whistle like that in my office again, I will have your tongue and nose pierced and shackled together."

"Fair enough. Noted, sir," she nodded, folding her hands together in front of her.

He sighed and nodded, leaning back to look at them. "Well?"

"Sir?" Moran raised an eyebrow, uncertain of what Jim wanted. Or pretending to be, anyway. Jim rolled his eyes.

"The _girl_ , Moran. Your sperm-cell-turned-weakness. Are you killing her or not?" He didn't bother waiting for Moran's response, waving him off. "I know you aren't. I'm disappointed, but I suppose there had to be a time you started failing. You're getting old, Moran. I _get_ it. A few soft spots are to be expected."

Sebastian's eyes flared for a moment, and he grit his teeth, taking a slow breath to calm himself.

"If I may, sir..." Lorna cleared her throat, raising her eyebrows a little. "Keira could actually provide a significant advantage over Ines. It's obvious they care for each other. If we can get Keira to turn on Ines, however..."

Jim raised an eyebrow at that, glancing at Lorna with a hint of interest. "And how do you propose we do that?"

"We've brainwashed people before, sir. Rehabilitating isn't our M.O. but it's perhaps something we should learn."

Jim seemed to consider that, drumming his fingers on the table to a rhythm Sebastian didn't recognize. Finally he gave a short little nod. "It could be amusing. But don't try my patience. Either of you." He returned his gaze to Moran.

"We won't, sir," the sniper retorted, expression and voice monotonous.

She nodded assent, and Jim leaned back, seemingly satisfied. "We'll hold off getting our hands on Ines until we know we don't need her for your... _Rehab._ It will give me time to really _plan_ what to do with her." He gave them a shark grin for a moment, then let it fall. "And Moran, I need branches mostly untouched by Ines to transfer employees to us. We're operating at minimum capacity after the purge yesterday and I want us _running_ again, not limping. If the vetting process takes up the majority of your time Harrison can take over parts of your duties."

"Of course, sir," he said with a small nod. "Anything else?" he resisted the urge to give Harrison a smug glance.

"At this moment, no. We'll see about the next thirty," he snorted, waving them off. "Once we have all this settled, we'll all have an exorbitantly expensive drink together. Dismissed."

"I look forward to it, sir," he said with a nod, turning and heading out the door.

She followed a step behind, shutting the door behind her, and let out a bit of a lost breath. "God, I am not used to how casual that's gotten."

"Which, the drinking together or the responsibility?" he asked dryly, calling the lift.

She snorted, rolling her eyes a little. "I'm pretty used to being able to fill in for you, but being told by James Moriarty that we'll have drinks is a little stunning still."

He smirked a little. "Back when I was an only child that happened a lot more often. Then you came along and made everything complicated," he teased.

"Pfft, fuck off, 'only child,'" she rolled her eyes for real this time as the lift opened, and stepped in. "You guys only had drinks before I came along because you were small time, and young. I didn't change either of those."

"Pfft, small time," he shot back. "Jim was never small time, even when he was alone. By the time I got here, the network was well-established."

"Of course Jim was small time," she protested with a scoff. "Everyone is small time at least for a little while. I'm sure it was only like a month, but still."

He shook his head. "If he was, I never saw it. He had limited permanent resources, sure, but I never saw him conceive of something that he couldn't do, or try to do something he couldn't achieve because of resource limitations." The lift opened on their floor and he stepped out. "I need to start bringing people in. Can you go be the face of hell for an hour or so, remind people we're here, and very scary?"

"Sure," she said, following him out and heading towards the flat by his side. "Just let me grab my gun. I don't like raising my voice unless I have to."

He smirked, scanning in and pushing the door open. "Yeah. You can't really let your size speak for you."

"We can't all be freaks of nature like you," she teased, heading for the gun cabinet and opening it to be pleasantly surprised that the guns hadn't been disturbed in their absence. Keira must have earned them back from Ines. She grabbed her favorite handgun, checked the safety and the chamber, then loaded it and grabbed the shoulder harness hanging up next to the guns. She used it infrequently enough to not bother storing it with her clothes, where she might lose it. She holstered the gun, then turned and sighed. "Alright. I'll go strike fear into the masses, shall I?"

"Have fun, shoot someone for me, don't be late for dinner," he said absently from where he was opening his laptop.

"Whatever you say, darling," she sang in response, and swept out the door. Things were finally starting to feel right again.

* * *

He worked steadily for the next few hours, starting the process of shoring up their security from all of the weaknesses he had built in, and putting systems into place for mass transfers from satellite groups.

Lorna shot only one person that day, and it was a leg wound - she didn't want to bring their numbers any lower, but he'd given her lip, and that wasn't going to fly either. After leaning her weight on the injury and snarling that he'd better learn some respect, plus a warning about what would have happened to him had he decided to do that in the following weeks, she straightened out things in the most important departments and then realized she was dog tired. In the lift back to the flat, she had the epiphany. The only thing that stopped her from throwing open the door in triumph was the knowledge of Sebastian's itchy trigger finger, and instead she just walked briskly in. "Moran? I've got it. I know how to solve the Keira problem."

He looked up at the odd use of his surname, setting his laptop aside. He didn't bother with greetings. "How?"

"We tell Ines the truth," she said, eyes on him as she shrugged out of her shoulder holster and set it and the gun down on the coffee table with a thunk. "Ines is obviously emotionally invested. Foolish of her. We can _use_ that. Tell her what will happen if we can't get Keira to be on our side again. Tell her that she convinces Keira it was all a ruse or we kill her. It's so _simple._ I can't believe it didn't occur to me immediately."

He considered that for a moment, standing slowly. "There's risk involved if we let the two of them talk... but we could set it up to mitigate that..." He nodded slowly, a bit of life entering his eyes. "That could work..."

"If Ines is enough of an idiot to risk Keira getting shot because she blabbed, I don't know how the fuck she took the network from us, but you're right, precautions are good," she nodded, bouncing once on the balls of her feet, filled with energy now (for the moment) and walking into the kitchen to start looking for something to eat. "People are martyrs for love."

"I just don't want to be overconfident in that love. Trust it too much and she'll fuck us over if we're wrong." He followed her in, watching her look through the refrigerator for a moment before walking up and sliding his hands around her waist. "Could be problematic if we judge this wrong."

She hummed in agreement, grabbing a peach from the fridge and shifting a little in his arms to lean over to the sink and rinse it off. "We'll tell Jim, he'll help," she said, leaning back into him and taking a bite out of her peach.

He leaned down as she bit into the peach, considering her shoulder for a moment before biting down at the junction of her neck and shoulder, teeth digging in slowly. A moment later he released and let her go, heading for the living room. "Agreed."

She only didn't gasp because her mouth was occupied, but as soon as she swallowed she shot a look over her shoulder, muttering, "tease."

He smirked just a little to himself at that, picking up his phone and texting Jim a brief synopsis of Lorna's idea.

She walked back out into the living room, peach in hand, that hand and wrist coated in juice, and raised her eyebrows at him. "Is that our relationship now? You bite me once and then you're done? Oh, woe, what's become of the _romance?"_

"Who said I was done?" he asked, finishing his text and sending it off, setting the phone aside. "I just don't like peaches. And you're flavored, at the moment."

"You don't like peaches?" She scoffed, looking offended. "We've been together in some form for four and a half, five years and I didn't know you disliked peaches? God, who even _are_ you?" She huffed, shaking her head at him and taking another bite of peach.

"Ate a few bad ones as a kid. Got sick as all hell, can't stand them now," he drawled, watching her eat.

"Who the fuck gets sick off fruit..." she muttered, rolling her eyes a little, then smirked, winking once. "Fine by me. Means me for me. Nectarines the same, or can you eat those?"

"Not a fan of them either," he snorted. "Whenever you decide to finish that, wash up and brush your teeth if you want me doing anything to you tonight."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to it," she waved off, walking back into the kitchen and finishing up the peach in a few bites before tossing the pit in the trash and rinsing off her arm, then walked back out and headed for the bedroom. "You coming, or what?"

"Ah, truly adding to the romantic atmosphere," he quipped, smirking and standing up, heading after her.

"You're only making it worse," she retorted, disappearing into the bathroom and going about quickly brushing her teeth.

"I'd offer to go find a fresh victim to murder, but we're a bit low on staff," he called from where he was sitting on the bed.

She spat out the toothpaste and rinsed her mouth out before answering, stepping back out of the bathroom. "I already shot one of them in the leg. That's the price of respect these days, apparently," she rolled her eyes.

"Sorry I missed it," he said with a smirk. "Sass the day after a culling. Who the hell was that stupid?"

"I don't know his name. Somebody who thought that after a culling there would be a safety period, presumably," she chuckled, walking over in front of him and unceremoniously straddling his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. She smiled. "Hello."

He smiled back, hands finding her hips, though he was still gentle with his right hand. "Hello? That all you got, peach fuzz?" he teased, the fingers of his left hand smoothing over bare skin at her hip.

"What would you prefer I say?" She quirked her eyebrows, rubbing a thumb back and forth across his shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow right back. "How about 'where were we?'" He retorted, before leaning in to bite her shoulder again, on the same spot he had a few minutes prior.

"Yeah, that's better," she admitted, a bit breathlessly. "You kinda fry my brain, let's face it. If you didn't know any better, you would think I was a crap grifter."

He chuckled against her shoulder, where he was in the process of creating a nice bruise. He pulled away a moment later. "Luckily for you, I do know better." He reached up to probe the reddening mark experimentally.

She chuckled where she once would have winced. Things didn't really hurt like they used to. Her pain tolerance had been shot through the roof in the past few years. She slid a hand into his short-cropped hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp and then tightening into a grip to pull his head back to look at her. "Lucky for me," she agreed, then kissed him.

He kissed her back with energy, tongue tangling with hers. He felt different than he had even in Switzerland. Older. He hated it, and was eager to burn the feeling away with her proximity.

She bit softly into his lip, fingers flexing in his hair, and was overwhelmed for a second by just how much she loved him. She loved his ice blue eyes, his sharp cheekbones, his strong jaw and nose. She loved his calloused hands and his broad shoulders and his muscled torso, and she loved his scars and his silvering hair. She kissed him harder, one of her hands slipping to his face, thumb caressing his cheek, bumping over scars.

He put a hand over hers on his face, goosebumps rising on his arms as her fingers brushed over his words. Some quiet part of him wanted to carve them open again, to chase the vitality they had provided, but he shouldered past that and focused on her gentle touch, on the taste of her tongue, on the soft pressure of her thighs against his. He slid his other hand up under her shirt, rough callouses meeting soft skin and tracing patterns.

She let out a very soft moan, mostly just a content sound, for once in that rare mood of hers where she didn't feel a burning urgency, a fierce impatience. Maybe she'd simply matured a little. It had been years since that drunken fuck in Italy, and a lot had happened along the way. Now she appreciated the occasional slow simmer instead of the instantaneous grease fire of lust.

He pulled away a moment later to meet her gaze. The contentment there reassured him of himself (though he would never admit it), and he traced fingers down her spine and under her waistband, trailing down over her tailbone.

She slowly rolled her hips over his, leaning forward to kiss him again, teeth catching his lip gently. "You're so hot," she muttered against his lips.

He smirked. "You're just saying that because I took you to Switzerland," he retorted, pulling back enough that he could pull her shirt over her head.

"Why would I wait this long to suck up to you like that?" she shot back, rolling her eyes at him and grabbing the hem of his shirt to do the same to him. Once upon a time, taking off belts had been her favorite part. Now, she couldn't imagine why. Taking off shirts was a thousand times better. The stretch and flex of muscles shifting under his skin was intoxicating just to watch.

He laughed softly, unclasping her bra and smoothing his hands over her back. "Who knows? Your mind is a rabbit warren."

She tossed his shirt to the side and shrugged off her bra, and raised her eyebrows at him. "I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment, so for the sake of the mood I'm going to take it as a compliment. That, or you have some making up to me to do." She smirked, and winked.

"It was meant as reality," he said, eyes amused, bending down and dragging his tongue across her nipple before biting it gently.

"You think my mind is a rabbit warren?" she asked, chuckling, voice mostly unaffected, though her back arched slightly under his hands and her fingers flexed against him before dipping down to trace the line of the waistband of his trousers.

"Dark twists and turns that lure people in and drive them mad..." he said with a smirk, between nips along the side of her breast and ribs.

"Flatterer," she smirked, hand leaving his waist to skate over the bulge in his trousers before landing at his thigh, squeezing gently.

"Tease," he retorted, shifting up to kiss her again, his tongue pressing a furtive exploration of her mouth. He shifted, then, rolling to the side, so that she was on the bed and he could start working on removing her trousers.

She just hummed in agreement, smirking against his lips for a moment before she kissed him back, harder, more to get a rise out of him than for her own patience, biting into his lip hard enough to sting.

He phrased his retort in the form of a tooth nicking her lip, eyes flashing for just a moment before he pulled away and pushed her backward by her shoulders. He removed her trousers, tossing them aside and smoothing his hands up her legs, rough on soft.

She looked up at him eyes dark with anticipation, just the slightest hint of copper on her tongue, her first taste of urgency this evening. It was strange, being back in this bed together after all their time away from it. They hadn't fucked here since before the maze, before the mission where they'd first put on rings as a disguise. "We haven't fucked in this building since the townhouse mission," she said, catching one of his hands in hers to pull him closer so she could hook a finger in his belt. "That's insane."

He scoffed, disbelieving. "It hasn't been that long," he muttered, lips tracing a line up over her abdomen. But then he pulled away to think about it for a moment, head cocked slightly. " _Jesus_... has it been that long?"

"Yes," she chuckled, just a little disbelievingly. "It boggles my mind, too. Here's to a good couple years of uninterrupted fucking in HQ, huh?"

"Cheers," he agreed, leaning down to taste the blood at the corner of her mouth, before shifting downward, off the bed, head resting between her legs as he bit the inside of her thigh.

Her heart jumped in her chest, a shiver running up her spine at the sight of him between her legs. She bit her lip, reaching down to slide her fingers into his short hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp.

He slid a hand up her thigh to her hip, gripping it possessively as he kissed and bit his way up the inside of her thigh. He smiled over her core, eyes flicking up to hers before he dragged his tongue- broad and hot- over her.

"Fuck," she muttered, head dropping back onto the bed, fingers tightening in his hair, although they didn't restrict his movement. He was too good to try and take control for herself. She'd just ruin it.

He smiled at that, a thrill of power crawling down his spine. He pulled her knickers down with his free hand, tossing them uncaringly and dragging his tongue over her again, her taste overwhelming his mouth and nose, hands monitoring every jump and twitch of her muscles.

He built her up ever so slowly, her breath hitching every time he did something particularly good, hips jumping under his hand whenever the sensation was just a little too much. She tried to keep her fingers from tightening too much in his hair, but there was only so much she could do.

He considered drawing her out, but found he didn't have much patience for that right now. His movements were rough but precise, eyes shifting up to watch her face when he could, eager.

She slipped over the edge with a gasp and a shiver, tensing up off the bed, her thighs clenching. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she gasped. " _Seb."_

Her thighs clamped around his ears for a moment and he groaned, a hand shifting to grab her arse tightly and pull her against him as he brought her over. She shook slightly under his hands, and he laughed, pulling back eventually to smile at her.

"Jesus," she huffed, cheeks flushed, a little out of breath. She met his eyes, and couldn't help chuckling at his mussed hair and the way his eyes glittered with satisfaction. "Have I ever told you you look ravishing after you've eaten me out?"

"No," he smirked. "But I made my own assumptions." He leaned forward to bite her hip.

"Smart man," she murmured, then reached a hand out for him, beckoning him in. "C'mere."

He didn't argue, just shifted back up onto the bed, climbing over her, her body warm against his for once.

She pulled him back into a kiss, rolling her hips up against his, groaning as she got a full feel of his rock hard cock through his trousers. "Christ," she smirked against his lips. "I forget how much that gets you going..."

He laughed into her mouth, though it changed into a groan halfway through. He nipped her lip hungrily before pulling back for breath. "I'm telling you, the view is unparallelled," he shot back.

"I could say the same about any angle of you," she returned, pushing down the waistband of his trousers impatiently. "Right now, the angle of you fucking me into oblivion is doing _wonders_ in my imagination."

He laughed, but then that angle was in _his_ imagination as well, and he joined her in the quest to remove his trousers, and his pants. A moment later they were a forgotten challenge, and he ground up against her again, skin on skin, his lips pressed to the flush of her chest, stubble scraping lightly.

She ran her fingernails across his shoulders, egging him on. The least she could do to repay him for warming her up so nicely was to stoke the fires for him.

He didn't need much prompting, his body already craving her. He gripped one of her thighs, moving it outward just a little as he pushed into her, eyes on her throat, on the jumping beat of her pulse.

She groaned as he filled her up, head pressing back into the bed, hooking a leg around his hip to give him better access. "You feel so fucking good," she breathed, fingers wrapping half around his bicep.

He grabbed her free hand with his, lacing his fingers through hers and gripping tight as he gave her a moment to adjust. Her fingers dug into his arm and he took that as his queue, hauling her up more tightly against him as he started rolling his hips.

She lifted her head so she could kiss and nip a line down his throat, her breath hitching as he started moving, her leg tightening on his hip to help keep her from moving away from him. Christ, if there was any place she could definitively say she belonged, it was here, with him, wrapped around him like a glove and feeling like she was on fire.

He smiled as she pulled himself tighter against him, his breaths sharp in his lungs as he moved with her. He was working up a fury, his usual frenzy, muscles bunching and trembling against her, but it was odd getting here halfway through rather than slamming her into a wall somewhere, but it was a nice change.

She shifted from nipping to full out clamping her teeth down on his windpipe as he went particularly deep, fingers digging sharply into him, and she released her grip to let out a whine, the impatience that had taken its time showing up finally crawling into chest and making itself incredibly present. "Fuck- _Seb. Harder."_

He took as much of a breath as he could manage past the pain of her teeth, stars blasting along the edges of his vision. She released her bite and he returned it with a growl, teeth sinking into the corner of her jaw. He let loose and smiled as she whined, tempted to press it a little further, but instead he shifted, hand finding the headboard of the bed for a little leverage as he let the fire in him take over.

She lifted a hand behind her to brace against the headboard as he pushed into her hard enough to slide her an inch up the bed, her arm brushing his. Her breath came out in gasps, almost shifting to sobs as his teeth sank into her, overwhelmed by sensation. Her other hand let go of bicep to drag her nails down his chest, catching on the scars and the ridges of muscle on the way down.

Her nails drew furrows into his skin, and he snarled into her skin. His body arched over hers, hips following the line of momentum and crashing against hers with nearly brutal force, enough to mix pain with pleasure. He knew where her lines were, and suddenly he wanted to push them, to walk right up to the edge, test his limits. He felt _powerful_ , for the first time in a long time. He released his bite on her neck and pulled back to meet her gaze, left hand shifting up to get a grip on her throat, that sudden rush of control black in his eyes as they locked on hers.

She looked up into his bright blue eyes, nearly entirely blackened by his pupils, and trembled under his gaze, a shudder running up her spine at the pure energy there. And then his hand was at her throat and she moaned, and came rather suddenly, though she grabbed his wrist and kept his hand at her throat. "Keep- keep going," she pleaded, voice breaking, desperate for more, even coming down from one orgasm.

His breath caught in his chest for just a moment at how beautiful she looked, submission in her eyes as she grasped at his wrist. He gripped her throat a little tighter, eyes flashing, and didn't slow down for a moment after her initial encouragement, and lifted her just a bit by her neck, throwing her a bit off-kilter, taking more control.

He hadn't purposefully thrown her off balance like that just to take control of her in years, and she was loving it. She could feel pins and needles in her hands and fire in her belly, her toes curling in the sheets, her fingernails digging into his wrist and his chest. God, she loved seeing how far he could go. She loved his strong grip and his scarred skin, loved the shine of sweat on his muscles, loved the feral, savage side of him which came out when he was truly worked up.

He shifted slightly, pausing for a moment until he could lift her and shove her against the headboard, hot skin against cool wood, his grip on her throat holding her there as he shifted her partly into his lap, rolling and rutting his hips under her, regaining momentum.

She cried out as the angle changed, trying for a second to meet his thrusts and then realizing that she couldn't match his power, her hand slapping against the headboard and grabbing the edge, her other hand grabbing his shoulder. If she could have breathed in consistently she would have been swearing, but as it was she just let out ragged breaths and whines, completely at his mercy, except for the one power left for her; she squeezed purposefully around him, as hard as she could.

He let out an undignified groan as she tightened suddenly around him, lightening his grip on her throat just a little so that he didn't strangle her accidentally as he lost the concentration he needed to properly monitor her airflow. His eyes roved over her body as he moved, and he was so close...

He came with a yell, shuddering and surging against her, his whole body burning, light behind his eyes like the headlights of a truck.

The grinding thrusts pushed her over the edge again and she lost her vision for a second as she came, muscles fluttering of their own accord, a back arching and thighs tensing, and the feeling of a hot wet rush, and then she practically slumped against him, struggling for breath. What was..?

"Seb," she got out, with difficulty, and some slurring, "I.. I um... Pretty sure I squirted? Does that.. seem accurate?"

"Mmm..." he said in lazy agreement, releasing his grip on her throat now and rolling off to the side, enjoying the warm, useless state of his muscles and the complete lack of discomfort, at least for a minute. "Sounds right."

"That's new," she mumbled, leaning back against the headboard, spots still in her eyes. "Guess what they say 'bout your thirties is true... Mm."

"God, you're such a baby," he chuckled, rubbing at his face. "What do they say about your thirties?"

"Women in their thirties have better sex than women in their twenties," she chuckled, shifting over to flop carefully into his lap, pillowing her head on his leg. She felt boneless.

He reached out to run his fingers through her hair aimlessly. "That might have something to do with everyone knowing what the fuck they're doing more..." he retorted lazily.

"Could be," she hummed, drawing patterns on his knee. "Hmmm... We should rinse off."

"Sorry? I must've misheard you, did you just suggest moving?" he asked with a giddy sort of smirk, eyes still closed.

She shifted just a little to nip his leg lazily. "I'm _soaked_. You're not dry either."

He let out a tired groan. "Give me half a minute, sporty. I'm enjoying myself here. When was the last time you saw me relax?"

"Not rushing you, just sayin'," she hummed, nuzzling into him slightly with a content sigh.

He sighed, taking another moment before grumbling and sitting up. "C'mon, before we get itchy," he said with a smirk, ruffling her hair.

"Mmkay," she yawned, sitting up and sluggishly sliding out of bed, reaching out to catch his hand in hers.

He stood and followed her into the bathroom, reaching out to turn on the shower. He glanced over at her and smiled just lightly at the bruises blossoming across her neck.

She caught his look, and turned to check herself in the mirror. She chuckled at what she saw. "Everyone's going to know this is from you, you know."

"Is that a bad thing?" he asked, stepping up behind her to look over her shoulder, meeting her gaze in the mirror and sliding his hand around her neck, barely touching.

"No," she murmured, already getting turned on again, and she had to close her eyes and swallow to regain her composure. "But it should be amusing to see their faces."

He felt her neck shift as she swallowed, watched the hint of a flush creep over her face. He smirked, but stepped back and let his hand drop, going over to test the temperature of the shower before stepping in.

She took a second to reset before she followed him into the shower, shooting him a mock dirty look. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He gave her an innocent smile (or as near to the expression as he was capable of making) rinsing off a bit before stepping out of the water. "I was thinking I might remodel in here. Try and make it better suited for both of us, since you're apparently not leaving anytime soon." He shot her a playfully exasperated glance.

"Pff," she responded, sticking her tongue out at him, in the midst of shampooing her hair. "But more seriously, what are you thinking about doing?"

"Making the shower bigger, for one thing. Adding an extra head so we don't have to share water. Thought about asking Jim if I could take out the wall between this flat and the next-door one, since we're sharing, and make it all a bit bigger. Better kitchen. One of those jacuzzis you're so fond of..." he shrugged.

She nodded, then leaned her head back under the water to rinse the soap out of her hair. "I could finally completely move out of my old flat and give it up to Jim for any new officer, to sweeten the pot for taking over the flat next door. Hell, though, it's a good idea. We could use a couple few more square feet."

He hummed in agreement, grabbing the soap and starting to wash down. "I don't think Jim will give a shit. We could live in your flat or my offsite place until it's done."

"More of a commute from your place, but also not sharing a wall with construction tools _and_ possessing a much nicer decor," she chuckled, stepping out of the water and grabbing a towel.

"True," he agreed, rinsing off again before securing the water and following. "I'll probably bounce back and forth as Jim needs me, but either way."

She dried off her body and then worked on her long hair, wandering back out into the bedroom, towel around her shoulders. "I feel like that goes without saying, really," she commented, going over to the dresser to pull out a pair of pants. "We should also tell Jim our plan."

"About Keira? I texted it to him before we fucked," he said, drying off as he walked over to his dresser and digging around for trousers.

"Did he respond? Not that I really want to deal with it today - I've had a long day of intimidating people much bigger than me - but I'm proud of it and I want to know what he thinks." She pulled on her pants and then walked over to collapse into the bed, still mostly naked, and sighed tiredly.

He shrugged as he pulled on boxers. "Haven't checked yet." He sighed, pushing a hand through his damp hair and heading into the living room where he'd left his phone.

Jim's response was there, two words. _Do it._

He headed back into their room, tossing the phone to Lorna for her to see and flopping down on the bed.

"Sweet," she said, setting the phone down on the bed between them. "It's been awhile since I've come up with my own plan. Feels good."

"We'll make a mastermind of you, yet," he said tonelessly, smirking just a little.

"We better not," she muttered, rolling over to cuddle up to his side. "Jim will have me killed."

He laughed, but didn't say anything further, just wrapped his arm around her, relaxing.

She eventually fell into a doze, tucked up against his hard side.

* * *

He woke hours later without remembering exactly when he had drifted off. Harrison was still beside him, but his attention was what had woken him- the chirp of his phone receiving a text. He reached out to grab it from where it still sat in the middle of the bed, and glanced at the new message from Jim.

 _Meeting with you and H at 0700._

He glanced at the clock, groaned, set an alarm, and drifted back to sleep.

She woke when his alarm went off, groaning and rolling into his neck. "Why th' fuck is that _on..."_

He reached out to shut it off, then sat up with a determined sigh, rubbing his eyes. "Jim wants a meeting."

"Good, I can go back to sleep," she muttered, rolling over and pulling up the covers.

"Nope," he smirked, standing up and yanking the covers off, tossing them on the floor as he headed for the bathroom. "He wants us both."

"Motherfucker," she groaned, rolling over and running a hand over her face, begrudgingly getting up. "How fast can we get coffee?"

"Give me five minutes," he chuckled, heading for the kitchen.

She mumbled assent, stumbling into the bathroom and taking a piss, brushing her teeth, then walking back out into the bedroom and changing into a blouse and dark jeans.

He got the coffee going and then headed back to their room to start getting cleaned up and dressed. "I wonder if this about Ines, or something else."

She buttoned up the last button on her blouse, shrugging slightly. "I don't know. I can't imagine that he's off the Ines warpath. It's barely been a couple of days."

"True, but he's also looking to cement the network again." He poured some shaving gel into his hands, spreading it across his face and grabbing his razor. "Ines will keep a few days."

"Looking to cement the network doesn't necessarily mean it doesn't have anything to do with Ines," she said, then turned and walked out, going into the kitchen to pour herself a mug of coffee, then walking back. "Things to do with her still need doing to protect ourselves."

"I'm not saying that it _doesn't_ , I'm saying it might not." He fell silent as he started shaving, eyes on his work. "Go get coffee," he said as he paused to rinse his razor.

She raised her mug, raising her eyebrows at him. "You think I'd forget?"

He glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Drink it then. You're all snippy."

She gave him an offended look. "I'm not being snippy! At least I didn't think I was," she muttered, taking a sip of her coffee and heading back out, a little sullenly.

He rolled his eyes but didn't respond, finishing shaving before wiping his face off and heading out to get dressed in his uniform.

She finished her cup and was pulling on her shoulder holster as he came out, a movement that was still just a tad unpracticed. She'd never needed to walk around with more than a knife in the past, but these days there was a much bigger bullseye on her back, and she wouldn't be caught unprepared without a ranged weapon.

He was adjusting his own holster under his jacket, and nodded to her, glancing at his watch. "Ready to go?"

"Yup," she nodded, buckling the gun in place and heading for the door. "Let's go see what Jim needs from us at the ass crack of dawn."

"Seven isn't _exactly_ the ass-crack of dawn, to be fair," he retorted, heading into the hall and calling the lift.

"To you, maybe," she smirked, leaning against the wall until the doors opened, and then stepping inside. "You know me. I hiss at the morning light."

"Bloody vampire," he snorted, rolling his eyes as he stepped in behind her and hit the button for Jim's floor, before scanning his prints and retina. The lift started up.

"I'd look damn good in a corset," she mused. "Shame we never get to have a proper Halloween."

He didn't respond to the comment about Halloween, preoccupied with the image of her in a corset. Then the lift was opening, and he walked out, glanced at his watch, and, giving Lorna a moment to catch up, knocked crisply.

Jim was sitting at his desk, a file open on his desk and a map open on his computer, marked with dozens of little flags across Europe. "Come in," he called at Moran's signature 'nothing is wrong at the moment' knock.

He stepped in, holding the door open for Harrison before closing it behind them both. "Good morning, sir. You wanted to speak with us?"

"Yes. Have a seat. Or don't, if you're going to fidget. I much prefer looming to fidgeting." He beckoned them over idly.

Lorna sank into one of the chairs across from his desk with ease, looking entirely comfortable. "How can we help you, sir?"

Moran stood behind the other chair, accepting the invitation to remain more comfortable. Jim didn't comment. "I'm sending the two of you out to have a little _fun_. Blow off some steam and tie up some loose ends."

She made a pleased noise, raising her eyebrows. "Sounds delightful, sir. I assume there's blood in the wind?"

"Mm... A local contractor was all too eager to take Ines's raise. They're holed up in their flat, not the brightest of morons. Go burn off some steam, both of you." He waved them off.

Lorna hopped to her feet, whirling around to grin brightly at Moran. "Let's go ruin this dude's day."

He hid a laugh at her enthusiasm, and nodded. "Text me the details, sir. We're on our way."

She smirked, turning for the door as Jim waved his hand, returning to his things, barely paying attention as he texted the address one-handed.

He closed the door behind him, and gave a relieved sigh. " _Christ_ it has been so long since I have had a nice, simple hit."

"Jim's being uncharacteristically nice, sending the both of us like this," she hummed, a spring in her step. "I wonder if he's trying to butter us up for something."

"Who knows? But I'll take it and deal with the cost later. I need some simplicity." He called the lift.

"Yeah, I have to agree, I need some too," she sighed, stepping into the elevator as it opened. "Even I, the grifter am tired of complicated plots and intricate missions. I miss decent old assassinations."

He nodded in agreement, keying into the flat and heading for their room to change. "Okay. How do you want to play this?"

She raised her eyebrows a little, considering. "What are the details? Man, woman, gay, straight? Do they know us by sight? What kind of contractor are they? Do we need to hide weapons particularly carefully or will they not notice?" She rattled off, following him and changing her shirt to look more casual.

"If I could get a word in edgewise," he snorted, shooting her a glance. "Female. Pansexual. Liaison with the Chinese mafia. There's a good chance she knows us, I'm sure Ines put out APBs with the Chinese. No idea on the weapons, but again, liaison with the mafia so not likely ditzy."

"Woman in the mafia? No, not ditzy, she wouldn't have made it this far. Man? Mm," she shook a hand in a so-so motion, smirking after a mock wince. "But alright, shall we do a standard break-in, then? Depending on the place we can probably get in relatively unnoticed. Fast job from there."

He nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Don't want to risk trying to talk through the door. I don't pass very well for a plumber."

She snorted, shaking her head. "And I don't pass very well for a door-to-door salesman. Should we wait for dark, put on blackouts?"

"Sounds like a plan. If we're going to go classic, may as well go all the way." He glanced at the clock. "That gives us... just over twelve hours."

"Alright," she nodded, pulling out her phone and checking her emails. "That gives me time to go hand out assignments and give the typical pep talk that grifters seem to need so badly. Want to do dinner later and then head on over?"

He nodded in agreement, heading into the kitchen for another cup of coffee. "Sure. Thai?"

"I was going to suggest sushi, but now I'm torn," she sighed, sliding her phone back into her pocket.

"Could do both," he said with a shrug. "Why the fuck not?" He sipped his coffee.

"Oooh, that's a good idea," she hummed, a pleased and excited noise. "I didn't live dangerously enough in my twenties. I need to stuff myself more. Eat more spicy food."

"Didn't live dangerously enough," he scoffed under his breath, heading for the door, coffee in hand. "Alright. I'll see you tonight."

"Bye," she chuckled, waving, and returned to her phone. Time to answer some emails.

* * *

Playlist: Lana Del Rey - Get Free


	133. Magpie

That night they walked out of headquarters back entrance and into the street. They were both dressed in blackouts beneath their jackets, taking a leisurely route to Waterloo station and the flats down by the Thames. Moran kept a sharp eye out, but they walked for the most part unnoticed in the twilight.

One pleasant thing about being around Moran all the time was that she could keep her guard relatively lowered, for the most part. The benefits of living with a bodyguard included being able to relax where other people of her standing would need to tense up. She whistled as they reached the address, looking up at the rowhouses with raised eyebrows. "Nice place. Highly paid liaison. I think the only place that beats this is the Russian's."

He nodded slightly in agreement. "Not ideal, though. Good security." He looked along the building, counting windows quietly in the glare of the streetlamps. "That's got to be it there. 304. Waterside, with the flower boxes." He eyed the fire escape. "I can make that jump, but it won't be quiet. Come on, I'll boost you up, you lower the ladder."

"We _could_ do that," she nodded, squinting at the dark walls, trying to find the little box she was looking for. "Or we can find the security system and I can try out the skills I picked up while still mostly useless in America. I assume she has one, being a relatively lucrative target... But if you don't see one, we'll get climbing."

He raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Let's try your method then, first, tech-head, and if that doesn't work out we'll go to plan B."

"It's not exactly rocket science," she snorted, taking off her jacket as they turned to walk down the side of the house, and then tossing the thing aside into the bushes. Best to be as nonvisible as possible until they were in the house. "I was _really_ bored, anyway. You had your hands full, but I didn't have a thing to do."

"Yeah, I was a bit distracted, that's fair. Poor you, struggling with all that boredom alone." The security grid was back beside the gas meter. "Don't forget to grab that jacket when we leave," he muttered as he pulled on gloves from his back pocket and opened the panel.

She nodded, pulling on her own gloves and moving in as he stepped aside to appraise the inside of the box, fingers tracing wires to their destinations. She checked and double checked, and after a minute of doing so, hooked her finger under one of the wires and yanked it out. "That should do it."

He raised an eyebrow, considering the box for a moment, before swearing quietly and reaching out a hand, pressing it over a dark square in the casing. "Find whatever memory system this thing has and destroy it," he muttered, annoyed. "It's got eyes on us."

"Ah, Christ," she hissed, pulling a screwdriver out of her back pocket and carefully prying open a casing underneath the wires, revealing the motherboard and a tiny hard drive, which she stuck the screwdriver in and then wiggled _hard_ , accompanied by a crunching sound. "Who has a camera inside their security system?"

"We do. Only reason I thought to look for it," he muttered, lowering his hand. "Alright, come on, let's go find our entrance. Back door?"

"Sounds good," she nodded, ducking away for a moment to grab her jacket from the bushes, afraid she would forget it later.

He started walking around the house, observing. It didn't take him long to find his in. The house had been converted to security, not built for it, and there was only so much that one could do about waterfront bay windows. It only took him two minutes to ram Harrison's screwdriver through part of the wooden housing and lever a pane out, and then he was unlocking the window and shoving it upward, climbing through.

She followed him in, a lot more nimbly than she would have five years ago. Her reflexes had improved a lot in that time. Hell, they'd improved a lot in Mycroft's labyrinth.

The house was dark, but outside had been as well, and his eyes adjusted easily. He started moving quietly through the first floor of the house, heading for the stairs.

She was starting to have doubts about whether or not the woman was home when she saw the light under the door on the second floor. She glanced at Sebastian, wondering how he wanted to play this. She could easily follow his lead.

He nodded to her, pulling his gun out of its holster and checking that it was loaded, before nodding to the door and giving her a silent three-count. Then he kicked in the door, gun raised.

The woman had been reading in bed. As soon as the door blew open the book went flying in her surprise, smacking a shelf and knocking a cheap snow globe onto the floor with the shatter of breaking glass.

"Do not scream," Sebastian said calmly, firmly, gun trained on her as he walked forward, "And you might get out of this alive. Scream, and I cut out your vocal chords before I do anything else. Do you understand?"

Lorna stood to the side, a knife held in her hand, letting Sebastian take the lead for the most part. The woman didn't scream, though she was pale, and her grip in the sheets was white-knuckled. "What do you want?" she asked, voice tense.

"Ines sent us," he said, walking forward slowly, gun still trained on her. His finger was cramping slightly, but he kept it in place. "She has some questions regarding your loyalty..."

The woman sat up, hands raising in surrender. "Hey, hey, I've done nothing wrong! It's not like we're close but Ines knows she can count on me!" she protested, shaking her head. "Seriously! What's it take to prove that I'm not going to sell out?"

Moran laughed, then, a low, quiet, smugly pleased sound. "Oh good, I was so worried we weren't going to get to have fun tonight. You heard the woman, Harrison... What's it going to take?"

"Oh, I don't know," she hummed, spinning the knife once in her hand. "I haven't gotten to hamstring anyone in a long time..."

The woman on the bed shifted back toward the headboard slightly, until Sebastian tapped his gun with his finger and she stilled, eyes darting between the two of them uncertainly. "I'm not going to be of much use to Ines if I can't walk. The Chi-"

Sebastian walked forward, pressing the gun to her forehead. "Mr. Moriarty will handle the Chinese. You have other concerns now."

Things seemed to be clicking for the woman. She looked between the two of them, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. "Oh, shit," she breathed. "Harrison... Then you must be Moran. Look, look, what else was I supposed to do? Get killed because I resisted? C'mon, be reasonable!"

"You gambled, you lost," Moran said, walking forward, gun still raised. "No hard feelings, but you still need to pay the house."

The woman was looking more and more panicked. "Listen, just, please don't kill me. I'll do whatever Moriarty wants, I don't care, just don't kill me, please," she begged. Lorna rolled her eyes.

"Can we silence her, at the very least?"

"By all means," he said with a smirk, waving her forward. "Have fun."

Lorna swept forward before the woman could do anything, her hand coming forward to grab the woman's jaw, yanking it open and jamming the knife in. She came up with the woman's tongue a second later, and the second after that was muffling the woman's scream with her hand. "Well that was satisfying," she said cheerfully, holding both the knife and the tongue in one her hands before she flicked the fleshy appendage aside. "Your turn."

He smiled, taking a slow breath and walking forward, taking her hand in his and licking the blood off of her fingers. "It really has been _far_ too long..." he breathed. "The blood is safe, by the way... she got a full workup a day ago per 'Ines' request. Jim is in a _very_ generous mood..."

Her eyes darkened, shifting down to the prey beneath her with a building excitement. "Fuck... Do you think he's trying to give us an engagement gift?" She laughed softly, careful to keep the blade away from his face. "Or do you think it's more of an expensive dinner for a date you want to impress?"

"I don't know, nor do I, at this moment, care," he murmured in her ear. "Right now all I care about is disassembling this woman and fucking you in her blood."

She felt a tangible shiver run through her body, and she swallowed once, looking back up at him and biting her lip. "Well once you put it _that_ way..." she hummed, fingers tightening on her knife. "What do you think should go first?"

"I don't know," he whispered, sliding his spare hand down over her left hip, tracing her hipbone. "She's certainly not bleeding enough yet... Why don't we take a little skin? It's my favorite organ."

She fought not to let herself be distracted too easily by his wandering hand, and in doing so forgot to reply at all, just leaning over the woman and shifting to pin her with a knee, before grabbing her arm and slowly flaying off a strip of skin, the woman screaming wordlessly.

He reached out to clamp a hand over the woman's mouth. She trembled under his hand, but his attention was on Harrison, watching the flecks of blood appear on her skin like stars after sunset, spattering out constellations. Her eyes were on her work, black with intensity, and he breathed in the smell of iron and fear.

The strip of skin she pulled away was about a foot long, though wasn't even half as wide, and she let it fall onto the bed beside the woman with a wet smack, watching with interest as blood seeped across the sheets.

He kissed the back of her neck, sliding his hand out to curl around her hand on the knife, taking it out of her hand. "My turn..." he whispered against her skin, leaning past her and starting to saw through the woman's finger. The woman gave one more scream, and passed out.

She sighed wistfully, dragging her fingers across the raw flesh she'd exposed, gathering up blood on her skin and watching it drip off. "They always pass out so fast... I thought she would last longer, honestly."

"She'll come back up," he sighed, tossing the finger aside. "Metal grating on bone tends to startle them slightly." He watched the blood ooze out of her finger rhythmically. He realized suddenly that it was the same finger he was missing. He ignored that and ran his finger through the blood, lifting it up and trailing it over her skin.

"Mm, that it does," she muttered, pressing an arm to her chest for a moment to soothe a sympathetic ache starting up, trying to remind her of waking up with things _inside_ her- she took a deep breath. She'd lost some of her appetite. She hadn't carved into somebody this way in a long time. Killed them, yes, but usually quickly, and without torture. She shut her eyes, trying to cut off outside stimuli for a moment, stop herself from beginning to spiral.

He kissed the back of her neck gently, before spreading blood along her shoulder and following with his tongue, licking the crimson off of her skin with a pleased hum.

She shivered a little, eyes still closed, and tried to concentrate on just him. She wanted to enjoy his touch, even if she was a little bit leery about engaging in the torture of this woman.

He could feel the tension in her muscles, and smoothed a hand over her arm, uncertain of the source. Still, he could distract her easily enough, and pressed on, teeth scraping her skin as his hand shifted forward to palm her breast.

She leaned back against him a little, a soft sigh leaving her, her heart rate beginning to pick up a little, an appetite of some kind returning to her, even if not necessarily the same one.

He kneaded her breast through her shirt, lips tracing back up under her jaw, free hand sliding under her shirt to find bare skin, cool against the adrenaline-fueled heat of his fingertips. "It has been far too long since I've seen you painted in someone else's blood," he whispered softly.

She shivered again, the hand not holding the knife going behind her to hook into the waist of his trousers, leaning back to press her ass against his hips. That voice of his did things to her. God, it was amazing how he could still light this fire in her, even after all these years. "I guess we should fix that, then..."

He smiled, though a shiver of his own traveled down his back as she pressed against him. "I suppose we should," he said with a grin, a hand sliding up to wrap around her throat, pulling her back against him.

She sucked in a breath of anticipation, biting her lip to try to remind herself not to keel over without a scrap of dignity, her hand turning to lay palm flat against his taut stomach, fingernails scratching lightly against his skin as they slipped under his shirt, where they lay still for a moment, just feeling his musculature contract and relax as he breathed.

He smiled a little, pushing her away from him then, turning her and setting her against the blood soaked-sheets, hand still gripping her throat playfully. He gives her a toothy grin, eyes dark. "Fucking gorgeous."

"I could say the same about you," she purred, eyes following the lines of his red-coated arms up to his face, grey eyes meeting his icy blue ones, though the blue was pushed all the way to the rim by the wide expanse of his pupils. It was easy to tell when they were in the midst of bloodlust.

He grinned, sitting back after a moment and pulling a pair of handcuffs out of his side pocket. He reached out and cuffed the unconscious woman beside them to the bed, before returning his attention to Lorna. "Work... Now, where were we?"

She reached up, grabbed his collar, and hauled him down to kiss him, teeth nipping at his lips immediately. She wanted to see if she could make him lose control. That was when he was the most fun.

He bit back hard as she tried to assert control, his palms hitting the mattress on either side of her as she managed to pull him slightly off balance. His teeth dug into her lip until he tasted her blood mingled with that of their victim's. He pinned her hips down with his, controlling their motion as she kissed him with baiting ferocity.

She moaned as he pinned her down, dragging her fingers down his chest, the taste of copper in her mouth driving her further up the wall. The knife was forgotten on the floor, her attention now on the honed weapon that was his body. Her hands snagged in his waistband, then skated over to palm him through his trousers- she felt a brush of something soft against her leg, and froze. "I just felt something."

He stilled, too, instantly shifting the adrenaline of domination back into that of the hunt, and shifted enough to look over his shoulder, tensed for attack...

A pair of curious yellow eyes stared back.

"Christ," he muttered, untensing. "It's a fucking cat."

She shifted so she could look, and gasped. It wasn't just a cat. It was a small black kitten. "Ooooh! It's a _kitten!_ Hi, baby!"

He glanced uncertainly at Lorna at the high pitch squeaking sound she was emitting, squinting slightly in confusion before returning his attention to the cat, which was currently licking blood off of his arm with a sandpaper tongue.

"Awww, she's licking blood off of you," she cooed, grinning. "Seb, _look_ at her!"

He raised an eyebrow, glancing between Lorna and the cat again. He had never seen her like this. It was disarming. He shifted so that she could sit up (the cat letting out an indignant noise as his arm moved away) and bent to pick up his knife off the floor.

Still cooing, she sat up and scooped the kitten into her arms, and gasped again as the kitten mewed. "Oh my God, Seb, she needs a _home. We_ can take her!"

She _was_ crazy, he decided. "No, we are not keeping the fucking cat. Absolutely not. We can drop it off at the pound if you really insist, but it has a hell of a feast right here, really..." he glanced at their victim and then back at Lorna. The sight of her cuddling the kitten while covered in blood was almost humorous.

"What? Seb, come on, _look_ at her," she protested, tucking her face next to the kittens, pouting. "We can't just _drop her off at a POUND."_

"No," he retorted calmly, turning to the unconscious woman. "Come on, we have a lovely art piece going here."

"What do you mean no? We are totally keeping her. You don't have to take care of her or anything. Her name is Magpie, by the way, I've just decided."

"Its name is absolutely not Magpie. Its name isn't _anything_ because we aren't _keeping_ it," he reiterated. "Ignore the cat. Jim gave us a job to do."

"Yeah, alright, let's kill her and then go get cat food," she said, quite stubbornly. "Or drop me off and _I'll_ get cat food. We'll stay in my place. Me and the cat."

He stared at her, expression blank, as he tried to figure out what the _fuck_ she was doing. Finally, without looking, he rammed the knife between the woman's ribs and stood up. "Fine. I'll call cleanup. Shower and change so that we can go." He headed off to find a bathroom, fuming.

She immediately started paying attention to the kitten again, and after kissing its little head once stood with it still in her arms and followed after him to look for a bathroom.


	134. Things I Can Never Have

He found a shower and took off his backpack, setting it down as he climbed in, fully clothed. He turned the water on, watching red pour down the drain, before stripping out of his clothes and leaving them for cleanup to deal with. He started scrubbing the blood off roughly.

She found a second bathroom and followed suit, the only difference being locking the kitten in the room with her. When she was done she dried off and picked up the kitten again, going to find Sebastian. Her clothes were in his backpack.

He was dressed already, and handed her the pack without comment or looking at her, texting cleanup with his other hand.

She got out her clothes and got dressed awkwardly, still holding the kitten, and steadfastly ignored that he was angry at her, or at the very least annoyed.

"Cleanup is on their way," he said gruffly after a moment, heading for the door. "Let's go."

She nodded and followed without saying anything, the kitten tucked under her arm. After all the shit she'd put up with through the years, he could let her have this.

He headed out of the house and into the street, walking a few blocks before stopping, waiting for the car he'd had sent.

She stopped next to him, silently petting the kitten's little head, but she waited with her shoulder brushing his. _She_ wasn't angry at _him._

He stood stock-still while they waited. Eventually the car arrived, and after checking the credentials of the driver, he motioned for Lorna to get in.

She crouched to get in and moved to the other side, leaving plentiful space for him. Maybe he needed some space right now.

He looked over at her occasionally, the way she cuddled the fucking cat, and tried to figure out why he was so annoyed. He settled on a goddamned kitten ruining the evening, and was content with that explanation. "Someone is picking up what we need," he said quietly as the car headed for the network.

"Excellent," she hummed, grinning as the kitten snuggled into her arms and closed it's eyes. God, she wanted to squeeze it so bad.

He didn't speak for the rest of the ride, content to sulk and brew over his newfound hatred for a disappointing-snack-sized animal. They arrived at the network and he climbed out, waiting for Lorna before heading to call the elevator.

At least he was waiting for her instead of storming off, she thought, glancing at him when he wasn't looking, trying to get a handle on why he was mad.

The lift ride was a long silence, which he had no issue with, and he headed for their flat, keying in and holding the door for her, motioning her in a touch sardonically.

She smirked and stepped in, walking over to the couch before sitting and putting Magpie down in her lap. "I'm lucky you love me."

"Mm..." he muttered, heading for their room without further comment.

She rolled her eyes a little and relaxed against the couch, watching the kitten explore in her lap before hopping down onto the cushions. She didn't know why he was so upset. It wasn't like she was adopting a _kid._ She shuddered at the thought.

He lay down on the bed, fully clothed, and tried to figure out much the same thing. He was a turmoil of emotions and he hated most of them. It was a kitten, for fuck's sake. Why did he care? Why did _she_ care? Why hadn't they let the thing to live for itself?

When the delivery of cat supplies came she set up everything the cat needed, fed her, and then decided to go to bed, though she'd been avoiding the bedroom. She didn't want to be in his space when he obviously didn't want her there. But she needed her sleep, so she sucked it up and walked in, heading for the dresser.

He had undressed and showered again, more carefully this time, and now lay in bed, reading quietly.

She changed into pajamas, brushed her teeth, and then got into bed. She was silent for a minute, and then she couldn't help herself. "What bothers you so much about the kitten?"

He sighed, setting the book down and hesitating a half breath before turning to face her. "It interrupted a great night. We were mid murder-fuck. I got cockblocked by the little bastard."

She pressed a finger to her lips so she wouldn't laugh, taking a deep breath. " _Really?_ That's why you're in such a tizzy? _Really?"_

"Fuck off," he muttered, rolling away from her and pulling the blankets up over his shoulder.

She sighed, losing the amusement, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I'm sorry. But in all seriousness, Sebastian, really? That's it? You've been cockblocked before with less reaction."

He felt sick to his stomach, and didn't feel like looking at her. He stayed turned away, despite the childishness of it, relishing the immaturity for a moment. "It wasn't just getting cockblocked. That was Jim's reward for all of this. The perfect victim, served up warm and clean, and that goddamned monstrosity over there comes in and fucks everything up."

She lifted a hand to rub at her eyes. "I don't think that she fucked it up. It's not... it's not like it was necessarily _rare._ And Jim still rewarded us. Just because it didn't go like we planned doesn't mean that we don't still have his approval. Which you know, but I don't know, I guess it bears repeating."

"What do you want me to say, Lorna? You got your christ-forsaken kitten. You win." His whole back was tense muscle.

"I want to understand! I want to help, if possible," she said, eyebrows furrowed, feeling a little helpless. "It's not about _winning._ You're unhappy, and it's not- it can't be- all about the kitten."

He sighed, quiet for a few minutes. "It's fine," he said finally. "Just stress. Ines and Keira and everything... The kitten was just the final straw." He couldn't get the image of her coddling the cat out of his head.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, laying down from her half-sitting position and pressing up against his back, nuzzling into the back of his neck. "Things will be better soon."

He couldn't help relaxing slightly under her touch, his breaths matching hers and slowing slightly. Eventually he asked "What do you think of Keira?"

She was silent for a moment, unsure how to answer. "What do you mean? Personality wise?"

"I don't know. Just... In general." His voice was quieter than it usually was, and he reached out to turn the light off.

"Well, she's a lot like you," she chuckled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and slipping an arm around his side. "I like her, but she doesn't seem to accept that. Or like me back. That's fine with me. I worked my ass off getting you to like me, I don't have the energy to do that with her, too."

He nodded just a little bit at that. "It's odd..." he says finally, quietly. "Having a kid. Seeing yourself reflected so strongly in someone else, even when you just met them."

"Honestly, sometimes I forget that she even _is_ your kid, as weird as that sounds. Like it's just so... unfathomable to me that you _made_ that. God, humans are weird," she chuckled. "What's _really_ weird is that I'm like, the closest thing she has to a mother, which is fucking fucked up. God, I'm going to be her _stepmom."_

He nodded, and suddenly decided he wasn't tired. He shifted away and got up, heading for the bathroom to take a piss as an excuse.

She was a little startled, and looked after him for a moment, eyes tight, before she curled up on her side of the bed and did her best to stop herself from feeling hurt.

He stayed in the bathroom for a while, just sitting on the closed toilet, running a thumb over his scarred trigger finger. There was so much going through his head, but it all came down to two things.

First, he wanted another one. Wanted a chance to see a child of his own grow, wanted to see himself reflected like that again, see the personality develop, change... And he wanted that for Lorna too.

Second, that could never happen.

Eventually she fell into a light doze. She wasn't sure how long it was later that she woke up again, and for a moment wasn't sure why until she heard a tiny little mew, and she realized the black spot in front of her face was kitten shaped. She fell asleep five minutes later, Magpie snuggled up in her arms.

He returned, he wasn't sure how long later, and paused to consider her curled around the kitten in the dim light. It ached, somewhere deep, and he didn't consider it long, just climbed into his side of the bed and tried to sleep.

* * *

The night passed without any incident, though Lorna woke up to hungry mews by her ear, and had to get up to feed the little munchkin before she went back to bed and slept until nearly the afternoon. She felt she deserved it, after the hours she'd been putting in.

He woke when she got up, and couldn't fall back to sleep. He headed for the kitchen, clearing his throat a few times to cure an itch, and started making coffee.

He worked for most of the morning on administrative things, but his mind was elsewhere. On Ines. On Keira. If he was only ever going to have one child, she needed to be protected.

She went out at noon to go take care of things in her department, and oversee one of the first missions taking place since getting the network back. It was almost night when she got back, a bag of two containers of pad thai in her hand. "Hey, you home? I got food."

He looked up from where he was sitting at the kitchen table, and nodded. "Yeah. In here. Eat, and then we deal with Ines."

She walked in and set down the bag on the table before getting silverware and sitting down to eat. "Alright. What's the game plan?"

"Your plan seems good," he says, closing his laptop and setting it aside, reaching for food. "Use her love for Keira to get her to renounce it."

"Alright, should be fairly simple then. She should come to her own conclusions. Probably better if we don't spell out anything," she said, half a forkful of pad thai in her mouth.

"How do you mean?" he asked, realizing suddenly that he is starving and shoveling a forkful of food into his mouth.

"She will automatically expect the worse when we tell her Keira's life depends on her cooperation. If we spell out what we'll do to her, we take away the power of imagination. What she imagines will probably be worse."

He nodded in agreement, coughing slightly as he swallowed wrong and wincing, sitting back and then standing to get a glass of water. "That seems like the best course of action."

"Great," she nodded, involving herself with eating for a minute before Magpie wandered in, then dropped her fork and gasped, scootching the chair back as the kitten mewed and ran towards her. "Hi, sweetie!" She gushed, scooping the kitten up. "How have you been today?"

He looked over at her from where he was leaning against the counter, sipping water, and watched her interact with the small black demon creature. "What's it got in its mouth?" he asked disinterestedly a moment later, when the kitten shifted and flashed silver.

She made an alarmed sound, picking up the kitten and prying open its mouth. "Hey! What's in your mouth! Give it!"

The kitten made a soft purring sound, seemingly content, until Lorna pried its mouth open. Then it made an indignant yowl and dropped a 9mm bullet into her palm before scampering away and under the couch.

"What the fuck?" she protested, picking up the bullet in between two fingers. "What the fuck?" She repeated.

He looked over, and shrugged. "Yours, not mine." He walked back over, starting to eat his food again.

"My bullet, or my kitten?" she raised her eyebrows, incredulous. "How the fuck did it get a _bullet?"_

"Both." He took another bite of food. "And hell if I know. It's tiny. Who knows where the fuck it's going."

"How do you know this is my bullet? It could be yours," she pointed out, a little bit put off her food, or at the very least, distracted.

He rolled his eyes. "Because I don't leave my ammo lying around. Relax. It's not like it could have gotten hurt."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What? What if she'd _swallowed_ it?"

He shrugged, still unconcerned. "It'd shit it out a few days later and probably learn not to do that again. Relax, Lorna. I've left bullets in hot humvees in the desert. The internal warmth of that hellbeast is not going to set it off."

"I'm not worried about it going off, I'm worried about intestinal blockage," she said testily, putting down the bullet on the table with a click of metal on wood.

"Well, I'm sorry that our flat wasn't kitten-proof enough for you," he said dryly, looking over at her. "Would you like help cleaning up your scattered bullets? Maybe I can put baby-locks on the cabinets."

"I don't leave my bullets out, Sebastian," she snapped, getting a little sick of his attitude. "This is probably Keira's fucking bullet. I rarely take bullets out of their magazines. I'm not a cowboy."

He sighed, and stood, dumping his empty container in the trash. "The kitten is fucking fine, Lorna, okay? It's fine. It brought you a goddamned present. Relax."

She huffed, not mollified. "I know you don't care about the kitten, but at least don't be willfully negligent, alright?"

He turned around then, laughing. "Let me get this straight. _Your_ demon found _Keira's_ bullet, and _I_ pointed it out to you so it didn't fucking choke, and now _I'm_ willfully negligent? Fuck off, Lorna. I don't know what crawled up your ass but I'm really not interested in the attitude." He cleared his throat, voice hoarse, and headed for their room. "I'm going to go deal with Ines."

"No, no, fuck you," she snapped, standing, hands on the table. "You _know_ what I fucking mean. Don't be a goddamn asshole about the cat. I know you don't like her but you don't have to make it your _main personality trait._ "

He didn't respond, just stalked into their room. He briefly considered punching the wall, but didn't feel like finding someone to repair the plaster, so he settled for dropping to the ground and doing pushups as roughly as he could manage, fists clenched and thumping on the floor as he got a little lift between each. He had tension and anger that he didn't understand. He got about thirty in before his chest seized slightly at he had to stop, coughing, annoyed. "Allergic to the fucker," he muttered to himself, sitting back against the bed, closing his eyes, trying to calm his heart rate, lower the anger. Lorna was right. It wasn't fair to be hair-trigger on her like this.

She sat back down and started eating the rest of her food, fuming. She felt a little strange now. It wasn't often that she stood her ground like that. But they'd both agreed in New York that their relationship couldn't remain the way it was forever.

He eventually cooled off, pulse lowering, heartbeat slowing. He felt tired. He stood slowly after a moment, and headed out of their room and over to the kitchen. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "So you want to come deal with Ines with me?"

She looked up from cleaning the dishes in the sink, and nodded a little, shaking water off her hands. "Yeah, sure."

He nodded a little, and cleared his throat again. "I'm sorry."

She cleared her throat, looking away for a second as she dried her hands. "Thanks."

He nodded, uninterested in pursuing that conversation any further and still feeling like shit. He headed for their room again, this time to actually change.

She waited by the door, feeling a little awkward. She just wanted this adjustment period to be over with.

He returned a few minutes later, and opened the door, before offering her his hand.

That meant a lot to her. Silly, how simple it was. Just a simple hand, offered in truce. Physical comfort was always where they were strongest. She smiled a little and took it, threading her fingers through his.

He smiled, too, and walked for the lift.

It took them less than three minutes to get down to the basement, but it felt like eons. His mind was turning over every possible outcome, planning strategies.

They paused outside the door to Ines' room, and she raised her eyebrows. "Ready?"


	135. A Strange Martyr

Playlist: Arcade Fire - Porno

* * *

He dropped her hand, and nodded, pushing the door open and walked in.

Ines was shackled to the far wall of the room, hands bolted in secure brackets level with her shoulders. She seemed asleep, but started awake as the door opened. Her left leg was out in front of her at an odd angle, and she was pale and filthy. The room smelled strongly of piss.

Lorna smiled cruelly at the state the woman was in. It was only what she deserved, for the things she'd put them through. Sebastian would never have had his finger maimed if it hadn't been for her. Though, conversely, it was possible they would never have gotten engaged without her interference. She would never have thought to use it as revenge against Armetti, that was for certain. "Ines, sweetie, how are you? Terrible, I hope. We've come to offer a proposal, which you're going to take. I know I would."

"Fuck off, birdie," Ines growled, voice hoarse with disuse. She shifted her body, moving her leg by accident, and her charcoal skin grew even more ashen.

She just barely tamped down on the urge to slap the woman across the face, and instead smiled wider. "Oh, trust me, you don't want me to. See, Ines; you've fucked over your darling Keira. If she doesn't return to us, she's going to die, slowly and painfully, after we've gotten all the information out of her that we need. So here's what _you're_ going to do. You're going to tell Keira that you never loved her. That it was all a lie to get her on your side. Tell her you've betrayed her, and she'll live."

Ines's expression faltered, but she forced a grin. "If you're going to fuck with me, do it properly. Moran already _told_ me he killed her- or did you forget?"

Lorna smirked. "You know what? I actually did. And you know why I forgot? Because she's alive, and I've actually talked to her during this time, unlike our silent treatment to you. You really think we would let you live relatively unscathed like this unless we were figuring out what to do with Keira?"

She gave a cocky laugh, or an attempt at one, but there was uncertainty now. "Let me see her."

"Only once you agree," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "Agree to tell her that it was all a lie, or watch as we blow her brains out in front of you. You thought it was bad just hearing about her death? Wait until you have to live with _seeing_ it. I know it hurt _me."_

Ines was distinctly less sure of herself now, but was still clinging to hope. Her eyes flicked to Moran, a last effort. "You didn't kill her then. You won't now. She's your daughter, Moran. I _know_ you care. You wouldn't put her down."

He shrugged. "Think what you will. But even if- and this would never happen- I _did_ try to shield her from Jim, he'd just shoot me first and her next. The only reason he isn't killing her as a traitor _now_ , no matter _what_ she says, is out of respect for me. Make the smart choice, Ines. Or she's going to die."

Ines looked conflicted, her eyes shutting for a moment, and Lorna leaned against the wall to wait, patiently. There would be no sense in rushing her now. Eventually, she must have come to the conclusion that they were all waiting on her to make: the fact that she had something to lose before she died, and the fact that she could save someone before she went. "Fine," she said, her eyes opening again. "Fine. I'll do it."

He nodded. "Good. Now, she can't know you know she's here, or she'll suspect the lie. One of us will be interrogating you, and Keira will be brought by while it's happening. From this point on you never gave a shit about Keira. Understood?"

Ines looked pained, but nodded. "Yes. I understand."

"Good." He glanced at Lorna. "Do you want to interrogate, or shall I?"

"I think it will be more believable if you interrogate her," Lorna said, sliding a hand into her pocket. "It will look less like we're grifting."

He nodded in agreement, walking over to a cabinet. "Then Keira is your operation. Get her yourself, send someone else, up to you."

She nodded, turning for the door. "I'll be back in half an hour with Keira in the observation room."

He nodded again, already walking over to open up one of the hidden cabinets in the walls. "Take your time. I've been looking forward to this."

She nodded a little and turned to leave, going down to the staff lobby to wait before she went to get Keira.

* * *

When she did open Keira's door, she was solemn. "Keira. We're going on a walk."

The girl looked up from her corner, eyeing the woman with tired bitterness, and nodding to the shackles between hers wrists and the wall. "How far? A meter?"

"No," she replied, brandishing the key in her hand so the girl could see it. "A little farther."

She frowned then, eyeing Lorna more carefully. "Killing me already?"

Lorna gave her an exasperated look. "I would just kill you here, idiot. I'm going to unlock your chains now. Are you going to behave?"

She sighed, but then nodded slightly. "Yes."

"Good," she nodded, walking forward to unlock Keira's manacles. "What we're about to go do will not be pleasant for you. It's not meant to hurt you, but you won't enjoy it."

Keira nodded, moving slowly at first, but before Lorna could lean back up she grabbed onto the woman's head with shaking hands and pulled her hard off balance, slamming her head into the wall above her shoulder and grappling for a grip on her neck.

Lorna had lived through vivisection. The only thing she registered when her head hit the wall was a twinge of anger. That would ache later. That made her unhappy. She grabbed Kiera's wrist and wrenched it away from her neck, driving her knee up into her chin and then grabbing the side of the girl's head with her free hand and pushing down and sideways, and a moment later was sitting on her, nails digging into the girl's skin. "I said _behave,_ you little brat. Don't test me. I'm twitchy and I'd prefer not to shoot you."

Keira let out a grunt of pain at the knee to her chin, but otherwise went down fairly silently. She caught her breath, spitting blood out onto the ground, but then nodded slightly. "Fine. Get off."

She considered for a moment, then stood, getting off her. "Try it again and I'll knock out a tooth, alright? Now let's go."

She stood slowly, wincing a little as her joints protested the movement. She didn't try to go for Lorna again. "Come on, show me whatever you're planning here."

"Alright," she nodded, beckoning her along. "Let's go."

She sighed, but followed quietly, ignoring the odd looks the guards gave her and Lorna as they passed.

She led Keira to the door to the observation room, and turned to look down at the girl. "Ready? As much as you can be, I suppose?"

"Whatever," she said, outwardly disinterested, though her eyes glinted slightly.

She sighed, rolling her eyes, and opened the door. Then she pushed Keira in.

The room was fairly small, and dark, lit only by the light from the room adjoining it via one-way mirror. Keira moved immediately to the window, alert, eyes wide. Ines was strapped to a chair, now, broken leg dangling at a horrid angle, but her expression was fierce as her eyes followed Moran around the room. "-don't give a fuck what Jimmy says, my people are loyal. It's only a matter of time," she was saying.

If Keira had been less strong she would have welled up with tears, seeing Ines that battered. God, what had they done to her? What were they _doing to_ her? "What is this? Why are you showing me this?" She asked sharply, turning around to look at Lorna, who stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.

"Because you need to see it."

"A matter of time? Yes, well. The only one who's got any loyalty to you at all right now is Keira. And she's paying the price for that loyalty. Heavily." Moran was leaning against the wall, a belt in his hand that matched welts on Ines's body, evidently taking a break. The interloper laughed.

"She _would_ be on my side. Did you like that, by the way? God was she a trip to play with..." She smirked. "When you left I just _knew_ I had to get my revenge on you somehow, and how better than to get your little bitch of a daughter licking the palm of my hand, begging for more?"

Keira whipped back around, eyes wide on the scene in front of her, her stomach dropping. "No... No, she's lying. She can't be serious. This is a set-up."

"She keeps saying it, Keira. As soon as we captured her she ditched you. Said it wasn't worth it anymore. I'm sorry."

He snorted. "Yes, very clever. You're going to get my spawn killed. Happy now?" he stood, walking over to Ines. "Congratulations. One more wasted life. Not going to save yours, though, you know." Ines eyed the belt unhappily.

"Not much I can do about that, is there? So I'll go out and take as much as I can with me, your brat included."

Keira fell silent, watching stone-faced, like her father would have. Had it all been a lie? Every soft caress, every whispered word? No... No...

He rolled his eyes. "A bit petty, don't you think? Just dragging her down for fun?" The belt swung, whistling and cracking, striking Ines across the cheek and opening a gash. She cried out, but once she regained herself she continued the conversation like the strike had never happened.

"Petty, sure. I've earned petty, I think, though. You lied to me, maimed me, betrayed me... If all I get out of this deal is a few months in your daughter's gullible cunt, so be it."

Keira took in a sharp breath through her nose. God... "I've seen enough," she said quietly. Her heart was beating fast.

"She also fucked your father, you know," Lorna said, just a bit cautiously. "I assume she never told you."

Keira went a bit green, and turned for the door, only to find it locked. "Let me leave, please," she asked quickly, voice tense, trying to ignore the conversation as it continued, the crack of the belt again.

"Don't leave the building," she said in response, reaching past her to unlock the door with her thumb. "You won't be able to anyway."

She nodded just a little, not responding beyond that and wandering out of the room, looking a bit dazed.

Lorna stayed for a minute, watching the torture expressionlessly, then knocked on the window twice to single Keira's leaving.

He glanced up at the mirror, and smiled, turning his eyes on Ines. "That's that, then. I'll leave you be until Jim gives me free reign... I don't want to waste any more of your energy on something I have to hold back with." He smirked and walked over to return the belt to where it belonged. "You seem comfortable in the chair. I'll leave you there."

Ines was fighting back tears as he left. Lorna was waiting outside. "I told her Ines fucked you, too. She didn't know."

He nodded a little. "That'll drive the last nail into that particular coffin, I hope," he said as he shut the door. The lock clicked as it engaged. "She come around, then?"

"Well on her way if not," she sighed. "She turned an interesting color."

He glanced at her, confusion clear on his face as they headed for the lift. "Care to expound on that...?"

"She turned green," she replied, shrugging a little. "I know I would."

He shrugged. "Betrayal stings, but she'll deal with it. She's alive."

She nodded. "She's your daughter, after all."

He chuckled, stepping into the lift. "Almost yours, at this point, too."

"Ugh, god, that's so weird," she groaned, fake-shuddering. "I was just saying that she's a _lot_ like you."

"Yeah," he said noncommittally, trying not to let his posture change as he mentally bristled. _Get a hold of yourself, Moran. That was an idiotic thing to say._

She glanced over at him, wondering why he was being so weird, but deciding that it wasn't worth bringing up when he was obviously about to change the subject anyway. "Does Jim know what he needs from Ines, yet? I'd like to just rip into her already."

He shrugged. "Hell if I know. We can go talk to him now, if you like. He has a lot on his mind." He coughed slightly and cleared his throat, the must from the basement still lingering.

"Mm. I don't really approach Jim uninvited," she hedged. Not unless she was making a booty call, but hell if she was going to tell him that, with the unnamed feelings he had about the whole affair.

"No, but I do, and we need information," he said, hitting the button for Jim's floor. "Are you coming with me?"

She sighed. "Yeah, I might as well. It'll look bad if I don't."

He shrugged. He considered mentioning that Jim almost certainly knew about the kitten, and the fact that she had scorned his gift to them for it, but he wasn't certain how Jim would react to that. Not to mention he wouldn't mind terribly if she caught a little flak for that particular bit of nonsense. He stepped out of the lift as it opened and lead the way over to the door, knocking.

Jim was in the middle of working, but he'd seen the alerts on the morning memo, and the people behind that door held some interesting information. "Come in."

Moran pushed the door open and left it open for Lorna, nodding to the boss as he stepped inside. "Afternoon, Boss."

Lorna shut it behind her and came to a stop by Moran in front of the desk. Jim gave them both an expectant look. "I assume you have news for me?"

Moran nodded. "Ines agreed to our request. Keira will come around within the next few days and be more loyal to us than ever."

"Delightful. I'm sure that was amusing," Jim snorted. "Did she act out, or has she got her sperm donor's _impressive_ self-control?"

"The latter, sir," Lorna replied, hands folded together in front of her.

Moran's nostrils flared slightly at the terminology, but he didn't react otherwise. "What's your plan for Ines at this point, sir?"

"I need the rest of her web dismantled. There are loyalists hiding in the corners amongst the cobwebs, and I can't find them all without a little intel. After that, she'll live a long, painful existence."

He nodded. "Understood, sir. I'll get that information as quickly as possible. Anything else that you would like to see us doing over the next few days?"

Jim glanced at his computer. "I believe I promised drinks. Expensive ones. Let's shoot for finishing this nonsense within a week, hm? I'm getting thirsty. Otherwise, I'll update you as I see fit. Dismissed."

He nodded his understanding and turned for the door, Harrison on his heels.

* * *

A/N

BTW guys, we have 2 other AUs going of this rp! A WW2 one, and a Victorian Vampire one! You can get to it from my profile if you'd like to read them!


	136. Long Overdue Exhibitionism

Playlist: The Technicolors - Tonight You Are Mine

Reminder that the playlist link is on my profile!

* * *

"Well, I'd call that a successful day," she said cheerfully as they exited and headed for the lift. "Keira is off the chopping block, Ines has had one more thing taken from her, and Jim is in a good mood. I don't know what could make it better."

He bit back a sarcastic comment about the kitten escaping. She was in a good mood, no need to befoul it pointlessly. "No, it does seem like a pretty decent day," he agreed as they entered the lift.

"You know, I _did_ just think of something that _would_ make it better," she hummed as the doors shut, and stepped up in front of him, placing a hand flat on his chest. "I _believe_ you've promised to ravish me in an elevator, and unless I somehow missed it I think that promise has been unfulfilled."

It was perhaps the most concerning thing he'd felt in a while, the lack of reaction to her hand on his chest. Or… not a lack, perhaps, but such a delay. It took him a good long moment to pull his mind from wherever it had been and turn its focus to the weight of her palm on his sternum as she stepped close. He mentally shook himself, and grinned. "Weren't you just saying that Jim was in a good mood?"

"What, you think he'll notice right away if we fuck in the lift? He's a busy man, he doesn't have the time to be watching the security cameras. That's grunt work," she laughed, not noticing anything wrong. "Are you saying you don't _want_ to fuck me in this lift?"

"No, I'm just saying eventually…" he bent to nip at her throat, "word is going to reach him that we fucked in his lift and held up work… I'm just informing you of the consequences…"

"Mmm," she hummed, running her fingers lightly down his chest. "I believe your original idea was to wait until he was on vacation to do it, but the same consequences would apply... Let's face it, the punishment will likely be one of us being kidnapped and tied to a chair again, considering his new... _interests."_

He shivered slightly at the thought. "Well, this time you can be the one getting edged all evening. I've had my fun with that, thanks," he shot back with a grin, reaching up to grab her wrist and spinning them, pinning her hand to the wall with his, his hips doing similar things to her body. "But if that's the case, this becomes less of an issue for me."

She laughed at the memory. "I suppose I shouldn't remind you that I was the last one to be teased in that way, huh?" She grinned, rolling her hips forward against his.

"Mmm… Probably not," he agreed, bending to bite at the corner of her jaw just hard enough to hurt, his hands untucking her shirt and sliding beneath over familiar skin. "I might decide to revisit that idea. It was so _very_ entertaining."

"Might be less entertaining without Jim to help get your rocks off with while I suffer," she pointed out breathily, fingers hooking in his waistband for a moment before sliding around his waist and down to grab his ass.

"A decent counter-argument if I've ever heard one," he agreed, his hips pressing forward a bit greedily against hers as he decided her shirt was in his way and started ripping his way up from the bottom.

"I'm full of those," she shot back, leaning up to capture his lips, pulling him harder against her with her grip on his arse, her other hand fisting in the front of his shirt.

He finally got her shirt out of the way and shoved it off of her shoulders, his hands sliding around behind her to loosen her bra. "Explain to me," he muttered around her lips. "Why it is that you feel the need to package yourself in so many goddamned confining layers?" He pulled away to look down as he disentangled her bra from her shirt. "Honestly, I've met vaults that are less complex."

She laughed. "Sebastian, if I wandered around braless, I'd be useless the next time I had to run anywhere. I'd be too busy keeping myself from being yanked around by the whims of gravity to build up proper momentum," she said, helping get herself out of her bra before turning to start stripping him of his shirt.

He sighed, submitting to her desires as she pulled the shirt off around his shoulder hostler, though he returned his hands to her torso as soon as they were free, rough palms smoothing down over her ribs to get a sturdy grip on her hips. "But what a sight that would be."

She rolled her eyes a little, amused. "I suppose that would make an excellent distraction in a pinch, but what on earth would you do to avoid being distracted too?"

"I have an iron will," he assured her, his palm pressing rather suddenly and insistently between her legs, rubbing slow circles.

She gasped, popping up on her toes for a moment in surprise at the sudden stimulation, and not to be outdone cupped him through his trousers. "Do- do you now?"

"Mhmn…" he agreed, though the noise shifted slightly as she touched him. His free hand worked to undo her trousers. "Soldier's determination…"

"Lucky me," she chuckled, both of her hands occupying themselves undoing his button and zipper for a moment before one was pulling down his waistband and the other was slipping inside to stroke him through his pants.

He undid her trousers and shoved them down and off, taking her pants at the same time and tossing both aside, leaving her shoes for the moment, too invested to be bothered. He rolled his hips into her hand just a little, impatient now, his own hand finding its place between her thighs again.

She openly moaned, shoving his pants down enough to pull his cock out, kissing him hard, desperately now, her free hand pulling his hips toward hers.

He took hold of her hips, lifting her now and pinning her hard against the cool metal of the lift wall, ass resting on the handrail as he pushed into her without ceremony, body pinning hers.

She shouted, one hand gripping the round of his shoulder, the other, his ass. "Fuck, the metal's cold," she gasped against his lips, rolling hips as best as she could.

"I feel for you," he grunted sarcastically, biting her lip as he grabbed her ass right back, using it to steady her as he started moving, just getting a feel for the balance of the position.

She groaned, eyes falling shut as he got a rhythm going, the cold metal already forgotten, quickly warming up with her rising body temperature.

He laughed, leaning in to her ear as he moved. "If I knew you were this turned on by me fucking you in public I would have done it a long time ago," he whispered, teeth bared in an amused grin. "You're soaked."

She flushed at his language, a shiver running through her. "What, you couldn't tell in the Ganges? Water is hard to mistake for a lubricant, tiger," she shot back, nipping his earlobe, though her voice was less solid than usual, and she moaned again as he hit a particularly good stroke.

"I was a touch distracted by security in the Ganges," he retorted. "That place was a logistical... nightmare..." He stumbled with his words slightly as she moved in a way that took him deeper, gasping slightly and grinning. "Well, this does open up.. a whole mnh... Whole new range of options."

"I thought public fucking _anywhere_ was a logistical nightmare," she breathed, only vaguely registering in the back of her mind that something _dinged_. "Otherwise I would have ravished you- mmf- more places."

"It most certainly is," he panted, biting her shoulder. "But I would have made allowances..." He heard the doors sliding open then, however, and tensed, turning quickly to look over his shoulder.

A woman with a strict ponytail stared at the two of them with wide eyes for a moment, before sighing quietly. "Proving my point, Harrison...?"

She growled a swear, hands checking his trousers for a moment. "Sebastian, give me your gun."

He didn't comment, just handed it to her from his shoulder holster, eyes still on the woman at the door.

"Really, you're going to shoot me?" she asked. "Look, there's no law against using the lift."

"But there's a law against your snide fucking attitude, and here it is," Lorna snapped, and fired a round directly into the woman's shoulder. "Consider that a lesson in the way you treat your superior, _honey._ Now take the stairs to the infirmary."

She stumbled back and collapsed onto her ass on the ground, hand going up to her shoulder and pressing against the wound, staring at Lorna in shock for a moment. "You shot me..."

"No shit," she snorted, handing Moran his gun and rolling her hips again, determined not to lose momentum. "I'm a murderer, honey. You're lucky you aren't dead. Get out."

He tucked the gun back into its place, and waited until the woman stood and headed for the stairs before asking, "Not that I don't approve, but who the fuck was that and why did you shoot her?" He started moving his hips again.

"Remember the woman who fake-kidnapped me to help us get the network back?" She asked, voice hitching as he started moving again, "You heard my desire to gut her."

"Ah yes," he said pleasantly, not pressing further as he got back up to speed again, his attention leaving Lorna's victim, disinterested in the light of current events.

The doors slid shut, and Lorna closed her eyes, getting back into it, fingers tight on his sides. " _Fuck,_ you're hot... I didn't know I had a real _interest_ in fucking in public until you. You've awakened a lot in me."

He laughed, though it trailed off into a rough cough for a moment, throwing him off. He gathered himself a moment later, pushing her a bit further up the steel wall as he sought a better angle, pulling back to grin at her. "I could say the same. Never been much of an exhibitionist."

"Our sex life is so _good,"_ she groaned, gasping as that angle hit a new spot and purposefully squeezing around him. "No _wonder_ Jim misses it."

He shook his head, biting into her shoulder again and raking dull nails down her sides as she tightened roughly around him. "Careful with the... blasphemy..." he chuckled breathlessly, feeling his body starting to heat up, the metal icy as he pressed his forehead against the wall next to hers.

"What, he's a god?" she scoffed through a pant, feeling the increased energy and riding off of it herself, her movements beginning to verge on frantic. "He scares me, but - _fucking hell -_ but if he wants to fuck us, I'm going to _mention_ it."

"No, no," he said quickly, a laugh slipping out between breaths. "Mention it he'll... he'll get off on it.." He was suddenly coughing again, and had to pause for half a moment- much to his displeasure- to get himself sorted again before he could continue. He started up again a moment later, the power behind his hips making the thin metal of the lift interior ping slightly as it deflected with their movements.

She almost asked him if he was okay before he started up again with renewed vigor, and she clung onto him, panting for breath, urgency draining the need to talk right out of her for a few minutes. "Seb-" she said finally, in a whine, "Seb, I'm close, _please."_

He was right there with her, body arching around hers, contorting to grind against her at every point possible, to feel as much of her against his skin as he could. Feel her pressed between him and cold metal, begging for him as he took what he wanted from her... His teeth found her throat, closing but not biting, the anticipation of pain, of domination, held at the last second. Breath on skin as he fucked her.

She came with a cry and a shudder, her arms thrown around him, head pressed back into the wall to bare her throat to him, relishing the feeling of his teeth on her skin and his breath harsh in her ears. Fuck, he was a goddamn force of nature, and she was in constant awe of him.

Lorna came and she brought him over with her, his body rolling up against hers, planes of their forms contacting and rolling away as they both moved, and slowly stilled, breathing coarsely against the fogged metal of the lift.

She was relieved to be half sitting on the railing, because her legs were shaking like a leaf, trembling as she came down, soaked and, for the moment, very relaxed.

He held her in place, though his own legs were a little wobbly, his breaths coming ragged and short as he recovered. He straightened slowly after a few minutes, easing her down to the ground and bending to pull his pants and trousers up, refastening them.

She found her feet with a little difficulty, pulling on her clothes as steadily as she could manage, though not before the elevator was.. a little _messy._

Seb smirked a bit at that, reaching out to press the button for their floor and admiring the _very_ Lorna-shaped smudge on the lift wall. "I may forbid anyone to clean that for a while."

She chuckled, leaning against his side, hand finding his. "That would be quite funny. Give them all something to think about."

He laced his fingers through hers absently, rubbing his thumb over her ring, eyes still on the silhouette. "I almost want to frame it. Feels like art."

"If you really want one, you can fuck me in paint some time, and we can really offend Kiera when she comes over," she laughed, the doors opening behind them.

He grinned. "Now there is a fucking fantastic idea," he said with a smirk, heading for their door and scanning in. He pushed it open and headed for the kitchen. He needed a drink. His throat was all fucked up. "Shit, I forgot to ask Jim about renovating."

She shrugged. "Text him, maybe? I don't know the protocol for non-work things," she said, trailing after him into the kitchen.

He nodded. "Might email him. It isn't urgent." He went over to the cupboard, pulling out his large mug and going to fill it. He turned the water on and there was a sudden, startled yowl. A small, black blur flew out of the mug, scampered up his arm with razor claws, and leaped to the floor, disappearing into the living room. He just stood there for a second, eyes in his filling mug, before he dumped it out, turned, and put it in the dishwasher, ignoring the red pinpricks on his arm as he went to get another cup.

She also stood there in something resembling shock, lips parted in surprise. "I... How did she...?"

"I don't know," he said, with dead calm. "Nor do I care."

She nodded a little, taking that for what it was worth, and tried to absorb what she had just seen, until she realized that was impossible and gave up. "Well... Yes, email seems like a good plan."

He leaned back against the counter, drinking his water. "Go find your miserable cat," he muttered. "It's probably soaked."

"Just goes to show you've never had a cat. They just clean themselves up," she waved off, though she did turn and grab a hand towel from the oven. "But a toweling couldn't hurt. Magpie! Come here, sweet thing!" She wandered back out of the kitchen.

"Could not have chosen a better name," he snorted, calling after her. "Picking up shiny things, getting into little holes where she doesn't belong..."

"What can I say, I have a knack for it," she laughed, searching for the kitten for a moment before realizing she was sitting in plain sight, just in a shadow. "C'mere, baby. Let me towel you off."

Magpie hissed at her, backing into the corner of the couch and the wall. Moran walked into the living room, watching the encounter with raised eyebrows.

Lorna sighed. "Don't be that way, silly, I'm trying to help," she said, and without hesitating leaned forward and scruffed the kitten, pulling her over and quickly toweling her off. In less than a minute she let the disoriented kitten go. "There. All better. See?"

Magpie blinked, looking somewhat insulted, and sat, starting to lick her very-tousled fur.

She stood back up and raised her eyebrows at Moran. "Enjoy the show, mister?"

He shrugged disinterestedly, walking over to sit on the couch. "Was just waiting to see if you were going to get mauled."

"She's a kitten, not a lion," she snorted, tossing the damp towel onto the coffee table and heading over to sit next to him.

"Eh. Still would have been funny," he said with a smirk, throwing an arm around her and sipping his water before setting it aside.

"I already have a big enough scar to justify a trip back to India, I don't think we need to fabricate another one," she chuckled, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"True," he said with a small smirk. "After we deal with Ines I was thinking we should do that. India."

She hummed in agreement, closing her eyes. "Do you still want to get married in Edinburgh?"

He shrugged. "That was your idea. But I don't dislike it." He ran his fingers through her hair. It was longer than she usually had it.

She shrugged a little. "It's your favorite city, right? And you know, it occurred to me that we could bring security with us. Give you a bit of a break."

"I'm not going to trust anyone else with your or Jim's safety in a foreign city," he snorted derisively.

"God, you need to hire someone you can trust," she sighed, though it was a pointless request.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," he muttered sarcastically.

"Once we're sure Keira won't betray us for a cracker again, you could train her to do it. Just an idea."

"We'll see," he said with a dark smirk. "That whole 'betraying us for a cracker' thing has rather put a stain on her reputation."

"Yes, it has," she snorted. "I'll be surprised if she doesn't get attacked in the hallway by somebody who doesn't know she's supposed to be free now. I figure that's suitable punishment."

He nodded his agreement. "At least for now. I might beat a little sense into her. We'll see. But odds are this whole thing blowing up on her like it has has taught the lesson, and any excess punishment will just make her resent the situation."

"True. You would know best. God, did she get _any_ traits from her mother?" she snorted, amused. "Besides the color of her hair."

"Her gender," he retorted dryly. "And the attitude could have been from either of us really. There was a reason her mother and I got along."

"I like her better if I think it comes from you," she shrugged. "I don't feel the need to tolerate someone else's attitude."

He nodded, considering that quietly. Very quietly, given his proximity to a grifter. How his life might have been different if he had just... stayed in Ireland. If he had known about Keira, married her mother...

She let him fall into silence, though she wondered on the timing of it. She could tell when he was distracted by his thoughts, and this was one of those times. But it felt rude to intrude, so she kept her mouth shut and ruminated on her own thoughts.

He eventually felt another cough building in his chest, and shifted her off of him, standing and heading for the bathroom to try and find some allergy medication. "I'm allergic to the fucking cat," he called back.

"Wouldn't you be swelling up and stuff? You're probably just getting sick!" she called back, unconcerned.

"On the same goddamned day you bring Shinyfucker home? Yeah. definitely," he called back, finding some benedryl and swallowing a few.

"Coincidences happen, you know!" she laughed, smiling as the devil in question jumped up onto the couch next to her and reaching out to give her a stroke on the head.

"Shinyfucker. I like it. Calling it that now," he said, returning to the main room with a smirk. "Much better name."

"Fuck off," she rolled her eyes, pulling the kitten into her lap and smiling as she started to purr. "Magpie is a _lovely_ name."

"So is Shinyfucker. Very suitable to a cat that eats a bullet on its first day out." He sat on the couch and closed his eyes, breathing slowly, the allergies making his chest a touch wheezy.

She nudged him with her foot. "You continue calling my child names, I'm going to start with yours. Watch it."

He looked over at her with eyes that were suddenly very intense. Then he blinked and the look was gone, and he shrugged. "She has thick skin. I certainly don't care."

She was a little startled by the look, and forgot to reply because of it, having clammed up to avoid bringing up a topic that might start a fight.

He sat back, finally reaching out to turn the telly on for lack of something better to do. There was dust on the remote, and he wiped it off with his thumb before starting to surf channels.

She pulled the kitten up to her chest to soothe the remaining tension there, keeping her breathing even and silently cursing herself for her response.

He looked over at her after a few minutes, tense and holding the now-sleeping kitten close, and sighed, reaching out to rub a hand across her shoulders gently.

She relaxed a little under his hand, letting out a breath she hadn't really been aware she was holding, and leaned against him.

"Sorry," he said quietly, and left it that, just holding her close and not commenting about the kitten.

That warmed her chest, and she shifted a little closer to him, leg against his leg, shoulder against his shoulder. She was glad things had become so much easier between them. Nothing else in life had become easier.

His arm encircled her, pulling her in against his side as he left some concert on the telly, volume low. "We should go to my flat sometime soon."

"Mm, yes please," she murmured, quiet for a few minutes. "Would it make sense for us to just get married in Switzerland? It's a place we both have good memories of. I miss it."

He considered that, then admitted, "I'd be a little more lax about security there, if we bought out the place for a few days. Or, hell, just bought it..."

She nodded a little. "We can always buy it out for a week and see if we want to do it permanently."

He hummed his agreement, and then shifted slightly. "Alright. I need a shower." He stood.

"God, you're right, how did I fucking forget," she agreed, standing too, gently putting the kitten down on the couch. "I'm sure my pants are a right mess."

"Yeah, I'm fucking itchy," he muttered, heading for the bathroom and starting the shower up. He wasn't really that uncomfortable, but he figured the hot water would ease the congestion in his chest slightly. Fucking cat.

"Same, but sticky," she grumbled, the problem very obvious now that she was moving, and started stripping out of her clothes as she waited for the shower to heat up just a little. "God, humankind is lucky sex is so enjoyable. The aftermath would really just dissuade us otherwise," she muttered, and then stepped into the still-mostly-frigid shower, her teeth grit. Her head pulsed where Keira had slammed it into the wall. "Ugh, my head... Keira fought me, by the way."

"I'm not surprised," he admitted, waiting for the shower to warm up a bit more before he joined her. "You would have done the same in her situation."

"Not against _me_ I wouldn't," she retorted, eyes screwed shut as she held her head under the spray. "She attacked me head on. If I see pain coming, I barely feel it, these days. What would she have done then, anyway? It was a stupid plan."

"Did you have a key on you? Most people underestimate you. She probably figured she could knock you unconscious, grab the key and any weapons you had on you, and make a break for it." He stepped into the water. "How bad is your head?"

"We put her in one of the higher tech cells, so no, I didn't. But past me, she still was against security with nothing but a knife. Enough for the two of us, maybe, but she lost against us with a shotgun. And it's just a bit of a lump. Don't think I'm concussed," she shrugged, lifting a hand to gently probe it.

He nodded, reaching out to part her hair and look at it. "Yeah, you've got an egg there, but no abrasions. Let me know if you start seeing double." He smirked.

"Yeah, I will, thanks," she rolled her eyes, though mostly at the fact that he'd called it an egg. It was a vaguely gross comparison. "I don't know why she underestimated me after I put her flat on her ass. God, thank god that mission went off without a hitch. I'm almost beginning to take for granted them going poorly."

"I'd say Keira was a bit of a hitch," he pointed out, grabbing soap and starting to wash off.

"I suppose," she admitted, picking up the shampoo off the shower rack and pouring a generous amount into her palm. Her hair was, in fact, beginning to require a little more maintenance than usual. "Otherwise, it was one of our better ones."

He nodded his agreement, leaning against the wall as he scrubbed down. "Yes. The fact that Jim is in such a good mood attests to that. I can't remember the last time he's left me alone for this long."

"Left you alone?" She raised her eyebrow.

He shrugged. "He hasn't called me in in days, hasn't sent texts, nothing. Letting me operate on my own. Not his usual style."

"Not to mention he's occupied for once," she nodded, rinsing her hair.

He nodded in agreement, waiting until she was done to step in and rinse off as well. "He hasn't been this busy in a long time. Getting the network back under control... He hasn't had anything that complex to focus on since the Holmes games."

"It's good for all of us. Win-win," she chuckled.

He got out and handed her a towel. "Here's to things staying that way for a bit."

She got out after him, taking the towel, and popped up on her toes to give him a kiss on the jaw. "Here's to that."

* * *

Playlist: Fall Out Boy - Church

A/N

Next chapter is going to be a real ride, y'all...

If anyone wants the mixtape for the fic, PM me, or look up the Ao3 version, which has the songs laid out by chapter!


	137. Did You Miss Me?

The next few days passed in a blur of relatively menial tasks. Keira had locked herself in her old apartment, and Moran left her there for now. They had too much to do to reassert control in the network to deal with her at the moment. They had left Ines alone for the time being, much to his dismay. But Jim had ordered a full medical evaluation before anything else was done to her, so that they didn't risk her dying of some complication they weren't aware of. He woke that morning expecting the evaluation in his email. However, in its stead, he found an email marked 'urgent' requesting that he come down to the med bay as soon as possible. He swore quietly and rolled out bed.

Jim was sitting in the waiting room, hands folded together, his body frozen. He was waiting for Sebastian, but while he did so was consumed with thought, his mind racing. This was not what he had expected. How was this a _possibility?_

He made it down to the med bay inside of five minutes, still buttoning his shirt. He saw Jim in the waiting room and walked over quickly. "What's happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. It's our illustrious captive, Ines," he said, rising out of his chair, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I had X-rays taken to check for any _nasty_ little defects, to see if we could head them off at the pass. You wouldn't _believe_ what they're showing. I know _I_ didn't."

He raised an eyebrow, but nodded a little, motioning for Jim to continue. "Well, don't hold me in suspense..."

Jim snapped his fingers at the orderly waiting tensely in the corner, and she stepped forward, handing him the x-rays. "Come with me," he said, and turned to lead him down the hall and into a dark room, where he quickly put up the offending sheets and flicked on the lights.

"Jesus Christ..." Sebastian whispered, eyes on the x-rays. They showed ribs- Ines's, he assumed, but what was startling was what _else_ it showed. There, carved into the bones, was a message.

"'Did you miss me? -E'... What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I really didn't think this would come back to haunt me, Moran, I really didn't," he sighed, shaking his head slowly. "I've got a long story to tell you. We might want to sit."

He looked at his employer in the dark room, and then sighed. "Is this the sort of long story I'm going to want a bourbon for?"

"If it will make you feel better," he sighed, waving a hand. "Let's go to my office."

He nodded, taking a picture of the x-rays on his phone, before following Jim out of the med bay and toward the lift.

He led the way to the lift, where they rode in silence, and then into his office, where he went to sit at his desk. "Alright. To start; the Holmes brothers have a sister. Her name is Euros. More than a decade ago, for a present, she requested my presence at her private prison. There, she unveiled a plan to muddle the mind of her youngest brother."

"Christ, Jim," he muttered, sitting down at the desk. "Bourbon..." he said in a pained voice. He could already tell he was going to hate this.

He nodded, shifting back in his chair to grab the bourbon from his desk drawers, and two glasses, setting them down on the desk to let him pour as much as he liked. "I was bored. Young, and bored. And finally, I had a real peer. I guess I was susceptible to peer pressure, now that it was finally something that could happen. I agreed to her plan. I helped her flesh it out, came up with half of it myself." He paused. "I was supposed to die on the top of St. Barts. It was a decision I made myself, or, I hope so. When I didn't I felt different. I regretted shooting myself. I didn't need this imprisoned girl to rule my life, to give me purpose. I never contacted her again. But I guess that was foolishly _optimistic._ 'Did you miss me' was supposed to be a film run of me, pretending to be back from the dead."

He had poured himself about two fingers, but halfway through Jim's explanation he set the glass down and poured two more. "Jesus, Jim," he muttered, taking a long sip of bourbon and closing his eyes. "What... the actual fuck were you..." He opened his eyes, looked across the desk at his employer, and then just shook his head. "Jesus fuck." He drained the bourbon and set his glass down.

Jim, for once in his life, had the good graces to look embarrassed. "I know, Moran, I know. I've said it all to myself. I never imagined it would come back to haunt me. _I_ was her agency outside the walls, _I_ was her eyes and ears. I suppose that was naïve of me... if she could get me, couldn't she get anyone else? I imagine she knew almost immediately I survived. That must have been when she put this plan in motion."

"So Ines... Jesus," he said again. That was all he really could think to say. "Ines was hers, then. Eres or whatever her name is? Her... what... her revenge on you?"

"Her impatience, perhaps, predicted a decade early. I've ruined the game for her." He sighed, raising a hand to rub his eyes. "Who knows what damage Euros has managed to do on her prison with her brief control of my network. I doubt Ines even knows what she was doing."

" _Jesus_ ," he said again, reaching out to pour bourbon into both of their glasses now. He stood, taking his glass with him, starting to pace. "So what the hell do we do?"

"Drones. I want drones over the island she's on, just to see if it's still being as heavily guarded, and," he sighed, closing his eyes. "I need to discuss this with the Holmes's. They're the ones containing her there; or Mycroft is, anyway."

He didn't bother to say 'Jesus' again, just looked over at Jim with an expression that suggested he was seriously evaluating his sanity. "James..." he said finally, tone uncertain. "How bad is this?"

" _Quite,"_ he said tensely, grabbing the glass in front of him, and immediately shotgunning it. "Most of these contenders have been lesser than me. Large bark, smaller bite. Her?" He shook his head. "She doesn't threaten. She simply _does._ We're both maniacs, but _she's_ absolutely looney."

He drained his glass again, and leaned against the wall, considering James. "Honestly, Jim- and don't lie to me on this, I need to know what we're dealing with- honestly... Is she smarter than you?"

"It's possible," Jim muttered, bitterly. "It's not like either of us have compared our I.Q. scores."

That was as good as a _yes_ from Jim, and they both knew it. Moran took another sip, only to remember that his glass was empty. He walked back over to the desk. "What does she want?"

He let out a long, irritated breath. Not irritated with Sebastian, but with the situation at hand. "That's the feckin' problem with Euros. Her wants and desires are lost in translation. The only way to operate is to ask 'what will she do?' which is _almost_ as hard to answer."

He sat down, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "Alright... Before we go forward with this- are there any _other_ vengeful massive threats to security that you may have forgotten to mention over the years?"

"None that come to mind, Sebastian," he sighed. He snorted a little. "At least I feel better about someone like Ines ousting me from power. It means that I wasn't bested by a woman so sub-par and with such _moral_ motivations."

"Of course you do," Moran muttered, sitting again and rubbing at his eye. "What the hell is she imprisoned for, anyway?"

"She's imprisoned because she's a menace to society. And because she began killing as a child. Killing _other_ children, not just animals like most psychopaths," he snorted. "Killing other children... why does _that_ sound _familiar..."_

He ignored Jim's commentary for the moment. "So is there anything we can do besides running with our tail between our legs to the Holmes brothers, of all fucking people?"

"Besides attempting to create a mole in a non-essential part of the prison, or constant surveillance, no. We can wait. That's it."

He was getting over the shock now and moving on to anger, but he did his best to keep that contained. Jim was being surprisingly humble about all of this. "Right."

He took a deep breath, pouring himself another glass of bourbon and taking this one a little more slowly.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me, Jim?" He asked finally. "How many fucking times do we have to revisit that roof?"

"I don't know, Sebastian," he said, defeated. "I don't know. I thought it was an embarrassing secret I could keep to myself. I was young, and stupid, and I didn't care about living. She always said I wasn't very interested in living, and she was right."

He shook his head, reaching out to pour more bourbon, despite the fact that he could feel the heat rolling through him already. "Alright. We'll fix this. Just... don't ever pull something like that again, Jim."

"I haven't, if it makes you feel any better," he shook his head. "Don't say I don't learn from my _mistakes."_

He sighed, and nodded. "I've made plenty of them. We'll fix this." He sipped his drink quietly. "I'll need to tell Harrison. We're both working on Ines."

"Considering she's your replacement in any event resulting in your unfortunate absence, she's privy to most things we discuss," he agreed. "I know you're almost completely unlikely to betray me, and she only would for you, so," he shrugged, rolling his eyes.

He decided not to respond to that, just sipped his drink quietly.

Jim let the silence stand for a few minutes before he spoke again. "We shouldn't let Euros know we've found her sign. Not yet. It will delay her movement, let us get contingencies in place. For now, we make no move. We'll only be showing our hand."

He nodded just a little bit. "I agree," he said quietly. "Right now we have an advantage. Do we tell Ines what we found? See what she knows?"

He nodded. "Might as well. She's not going anywhere, and the scans didn't bring up any electronics or foreign bodies that could be bugs."

He downed his glass. "Then with that in mind, sir, I'm going to go sober up and talk to Harrison... We have work to do."

He nodded again. "Alright. Dismissed."

He stood, and headed for the door without saying anything else, just trying to process.

Lorna was asleep in bed, blissfully unaware of any major developments, which was the way she liked it.

He keyed into the flat and headed over to the bedroom, the bourbon starting to hit him rather strongly. He flopped down onto the bed, bouncing Lorna, and reached out to tap her arm. "Hey. Hey, wake up."

She groaned, eyes cracking open to look at him. "Wha? What is it? Why do you smell like booze this early?"

"Because I just had one of the most alcohol-required conversations of my life," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

She frowned, rolling onto her side to face him completely. "What? What's happened?"

"Ready for this?" he asked, though he knew she couldn't be. "There's another Holmes, one who's smarter than Jim. She put him up to the Holmes Games, and is evidently pissed at him for surviving them. And she's carved a greeting saying as much on Ines's ribs." He fumbled with his phone as he spoke, finally bringing up the photo of the x-ray and handing it to her.

"Wow..." she muttered, looking a little mind-blown. "Jeez... What do we do?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. Jim was less than helpful. Wants to reach out to the Holmes brothers. Evidently they're the ones that have her in lockup." He rolled onto his back.

She let out a long breath. "Well... howdy." Was all she could think to say, which was an odd thing to say. "Yeesh. That's a lot to absorb."

"Howdy?" he snorted, looking over at her. "I tell you our... network was taken over by an outside force that makes Jim consi'er the Holmes brothers... An' you say Howdy?"

"I just woke up, leave me alone! I'm not the one who got hammered, so I'm allowed to say whatever comes to my mind first," she retorted defensively. "What do you _want_ me to say?"

"I dunno," he sighed. "I mostly said 'Jesus' an' 'fuck' a lot." He rubbed at his face. "Th' fuck was he thinking..."

"I don't know how you expect _me_ to know," she muttered, yawning. "That's above my pay grade."

He shrugged, yawning in response, though his ended in a wet sounding cough and he made a face, sitting up to go find allergy medication.

She frowned a little at the cough, watching him disappear into the bathroom. She loved the kitten, but if he was really that allergic... She shook off the thought. Allergic people had red eyes and runny noses, they sneezed before they coughed. He was just getting a cold.

He returned a minute later, rubbing at his sternum absently and flopping on his back on the bed again. "I had a lot of bourbon," he said, grinning at her upside down.

She laughed, shaking her head. "I know, I can tell. I don't think you've been this drunk in a couple years."

"It was good bourbon. And a baaaad conversation. So I drank a lot," he said with a grin. He reached out to grab her then, pulling her into an awkward sort of upside down hug.

She squeaked, pulled into an awkward position. "Okay, how about you let me go and we redo this?"

He let out a mildly annoyed huff, but released her, sprawling his arms spread eagle across the bed and stretching.

She moved over and curled up against his side, head pillowed on his massive shoulder. She chuckled a little. "You really smell like bourbon. Did you spill any on your clothes?"

"No," he snorted, insulted. "I'm not _that_ drunk."

"That's what _you_ say," she chuckled, nestling into him. "It's cute."

"I'm not _cute_ ," he protested, though he wrapped heavy arms around her.

She smirked, shifting to kiss his cheek. "Sure you aren't."

"You keep being patroni-" he broke off into a fit of coughs, croupy and painful, and made a face. He cleared his throat when it finally eased, and took a breath. "What was I saying? I dunno. Don't be a dick."

"I'm not being a dick, I just very much love you," she shrugged, patting his chest absently. "You're easiest to be affectionate to when you're drunk. Sue me, I'm taking advantage of it."

He muttered something unintelligible. He was rather unpleasantly drunk now, his head spinning when his eyes closed. "Love you too..."

She fell silent for a few minutes, just enjoying his presence, and a little too sleepy for anything else. "Do you think maybe you should get your cough checked out at the infirmary? I'm not convinced it's the kitten. What if you're getting the flu?"

"It's the fucking cat, Har'son," he muttered. "Shinyfuck's all up in my airways."

"If you insist. But when you get the flu I'm reserving the right to say I told you so," she shrugged, kissing his cheek again. "I ordered my wedding dress."

He smirked. "If I get the flu, you're getting it with me," he pointed out. He shifted to look at her with bleary eyes. "Oh? Whatssit look like?"

"That'd be spoiling it, wouldn't it?" She smirked. "You'll just have to wait. I promise you'll like it."

"How'm I s'posed t'match, then?" he asked grumpily.

"I'll send you a close-up so you can see the color. Style-wise, Kelly helped order it, so you can talk to him for direction."

"Kelly knows?" he asks blearily. "S'the whole departmen' know? Or jus' Kelly?"

"Just Kelly, although it's not exactly an earthshattering secret," she said. "Everyone saw what happened to me when I lost you, and before that your department saw you emasculate Johnson for suggesting he might make a better partner. I didn't even tell Kelly it was for _my_ wedding, but he ordered it in my size without needing to ask."

He let out a quiet, distressed groan. "They're gonna think we're _soft_ , Lorna..." he muttered.

"I shot a woman in the elevator today because she tried to slutshame me," she deadpanned. "If we need to we'll hold monthly demonstrations of me being socked in the stomach by a sock full of change and watch me be unaffected. And, honestly, there's a good portion of them who are _married themselves._ It's not about being soft. It's one of the hardest things I've ever done, I don't know about you."

He harrumphed, but didn't have a counter-argument to that, and closed his eyes again.

She let out a long, relaxed breath, eyes slipping shut. She still had some time before she was on duty, and she could use that to drift back off to sleep.

He tried to nap as well, but the cough kept him awake, and he ended up waiting for the alcohol to wear off with Lorna sleeping next to him.

* * *

The next few days were slow. He left Ines alone, mulling over the best way to approach the message on her ribs. Mostly he focused on restructuring security and keeping people in order. Today, he'd spent most of his morning in the flat, answering emails. This was partly due to his backlogged inbox, and partly to the fact that his occasional cough had developed into a full-on nuisance, and he was avoiding Lorna's smug glances.

Keira sat on her bed, looking down at her phone, trying to get up the courage to send the text. It shouldn't be so hard. He was her father, after all. Maybe that just made it harder. She sighed, shaking her head for a moment, then taking in a deep breath and hitting send.

 _Hi. Can we talk? K_

His phone buzzed and he was tempted to ignore it, but it wasn't Lorna's pattern so he took it out of his pocket. He raised an eyebrow, then responded. _Come to my flat._

She sent an affirmation text, then stood and headed for the door, suppressing her nervousness enough that no one looking at her would be able to tell. Three minutes later she knocked on his door, resisting the urge to jiggle her leg.

He sighed and got up, walking over and glancing through the peephole before opening the door. "Come on," he said, voice hoarse.

"Hey," she said, stepping in with a duck of her head. "Sorry for the abrupt text. Just thought we should... clear the air, or something."

"You mean the air in which you held a shotgun on me?" He asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow as he closed the door behind her. He cleared his throat, trying to stifle a cough, but it followed anyway.

"Yeah, I guess," she sighed, rubbing the back of her neck and up into her short hair. "I know I was stupid. I just wanted to... apologize?"

He sighed. "Sit. I need a drink." He walked over to the liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and after a glance at Keira, one glass. "I think maybe you can stay sober for a bit after that drunk driving stunt you pulled a few months ago," he muttered, pouring a double and returning the bottle to the cabinet.

She thought about protesting, but that seemed like maybe it was counterproductive, so she bit the inside of her lip and nodded a little, sitting down at the end of the couch. Then she frowned a little. "How did _you_ hear about that?"

"Ines," he said, sitting at the far end of the couch and downing the whiskey in one go. It burned his throat, and he had to concentrate for a moment on not breaking out into a coughing fit. "She thought it was amusing to tell me about all the ways you were almost getting yourself killed."

She swallowed hard, nodding a little, her elbows on her legs, hands held together in front of her. "...Great."

He looked over at her, and sighed. "Don't let it eat you, alright?"

"Kinda hard not to let it," she laughed, mostly so she didn't cry. This was the biggest betrayal she'd ever been through. Sure, her previous network had tried to get her killed by her own father, but that had been largely impersonal. This had been as personal as it could get. "Wouldn't it eat at you?"

He muttered something and stood up. "I need food," he said as he headed for the kitchen. "Come eat."

She nodded, standing and following him to the kitchen, remaining silent.

He pulled out some leftover drunken noodles from the fridge, dividing them between two bowls and sticking one in the microwave. "You're going to get betrayed in this game. By people who you trusted. Look at you, you almost shot me. That stung my pride a bit, not going to lie."

"I didn't think you cared that much, honestly," she said, shrugging a little and leaning against the counter. "Even before I thought you just abandoned me... I don't know."

"I wouldn't abandon you, alright? Let's just set that as the bottom line." He pulled the noodles out of the microwave and handed it to her, covering another round of coughing before putting his own in. "You're my kid. That means something."

"You didn't exactly make that clear," she pointed out, snorting and taking the bowl, moving to sit down at the table.

"Do I look like the sort of person who makes that clear?" He asked dryly, his voice like gravel. He leaned against the counter. "You don't make these things clear in this industry. That's not how surviving works."

"So how am I supposed to know, then?" She protested, sitting there without silverware.

He eyed her, and sighed, pulling a fork out of a drawer and tossing it at her. "I don't know, fucking figure it out!" he growled. He looked at her for a moment, and shook his head. "I can't be your father here. That doesn't work. If I had stayed with your mother... Sometimes I wonder."

"Well that's a hell of a thing to walk into," Lorna said from the doorway, eyes sharp on Sebastian. Keira froze.

He looked up, and lines tensed all over his body, expression locking down. "Keira, I think we're done clearing the air," he said, glancing over at her. "Take the food with you."

Keira made a sort of "Yup" sound, grabbed the bowl, and slipped around Lorna like she was made of a liquid, and was gone a moment later. Lorna put down her bag of takeout on the counter. "I got sushi. Thought I'd _surprise_ you." Her voice was flinty.

"I appreciate that," he said, externally calm, waiting to see what she would do.

She stared at him for moment, trying to figure out what she wanted to say. She wanted it to be hurtful, but she resisted that urge. Spiteful, she didn't quite escape. "So, uh, _how_ often _exactly_ do you wish you were with Keira's mother instead?" She challenged, raising her eyebrows.

"I never said that," he responded, standing up fully. "I never said I would be happier with her than with you."

"No, but have you _thought_ it?" She shot back, crossing her arms over her chest, leaning back on one leg. It was a posture she developed when she was hurt and needed to hide it.

"Why are you even asking me that?" he asked, clearing his throat and wincing slightly. "Of course not. Why are we even having this conversation?"

"Because I walked in to you telling your daughter something about staying with her mother, a woman who you have admitted to me _before_ you saw a future with. Did she _also_ fight for your affection, or did you just go ahead and give it to her?"

"I wasn't even out of high school," he snorted. "And you took that whole conversation entirely out of context. Stop being paranoid, it doesn't suit you. You should have more confidence than this by now," he snapped. He headed for the living room. He didn't want to talk about this.

"Oh, _should_ I?" She snarled, turning to track him. "Moran, it's only been in the last few _months_ that I've even considered being openly affectionate. I _O._ a few months ago because you called us off, again. I think being paranoid is called for, thanks."

"Jesus, Lorna, this has nothing to do with us!" he growled, which just set off another round of coughing. He held up a finger until he got his breath back. "Just leave it. I'm happy with you."

"Then what the fuck does it have to do with, Sebastian?" She asked helplessly, finding herself quickly changing from anger to defensive tears, and she blinked hard to keep them at bay.

"Jesus fuck..." he muttered, walking over to the liquor cabinet and opening it, before slamming it shut again. "The fact that I want kids, Lorna!" he yelled a moment later, rounding on her. "Alright? I fucking want kids. And I can't ever have that with you, and with this job, and so yeah, sometimes I think about how much less I would have been tortured and lied to if I had just stayed in fucking _Ireland!"_

She fell entirely silent, shocked. She didn't know how long the silence lasted before she broke it, a couple of tears spilling from her eyes. "God, Sebastian... I'm sorry. I didn't know," she said quietly, and after a second looked away, rubbing her eyes. She'd never liked kids, and she'd always known that she'd make a terrible mother. But if she was going to have kids with anyone, she would have wanted to have kids with him. It broke her heart that he couldn't have that.

"Jesus," he said again, looking at her for a moment before shaking his head. "Nope," he muttered, heading into their room and then the bathroom, closing the door. He was breathing hard, gripping the sink with white knuckles, heart pounding. The fucking _pity_ in her eyes... He swore under his breath, eyes shutting. _She thinks you're soft. She felt_ sorry _for you, looked at you like you were weak... Jim is going to find out, and then what? All because you couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut..._

His fingers were cold on the marble, trigger finger aching, and he let go suddenly, grabbing a soap dish and hurling it with a yell of rage. It shattered in the tub, and he took a breath that hitched hard, and wheezed. He swore as coughs overtook him, but his anger was put on hold as they became stronger than usual. He put a hand on the sink again, the other covering his mouth as his lungs spasmed. He tried to get a breath, but it wasn't coming, and he tasted metal. He got a half breath in before it started again, almost to the point of gagging now. He glanced in the mirror, confused, and saw a purpling face with bloody teeth staring back between jolts.

She was at the door as soon as there was a shattering of glass, and she opened it to his coughing fit, finding him purple and struggling to breathe. Her eyes grew wide. "Fuck, fuck, are you okay? Do you need to go to the infirmary?" She asked anxiously, then decided, yes, he did, when she saw blood, and whipped around, running for her phone in the other room, and calling for a team to come retrieve him.

He tried to tell her that no, he absolutely did _not_ need to go to the infirmary, but the difficulty of getting enough oxygen to do that made him reconsider. The world started swimming, and he sat hard, managing a wheezing breath as he did so before his lungs gave up again.

She came back into the bathroom, kneeling down in front of him, looking very worried. "They're on their way, okay? Just hold on until then, Seb; try to breathe slowly."

He flipped her off half-heartedly, closing his eyes and focusing on trying to get air into his lungs. There was more blood in his mouth now, and he kept choking on it, the metal tang filling his sinuses and windpipe.

She sat with him until she heard the knock on the door, and stood to jog over and throw it open, letting the medical team inside. "He's in the bathroom."

He lasted about long enough to see the team come in, before his vision blacked out entirely and he dropped unconscious.

The medics dropped a stretcher beside him, one reaching out to get a pulse. "Pulse is rapid, breathing very irregular..." they rolled him onto the stretcher and lifted on a three-count, moving to the gurney just outside the bathroom door and then heading for the lift, the woman still checking vitals.

Lorna hovered just behind them, anxious. "He's had this cough for a few days. It's been getting worse and worse."

The man pushing the gurney looked at her as they moved into the lift and he hit the emergency override for the med bay. "Has he had any other symptoms?"

She shook her head. "No. Just really bad coughing."

He nodded, and didn't ask any more questions as the lift opened and they jogged out into the med bay, already calling for assistance. A few doctors were waiting, and started moving with them, getting sensors in place. A moment later they disappeared into one of the triage rooms and the curtain was pulled shut.

She stopped in the middle of the waiting room, staring after them, eyes wide, biting the inside of her cheek. God, what was wrong with him? _Don't let this be what takes you out, Sebastian, I swear to god..._

* * *

Playlist - P!nk - Secrets


	138. Worst Case Scenario

Five minutes later, Jim came striding out of the lift, eyes sharp. He headed for Lorna immediately. "What's happening?"

"Jim, fuck," she muttered, shaking her head at herself. She'd completely forgotten to tell him, she was so wrapped up in worrying about Moran. "He passed out, unable to breathe. He's been coughing worse and worse all week. I _told_ him to get it checked out..."

"Have they told you anything?" he pressed, walking over toward the triage room and stopping just short, as if leashed, his whole body straining forward.

"No," she replied, shaking her head, tapping her fingers anxiously against her leg. "Nothing. It hasn't been long enough, I don't think."

"Go n-ithe an cat thú, is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat," he spat at the curtain, shoving his hands into his pockets, and closing his eyes. He took a slow breath, and when they opened he was calm. "No sense waiting here. I'll be working. Keep me posted."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Doctors and nurses moved in and out of Sebastian's room over the next few minutes, but it wasn't until almost a half an hour later that a nurse approached Lorna. "We have him stabilized," he said before she could ask. "He had fluid in his lungs, but we aren't sure of the cause as yet. We're running tests. For right now we have him on oxygen and we're giving him an antitussive to help with the cough."

She nodded, pulling out her phone and quickly updating Jim before looking back up at the nurse. "Is he out? Can I see him?"

"He's awake," he said with a nod. "Actually we were hoping you could talk him into staying. At the moment he's attempting to discharge himself. And making rather graphic threats of violence if we don't comply."

"Of course he is," she muttered under her breath, then nodded. "Yes, of course. Take me to him."

He nodded, bringing her back to one of the rooms adjoining triage. Moran was there, sitting in the bed and cussing out a nurse holding an oxygen mask. She seemed unphased by his ire. "-have plenty of work to do and the _last_ thing I need is you goddamned people breathing down my fucking neck," he said in a voice that was rough and broke frequently.

"Sebastian, stop," Lorna said in her most authoritative tone, stopping at the foot of the bed with her arms crossed over her chest. "You know you're just being childish."

He looked over at her, and then waved his hand. "Go," he muttered to the nurse.

"Sir, I have to insist that you-" she started, lifting the mask, but he cut her off.

"Leave it and _go_." She sighed, but set it on the bed beside him and left.

She relaxed a little as the door shut behind the nurse, and sighed, moving to sit by his bed. "They're running tests. Until they say you're okay, please listen to them."

"Don't patronize me," he said stiffly, shifting to sit cross-legged. His chest burned, and his throat was raw.

She raised her eyebrows. "I'm not patronizing you," she retorted. "Nor, by the way, to head this off at the pass, do I think you're soft or anything similar for.. what you said earlier," she said sternly, glancing towards the door, her voice hushed. "I saw your look. Don't do that shit. You know I hate it."

He sighed, pressing his face into his hands and rubbing at his eyes. His chest was tight, breathing more difficult than usual, but like hell if he was going to sit there with that fucking mask on. "You were pitying me. You know _I_ hate _that_."

"Sebastian, I'm allowed to feel bad for you!" She snapped, years tired of his macho tendencies. "It's not pity! It's _empathy."_

"I wasn't looking for any of that," he shot back, and had to pause to hold off a cough. "I just wanted you to understand that I didn't want to be with Keira's mother. That's all."

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "I know. But I can't help it. Please don't think it's a weakness of yours when _I_ empathize with you. It's not a reflection of you, it's a reflection of me. It's me _caring_ about you."

He looked away, and sighed, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "I know. I just... it's a failure on my part, Lorna. I'm going soft." He reached out to flick the oxygen mask away in disgust. "And it's eating me alive."

"The obsession with not being soft is going to kill you, Sebastian," she said tiredly. "It's only you and Jim and any other crazy ex-soldiers. No one else cares. They're too afraid of what you'll do to them."

"Yeah, well, it's not really anyone else I give much of a shit about, Lorna," he retorted. "Jim is my primary concern."

"Well it's not like I'm going to go tell Jim," she said, exasperated. "And Jim isn't psychic, as much as he'd like to be."

He looked over at her, and he knew he was being unreasonable. He shifted slightly, elbows on his knees, and looked away again. "It doesn't make me want this any less. Want you less."

"Okay," she said softly. "I believe you. Sorry I was... Unreasonable."

He shrugged. "I wasn't exactly reasonable, so we could probably call it even."

She nodded, then reached out to put a hand over his. "Did you make any progress with Keira?"

He glanced down at their hands, then turned his over to grip hers. It didn't mean much to him. She was here, that was what counted, but he knew she'd feel better. "A bit, I think. I don't know. We got cut short."

She smiled a little sheepishly. "Sorry. At least there's sushi in the flat now."

" _If_ they ever let me out-"

The nurse from before opened the door. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we're ready to take x-rays now."

Lorna nodded, retrieving her hand. "I'll wait in here, shall I?" She doubted he would enjoy it if she hovered.

He nodded a little, swinging his feet off the bed and standing, going to follow the nurse.

* * *

They returned him twenty minutes later, and then it was just sitting and waiting. He was impatient, and hungry, and annoyed, and was about to just go walk out and deal with the consequences later, when one of the doctors entered, nodding to him and Lorna. "Hello, sir. I'm Dr. Katryn Davies. I have some preliminary information..." She glanced at Harrison, but he waved off the concern.

"She can stay."

The woman hesitated for a moment until Lorna gestured impatiently for her to get on with it.

She sighed, but nodded a little. "I want to preface this with the fact that we aren't sure of anything at this point. I've ordered more extensive testing be done, and it will be a few days before we get those results," she hedged. Then she turned on an x-ray viewer on the wall and dimmed the lights. She pulled a sheet out of her folder and put it up on the viewer. The view was of his ribcage, and his lungs. There were two blue circles drawn on his left lung, around two large whitish spots that weren't on the right. "These," Davies said, pointing to the circles, "Shouldn't be there. As I said, I cannot be certain until our cultures of your phlegm come back, but I've seen similar growths many times and you need to prepare yourself." She shifted, turning the light back on and looking Moran in the eye, her own expression careful. "Mr. Moran, I believe it likely that you have stage two lung cancer."

She said other things after that, but he wasn't listening, his gaze shifting back to the x-ray on the wall, at the two masses that shouldn't be there. He reached up absently to touch his ribs.

Lorna owed it to all her grifting skills that she didn't break down into tears as soon as the woman said the word 'cancer'. She did her best to pay attention to what she had to say, about the odds of survival and estimated times, but when the doctor finished she was very near to losing it, her hands clutching her thighs, hard.

"The most important thing is not to give up hope," Davies was saying, looking earnest and sounding cliche. "If it _is_ cancer- and we don't know that it is- It's at an early stage. It's treat-"

"Thank you, doctor, I think that will be all for now," Moran said calmly, staring her down. She nodded.

"Of course. I'll give you two some time." She turned to go, and Moran called her back.

"Oh, and Dr. Davies... Don't tell Moriarty about this. I'll inform him myself." She hesitated, but then bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment and left without a word.

He stayed silent, too. What was there to say?

She waited until the door was shut before she got up and walked over to lock it, then walked back to climb into the bed with him. She let the silence stand.

He reached out after a moment and pulled her into a hug that was almost too tight, tucking her in against his chest and just staring at the wall, expressionless, his breathing robotically steady, a slight wheeze the only indication that anything was wrong.

She couldn't think of anything to say. Not one thing. This was too scary. Too _real._ Yet still, it felt like such an intangible threat. _Cancer._ She realized that she was crying silently.

He felt the damp patch slowly growing on his rumpled shirt, and rubbed her back a little bit, finally blinking and focusing on something but the wall. "Hey. Come on, none of that."

"Sorry," she said softly, wrapping her arm around his side. "Just kinda happened."

"Yeah..." He trailed off into silence again. "Faced worse odds than that on plenty of missions," he said finally. "Mycroft Holmes is more deadly than cancer, I am positive."

She nodded a little, resolutely. "You're right. You can beat this, no problem. We've escaped worse."

He nodded, chin brushing the top of her head. Then he took a breath. "I need to tell Jim. He'll be furious if I delay."

She nodded, shifting off of him after a moment. "I assume I should stay away from that conversation?"

He took a slow breath, then nodded. "Yeah. I'll meet you back in the flat. I'm sure as hell not staying here."

"Okay, but I'm going to ask if there's anything I can take to the flat that will help with your lungs. A humidifier, or dehumidifier, I don't know," she sighed, sliding off the bed and standing up.

"Fine," he said, standing as well. He didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to think about what this would mean, about the treatment and the sickness and the fucking _machines_... He straightened his shirt and headed for the door. "I'll see you there in a bit."

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "Alright. I'll see you there. Sushi, remember."

"Sushi," he called back over his shoulder, before heading to the lift and pressing the call button. He was running the situation over in his head- not the implications, not remotely. Those he was avoiding like the plague. But how to tell Jim... That was a different matter entirely. He still hadn't come up with a solution by the time he reached Jim's door, and found himself knocking out of habit before he had a chance to suggest to himself that he pause to strategize.

"Come in," he said, looking up in anticipation at Sebastian's knock. So he was up and about. That was good.

He opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him and taking a breath- an action which felt so much more sacred now. He walked over to stand in front of Jim's desk. "Sir... We need to talk."

Jim's attention was completely undivided. "Speak, then."

He was quiet for a moment, eyes on Jim, and then on the window behind him. Then he sat in the chair, elbows on his knees. In the end, he went with the only approach he had ever really taken with Jim- blunt. He looked up, held the other man's gaze, took a breath. When he spoke he was vividly aware of how gravelly his voice sounded. "They think I have lung cancer, boss. They aren't sure, but they seem pretty confident."

Jim was still for a long time after that, his mind short-circuiting for a bit. Cancer. He'd always imagined Moran dying in a pool of blood, or under a scalpel, or underneath the barrel of his gun. _Cancer._ He threw the glass on his desk at the wall, unblinking as it shattered. He looked back at Moran. "How bad is it?"

He turned to watch the glass shatter, some part of him interested in the dispassionate way Jim had thrown it. As if he had just done it because he felt he should. "If they're right? Stage two. I'll need surgery, probably chemo... About a thirty percent chance of making it five years." He spoke calmly, as if briefing Jim on a mission's specs.

"Fucking Christ, Moran," he said wearily, dragging a hand down his face. "Of all the _bullshit_ ways..." Really, he was angry. They'd already watched him die _once._

"Believe me, I'm not thrilled," he agreed. "I'm not planning on dying, but if you're going to put me down I would appreciate it if you decided to do so before I deal with chemo."

Jim snorted angrily. "No, I'm not going to put you down. I expect you to fucking fight this. I'm not losing my right hand man of at the very fucking least the better part of a decade to a fluke."

Something in him eased slightly, and he nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused to cover a cough instead. He took a moment, then returned his attention to Jim, and nodded. "Then I'm going to need access to specialists. Some vacation time. And we should start discussing a replacement, because at the very least I'm going to be out of commission for a while fighting this."

"Yes, agreed," he nodded, drumming his fingers on the desk. "Start thinking about replacement material once you've gathered the specialists you need. Fly them in, if you need to. The closer you are the more Harrison can continue doing her job. I assume her usability will be similarly limited with you sick," he said, irritated but pragmatic.

"I'll do my best to prevent that, sir, but it's likely," he agreed. He stood. "Anything else, sir?"

"This was shit timing, Tiger," he muttered, then waved his hand. "Have them prep one of the live-ins. I need to burn off some _steam."_

He nodded, and headed for the door without another word. He didn't have the energy to spar with Jim at the moment. He felt empty. He called down to the basement as he got into the lift, and hung up by the time he was at the flat door. He paused for a moment, then scanned in.


	139. Nuclear Fallout

Lorna was sitting on the sofa, a sushi spread laid out on the coffee table, watching a nature documentary on the television with a cup of sake in her hand. She looked up as he walked in and smiled, like nothing was wrong. That was how she could help Sebastian. He hated pity, and her heart was broken, but he needed normalcy, not her tears. "Hey. Your favorite is on. Birds. Oh, did I say _your_ favorite?"

He rolled his eyes, walking over and picking up a piece of tuna sashimi. "You are such a dork. I cannot understand how you think _sniping_ is boring and yet you're content to wander around a park for hours counting sparrows."

"When have you ever known me to walk around the park counting sparrows," she rolled her eyes, picking up a salmon roll. "Honestly, it's not that sniping is _boring,_ it's just not as exciting as grifting."

"I haven't, but you'd be content doing it," he retorted, sitting next to her and leaning back, biting into the tuna and chewing slowly, closing his eyes with a sigh of content and trying to pretend he could turn his brain off.

"Not for measly _sparrows_ I wouldn't," she scoffed, pausing for a minute as she popped the roll into her mouth and chewed it up.

"Oh, terribly sorry. How about..." he eyed the telly. "Purple herons?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. I don't exactly have a lot of opportunities to bird watch."

He smirked, finishing the sashimi and sitting up, glancing over his options and picking up his plate, loading it with a sampling. "Take up sniping and you could do it while you wait."

She shrugged, following his example and making herself a plate. "I'll take up sniping if you teach me it, but you would _have_ to fuck me on a roof at least once."

He grinned, close-mouthed, not responding until he swallowed his mouthful of food. "Well, that's a hardship I'll have to just deal with."

"Good," she smirked, eyes on the tv. "I've kinda had a fantasy about it."

"Oh?" he asked, reaching out to grab the kitten by the scruff as she got ready to jump up onto the table and have a go at the sushi. He held her off to the side while she meowed indignantly, and continued eating.

"Yup," she said, getting up to take Magpie from him and disappearing into the bedroom to lock her in before walking back out. "I mean, you're a sniper, am I gonna _not?"_

"So what does this fantasy involve, precisely?" he asked, raising his eyebrow.

"Me, gun in hand, you, behind me, distracting me from the mission," she shrugged, sitting back down and eating a piece of sashimi before continuing. "Which is why it's a fantasy."

He smiled a little at that. "When was the last time you sniped, anyway?"

"Years. Before we started fucking. So about seven years," she chuckled. "I was pretty good, but it just wasn't for me. Plus, it was a waste of my talents."

"We should get you an assignment," he suggested with a small smirk. "Make that fantasy happen."

"Hell, I'm not going to say no," she chuckled, smirking back. "It should be a low priority target, though. Or we could make one up."

"I'll find something," he agreed with a smile. "I'm enjoying the image I have of you with my gun."

She chuckled around a mouthful of a roll, then swallowed to speak. "This is like the thing men get with women wearing their clothing to the max, isn't it?" she laughed. "I'm sure I'll look good holding it. D'you want me to make a pinup calendar with it?"

"I really wouldn't say no," he said, biting into a spicy salmon roll. The wasabi sent heat down his throat and he coughed roughly, almost choking on the food before he managed to swallow properly, and took another drink.

She reached over to pat him once on the back, purposefully unhelpful, winking at him once. She could do normalcy. She had to, for him. She couldn't let him see what this was doing to her. "I'll get right on that, then. If we're feeling particularly spiteful we can send one to Johnson. Really rub in his emasculation."

"One to him, and one to Vince," he said with a smirk. "But edit both of their versions with Mycroft Holmes' face over yours so that they can't enjoy it."

"But then it won't be so obvious it's _me,"_ she pointed out, leaning against his shoulder. "If we're going to do that might as well just grab any old calendar."

"You honestly don't think they'll know it's you by your body? Especially Vince. He knew your measurements before we got to New York for stocking that creepy closet of yours. But the other option would be to leave your face and put Holmes over your various assets." He smiled at the thought.

"I forgot that the closet was creepy, honestly," she muttered, frowning, "It was just all so _tasteful._ Ugh. I can't believe I had to leave it all behind." She brightened up. "I could do a couple in very obvious bridal wear. Very obvious ring, maybe a veil. _That_ would fuck up Vince. Johnson probably wouldn't get that far, honestly. I bet he'd throw it out immediately."

He grinned. "Perfect. I wonder whether they were able to sew his dick back on? I should find out. Never bothered asking."

"Mm, me neither. I'd express my sympathy if he hadn't been asking for it so desperately," she rolled her eyes. "Honestly, it's still hard for me to believe that he tried to encroach on your 'territory'. That's like a harp seal squaring up against an elephant seal."

"It isn't even really the fact that he was encroaching on my territory... He was treating you like an object. That doesn't do either of us any favors." His nose wrinkled slightly in disgust.

She shrugged. "As a grifter, it's actually quite helpful. Who cares what you say in front of the woman? She's not a person. She doesn't have her own motivations or opinions. It's beneficial for people to underestimate me. Even in HQ, it can be helpful. They try to get in my space, and don't realize that I have a knife ready to gut them. Either way, I'm used to it. I appreciate it, though."

"You're not a grifter anymore, not first and foremost. You're Jim's third. You can't afford the luxury of that particular brand of 'helpfulness'." He decided he was full, and put his feet up on the table, relaxing.

She sighed heavily. "I can't rely on brute intimidation like you can, you have to remember. I have to surprise people."

"Physical intimidation is one thing, and yes, you can't rely on it. But I've seen you intimidate people just fine. You need to make sure you have a reputation of being someone that no one wants to cross." _I'm not always going to be here to glare at people over your shoulder._

"I already do, for the smart ones," she muttered, rolling her eyes a little. "It's those fucking _stupid_ ones..."

"Then you need to find a way to make it _abundantly_ clear," he stated firmly, which his lungs resented, retorting with rough coughs a moment later. He swore under his breath.

He was being more insistent than usual, and she didn't like it. It felt like he was trying to make sure she would be okay if he died. "Alright, whatever you say," she relented, raising her shoulders a little, defensively. "Either way, I think it's fun when you step in on my behalf. I like watching you scare people."

He half opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it again and started packing leftover sushi away. "Sure."

She raised her eyebrows a little. "Sure?"

He shrugged. "It isn't worth arguing about. I don't care." He stood up, bringing the leftovers into the kitchen.

"Arguing about _what?"_ She asked, mystified.

"Whether or not you need to make a formidable presence for yourself." He put the sushi in the fridge, and then leaned against the door for a moment. He felt tired, in more ways that one.

"I gave in, didn't I?" she said, standing and heading into the kitchen after him. "I don't want to argue, either. And it's not like you're wrong. I'm just... a little stuck in the past, maybe."

He didn't bother responding to that, straightening once he heard her approaching, posture returning to normal.

She considered him as she entered the kitchen, and leaned against the entry frame. "I love you so much, you know that? It hurts. But god, I'd never give it up."

That hit a chord he wasn't expecting, an ache reverberating deep in his rusty soul, and he didn't dare look at her. "Seems a bit stupid now, doesn't it?"

She shook her head a little. "What seems stupid?"

"Doing this to ourselves," he said, straightening his shirt habitually. "A relationship. Marriage."

She chuckled a little. "We haven't even gotten married, yet. But no, I don't think it's stupid. I don't know if I would have made it this far without this. You. Not with the shit that's happened to me."

"A lot of it wouldn't have happened. My father, your mother..." He shrugged. "Getting married doesn't make too much sense at the moment, anyways."

Her stomach dropped a little, and she half turned away, biting the inside of her cheek. She disagreed, but couldn't bring herself to say anything. This would be a fight, and she couldn't bear one right now.

He looked over at her once she turned away, saw the stiffness of her shoulders. "It's... You can be not okay, if you want."

She swallowed hard, still unable to look at him despite his permission. "I... _Doesn't_ it make sense, Seb? Fuck, if you.. if you _die_ I don't just want to be your _girlfriend."_

"Why not?" he asked, leaning against the counter. He was suddenly oddly calm. "You would rather be a widow? How does that make your life any better?"

"Because then at least I'm _your_ widow," she said, lifting her head and looking at him, her eyes a little glassy.

He worked his jaw for a moment, uncertain how to respond to that. Looking at her, he knew- she was far from alright. She had dealt with his death already, far too recently. Had mourned him, had tried and failed to move on, only to have the rug ripped out from under her when he resurfaced with Ines. But this... There was no doubting this. No rug under either of them, no last minute plot twist. Just a diagnosis. Cold and simple. When this was over, if he died, he would be dead and that would be it. But she was going to have to watch him die and keep going.

She wasn't okay, and he needed to fix that somehow.

"Then we'll get married," he said calmly, nodding, eyes on hers. "Like we were planning. And make Armetti skype in, the bastard."

She nodded a little, looking away again and trying not to let the tears building up in her eyes spill over. "Sounds like a plan to me." She cleared her throat a little, stifling a sniff. "Thank you."

He nodded, too, and then walked out of the kitchen, across the living room, into the bedroom. "I'm going to shower."

She nodded and started to clean up the rest of the dishes, giving him his space. It was better for her. She could cry freely.

He opened the bathroom door, stepping inside. The place was spotless, and he knew their cleaner must have come through to get the blood off the floor. He turned on the shower and stripped out of his clothes. He wanted to wash the scent of the med bay off of him.

She cleaned up the coffee table and the kitchen and then couldn't keep herself under control anymore, sinking to the floor of the kitchen, her back against the cabinets, and just cried. Oh, how often she ended up like this. On a kitchen floor, trying to forget the latest trauma. This time, she didn't turn to alcohol. She knew that if she started it would be hard to stop, and she couldn't sink into alcoholism while he was sick. She was going to have to take care of him, and she couldn't do that if he was too busy trying to take care of her stupid ass. Eventually, she realized that this wasn't even entirely her problem. Keira had yet to find out, and eventually, the rest of HQ would know something was amiss. If things got truly bad, to the point that Moran couldn't even make a general public appearance to prove he was still kicking... There was a fresh bout of tears at that thought, her heart aching. God, it was happening _again._

He stayed in the hot shower for a long time. The steam eased what was becoming a familiar tightness in his lungs, so much more sinister now that he knew the cause. He was faced with the prospect of a slow death, and he tried to accustom himself to that. He needed to be strong. Needed to be certain that, no matter what happened, Jim and Lorna were taken care of. He knew what cancer did to people, but he would be different. He would not break. He was Sebastian Moran, the Butcher of London. He could handle a little cancer. He had faced worse odds.

Eventually she realized that he would not be in the shower forever, and she got up and tried to make herself look normal while she still had the time, but there would be no hiding her red eyes, and she could only decongest so much. She stood there unsure of what to do with herself for a minute or two, then exited the kitchen to find her laptop and sit down on the couch. Work. Something to occupy herself with.

He emerged a few minutes later, dry and in pajama trousers and a clean tee, and walked over to sit next to her. He had seen her face when he crossed the room, but didn't mention it, just shifted an arm around her shoulders casually.

She shifted a little to fit better under his arm and then returned to work, content to wait to speak for a few minutes. If she overcompensated too much it would be too obvious that she was trying to keep both their minds off the elephant in the room. "You know - I don't think the grifting department has had a fire in a while. Knock on wood."

He smirked a little. "Less due to their skill improving, I would say, and more due to your categorical ban on anything that could _start_ a fire."

"I learned a thing or two about fires and what causes them, that's for sure. I don't know if there's a single hot glue gun in my department anymore. We donated a lot of them to Props," she smirked.

"Ah, so we're just _shifting_ the fire plague," he smirked. "Or, are we hiring smarter people in props?"

"They're not using fabric as much in Props, and yes, they're usually smarter when it comes to making things," she smirked.

"I'll accept that," he sighed, grabbing the remote and turning on the telly, starting to search for a decent movie to watch. For once, he wanted to escape reality.

"I'm just glad Kelly has gotten his act together. Means I leave the grifting department in much more capable hands than I used to. Of course, he'd rather not lead, but that's alright. Means I don't have to watch my back quite as hard. Poor sod was relieved when we took back our places from Ines."

"Sounds familiar..." he hummed sarcastically. "Where have I heard that description of work ethic before...?"

She laughed. "Fuck, don't curse the man like that. Too much happened to me that changed my work ethic." She was silent for a brief moment, finishing typing a letter on her keyboard. "It actually occurred to me recently that I think my personality changed after my stroke. I used to be... different, somehow."

He glanced over at her. "Yeah, Jim mentioned that once or twice, come to think of it. He found it entertaining. At one point I think he was comparing brain scans."

"Jesus," she muttered, rolling her eyes a little and shutting the laptop. "'Course he was. If we end up having drinks like he promised, I'll ask if he still has those floating around. Put those in my medical file, where they should be. Last I saw the thing, there wasn't any brain scans in it."

"He's probably got them stashed away somewhere," he agreed, propping his feet up. He listened to the quiet narration as a shark swam past the documentary camera. He wondered if Jim would do drinks, now. What the man's long-term reaction to this news would be. He was bound to have some sort of plan, some way of preserving the network as best as possible... _Shit... I still need to tell Keira..._

"Somehow I doubt the man ever throws things out. Actually, I guess that's what his enormous brain is for, isn't it? There has to be a reason he has such a big head..." she trailed off, stifling a smirk.

"Feeling risky today, are we?" he asks dryly as the shark stalked a seal.

She shrugged, chuckling a little. "Some days you just gotta say 'fuck it.'"

"Today of all days," he agreed, smiling dryly.

She shifted her laptop off to the side and leaned against his side, pulling her legs up off the floor and her knees up to her chest, head pillowed on his shoulder. "Yeah. Today of all days."

* * *

Sia - Helium


	140. A Different Path

A small black paw peeked up over the edge of the couch, batting with curious claws at Lorna's sock-covered toes.

She shifted again, chuckling as she saw the little black paw, and leaned forward to scoop the kitten up into her arms. "Hi, baby. Are you being a bad little girl?"

"Her name is Shinyfuck," he reminded her, patting her shoulder gently. The kitten batted at her shirt, only to get a claw stuck, and start tugging at it with a disgruntled expression.

"Her name is _Magpie,"_ she scolded, gently untangling her claw from her shirt. "Not that stupid name."

"Shinyfuck isn't stupid, it's much more suiting," he retorted with a smirk. He reached out to bop the kitten's nose. She gave him much the same look she had given Lorna's shirt, and he grinned.

She shot Sebastian a look and ducked her head to kiss Magpie's forehead, ignoring her slightly indignant wiggle in her hands. "No it's not. Shut up."

"You watch," he responded with a broad, toothy grin. "She'll respond to it better than Magpie."

"Fuck off, Moran," she rolled her eyes. "Leave her alone."

"She's fine," he retorted. "I'm not bothering her at all."

"You're _bullying_ her," she insisted. "I won't have it."

"I bullied you and you're engaged to me. It's how I make friends," he shot back.

She scoffed. "I wouldn't use that as a _defense."_

"Which makes you a better human than me," he conceded easily.

"And a worse criminal," she snorted. "But at this point I'd say it evens out."

"Probably," he says with a small laugh. It ended in a bit of a wheeze, but he forestalled a cough.

She kissed Magpie on the head and then let her back down onto the floor. Then she curled back up with Sebastian, and kissed his shoulder, settling in for the documentary.

* * *

The next week seemed to pass in agonizing slowness. Tests were performed, and checked, and double-checked. Doctors said a lot of things he ignored and a few things he listened to, and he started lining up bottles of medication above the sink- a modern art piece in orange prescription bottles.

Unable to resort to alcoholism, Lorna buried herself in her work. She didn't know what else to do with herself, so she worked every second she wasn't asleep or with Sebastian. She killed a man that week, when he walked into her office unannounced and saw her crying.

There were ripples. How could there not be? He did his best to keep them contained, and the medical staff knew better than to spread rumors that were so easy to trace, but still the tension could be felt. Moriarty didn't emerge from his office, but his fury burned down chains of communication as all but a few wondered what the hell was going on.

Moran knew that it was only a matter of time before the story broke, before someone pieced something together. So he waited for Lorna to leave for her office the Tuesday after they found out, and he paged hits. "Send Keira up to my flat."

Keira knew it wasn't going to be good. The last time she'd talked to her father they'd been interrupted mid-talk by Harrison, who had promptly ruined it, and now the higher-ups were acting far more savagely than usual. She couldn't imagine what it could be. They'd obviously had a fight, but this seemed far less contained than their usual fights. She knocked on his door full of apprehension.

"Come in," he called from the couch. He sipped the smoothie thing that Harrison had made for him, gave it a disgusted look, and set it well out of reach.

She opened the door, surprised that he'd left it unlocked, and stepped in, gaze settling on him at the sofa. "Hey. What's up?"

He looked up. "Close and lock the door, and come sit," he said, motioning to the far side of the couch.

Keira nodded, doing as he asked just quick enough not to be able to be accused of stalling, then walked over and sat on the other side of the couch. "What's this about?"

He waited for her to sit, and then turned to face her, elbows shifting onto his knees. Blue eyes met blue, and for a moment there was silence. Subtlety was his art, but physically, never in speech. Brutal bluntness had always been his way there. "You will not tell anyone what I tell you here, do you understand?"

She nodded, brows furrowed. "Of course. That's how it always is."

He nodded, and took a slow breath, holding her gaze. "I have cancer."

She took in a quicker breath than she was expecting, startled. She bit back her first response, which was _What?_ and her second, which was _How long?_ Neither would be helpful, and she was sure he would appreciate it if she didn't waste his time. So she settled on her last response. "How bad is it?"

"Stage 2," he said evenly. "It's in my left lung. I'll need chemo, at the least."

She nodded a little, just absorbing for a second. "Fuck... A genetic anomaly, or were you a heavy smoker? I guess I'm asking if I need to start getting tested as I age."

He sighed. "I smoke occasionally. But you could stand to get tested in a few years, yeah."

She nodded again. "Alright. Is there anything you want from me, here? Or is this just... a courtesy call, I guess."

"Yeah... That describes it, I suppose." He's quiet for a moment. "I'm going to recommend to Jim that we start training you as my replacement."

Again, she stopped herself from saying the first thing that came to her mind, which was _Are you sure?_ Of course he was sure. Why else would he say it? She nodded, once again, and flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes. It was getting too long. She needed to shear it short again. "Alright. I'll do my best."

He nodded. "It'll take a few years before you're ready. I'm sure he'll go through some interim bodyguards. But consider it your inheritance if things go south and Jim approves."

She smirked a little. "That's all I get? A lousy job that's gonna end up with me dead? Gee, thanks Dad."

"Maybe I'll throw in that smoothie if you're lucky," he said, eyeing the green substance with distaste. _Dad..._

"Hey, I'm not the asshole who got cancer, don't make me suffer with you," she scoffed, grinning now. Covering up the pain.

He rolled his eyes and picked the concoction, taking another sip before deciding whatever it was, it was unpalatable. "I'll leave marching orders if I go out. Other than that, nothing changes. That's all. Off you go."

She nodded, standing again. "Alright. See you, then."

He watched her go, and called as she reached the door. "Keira..."

She turned, hand on the door knob, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

He stood, slowly, and nodded a little. "You've been doing a good job. Keep it up." Then he headed for his room, closing the door behind him.

She nodded a little as he left, then turned and exited the flat. Her eyes were prickling slightly.

He shut the door, looking around the room. This had become his solace. Two closed doors between him and the world, and silence. No pity. No worry. No tears. No time slipping away.

* * *

Kelly brought Lorna her wedding dress that day, and she nearly broke down in front of him. She took the rest of the afternoon off and spent it holed up in her office, knowing that Sebastian valued his space, and she tried not to cry over the blood-red dress.

* * *

He went up to Jim's office later that night. He hadn't been summoned, but he needed to talk to him.

Jim was working on contingency plans to escape Euros, if need be. They would need them, if Euros ever charmed her way into significant resources.

Moran knocked, rocking back onto his heels. He hadn't spoken to Jim since the day he was diagnosed. It was time to break the silence.

Jim looked up from his work, surprised. He hadn't expected this. "Come in, Moran."

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and nodding at the man behind the desk. "Boss." He eyed the man's rumpled suit. "When was the last time you slept?"

He lifted his arm to look at his wrist, flicking his sleeve back to view his watch. "Two days. I've been making sure dear old Euros doesn't catch us with our cocks out and a noose loose around our neck. I've had to adjust some of the contingency plans to accommodate for our newest _trouble."_

He nodded slightly. "You should consider taking a break, sir. Might I recommend tomorrow at around 6 p.m.?"

He sighed, leaning back in his chair with a creak of leather. "Are you inviting me for drinks, Moran?"

"No, sir, I'm inviting you to my wedding." He walked forward to lean against the back of the chair in front of Jim's desk. "That is if my fiancee agrees to the time. This is a bit off the cuff."

His eyebrows shot up. " _You're_ the one pushing the date forward? My, my, Sebastian, how _far_ we've come," he chuckled, though there was no venom behind his words. "I can't imagine she'll say no, so I suppose I'm obligated to take the time off, aren't I? I did agree to be your best man. Remind me to bring up that similarity to Sherlock next time we cross paths, I know it will haunt him."

He nodded casually, straightening. "You're in charge of ties, talk to Kelly in grifting for the color. Apparently I'm not supposed to see the dress."

"Yes, I hear that's the tradition," he said dryly. "Well, I look forward to scaring the skin off Kelly with my sudden appearance. What a _beautiful_ wedding gift. You shouldn't have."

"I'm glad you like it," he shot back in a similar tone. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go confirm the venue and tell Lorna."

He waved his hand. "Oh. And next time you fuck in the elevator - there's a button that stops it. Perverts."

He grinned, flashing his canine. "Where's the fun in that, sir?" he pointed out, before heading out the door.

Lorna was changing in her office, having just finished the last bits of tailoring on her dress.

He stepped out of the lift, walking through grifting and leaving a wake of silence. He didn't bother looking at anyone, just knocked on Lorna's door.

The door opened to her half-naked, a pair of scissors in her hand, a shirt in the other. "Kell- oh, Sebastian. Come in," she said, stepping away from the door.

He slipped inside, closing it behind him and pointedly not looking around. "Anything I'm not supposed to see in here?"

"No, it's away," she chuckled, pointing to her closet.

He nodded a little, relaxing slightly. He looked over at her and smiled at her topless figure. "Hi."

She smirked, putting her scissors on her desk and pulling on her shirt. "Hi," she chuckled. "I assume you didn't come by to ravish me, right? I mean, if you did, I can take the shirt back off."

"I wouldn't object to ravishing," he smirked. "But no, I'm here to suggest we get married tomorrow."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, shit, really? Fuck. I mean, yeah, let's fucking do it. Thank god I just finished the alterations," she snorted, amused, then grinned. "Where are we doing it?"

"That, you will see tomorrow, at six. Anyone you want there?" He reached out to slide his hands around her waist under her shirt.

She shrugged, stepping forward to loop her arms around his neck, smiling up at him. "Not really. Keira, maybe? It'd be funny to make her wear a dress."

"You can ask. I don't know if she'll be interested at the moment. I told her this afternoon, about me."

Her face fell a little, without her meaning for it to, but it was appropriate. "How did she take it?"

He gave her a small smile. "How I expected her to. Stoically. No fuss."

She gave a slightly rueful smile. "Unlike me, then. Well, she's certainly yours. Fine, then, she can take a break. I'll bring Kelly in just to sign the papers, or however we're doing it. He knows better than to blab his mouth."

"Ask her," he suggested. "Let her say no if she wants. She might decide it's something she wants to do." He shrugged. "And you should call Vince. Let him know."

She nodded at the first part, then smirked, shaking her head a little at him. "I assume you want it on speaker phone so you can hear what he says?"

He gave her a look that said _no shit_ , and smirked. "Trust me. I want to hear this."

"Do you want me to call right now?" She asked, dropping an arm from his waist to slide into her pocket and pull out her phone.

"If you like. How much lead time do you want to give him?" he asked, leaning against the door.

She raised her eyebrows slightly. "Lead time?"

"Time to come up with a reason he can't skype in," he said, grinning.

"I already know what his excuse will be, so I don't doubt that he'll refuse in the very conversation that I invite him in," she laughed. "It will either be; 'I'm too busy with work, sorry,' or 'I don't want to ruin your _big moment.'"_

"Oh, please. Don't let him out of it that easy. I'll be disappointed if I don't know he's crying somewhere." He grinned.

She snorted. "You think he won't be crying no matter what? C'mon, look at what he's missing out!" She gestured at herself, phone in hand, then held it up. "I'm calling him. I don't want to waste my time with him tomorrow."

He laughed, coughed, and motioned for her to continue. "Do it then!"

She grinned and shifted in his arms to dial, immediately placing it on speaker phone, the sound of ringing filling the air.

The phone rang for a long time, and Moran could almost see Armetti staring uncertainly at the caller ID. Finally, just as he was beginning to wonder if it would go to voicemail, the ringing stopped.

There was a pause, and then Armetti said "Hello, Lorna."

"Hi, Vince," she said, solemnly, though she was smiling up at Seb. "Look, I know things ended... badly, between us. I wanted to extend an olive branch. Me and Sebastian are uh, getting married tomorrow. We wanted to know if you would skype in - hell, even _fly_ over?"

Moran had to stifle a laugh with his hand during the silence that followed. "Congratulations," Vince's voice finally replied flatly, voice crackling over the long distance. "I'm so happy for you. But I'm afraid I've got an important meeting tomorrow that will be going most of the day."

 _Busy,_ Lorna mouthed to Sebastian, eyes twinkling. It was the least she could do to Vince, after he had hurt Sebastian. She had _told_ him, all those years ago in New York, how displeased she would be if he'd ever laid a finger on Moran, and he hadn't listened to her. "Aw, shit, that sucks," she sighed, "Well, we'll send you wedding photos, so you can see the ceremony, or what have you."

"Yeah, of course. Thank you..." His voice was almost robotic.

"You're welcome. See you around, Vince," she said, then offered the phone to Sebastian with a raised eyebrow, mouthing _Do you want to add anything?_

"Shame you can't make it, Vince," Sebastian said, voice low and smooth. "Would have been good to see you. Ta!" He hit the end button, and cracked up.

She grinned, sliding her phone back into her pocket, getting more amusement out of Sebastian's reaction than Vince's. She loved seeing him happy. And now, she would do almost anything to see it. She leaned up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. God, they were getting _married_ tomorrow.

He rubbed at his face, the last of the giggling fading away. "Alright," he said after a moment, catching his breath. "Well, that was... fun.."

"Now you sound like you're not sure," she accused, pouting. "Liven up. We're getting married tomorrow! _God,_ am I stifling a squeal. You've weakened me, Sebastian Moran."

He gave her a grin. "Oh no, trust me... that was.. fun.." He paused to let his breath catch up to him, wrinkling his nose just a touch in annoyance. But then he gave her a full smile. "Want to go to my off-site flat tonight? Celebrate a bit?"

"You trying to spoil me with a pre-honeymoon?" She chuckled, slipping her hand into his. "Yes, of course. I miss that jacuzzi."

He rolled his eyes. "You and the fucking jacuzzi. Alright, let's go now, then. One night off won't kill us."

"It most certainly will not," she agreed, gathering up her bag and nodding towards the door. "Let's get back to the flat and grab some stuff. God, I should just put some clothes at your place."

"Bring some extras to leave there. Or buy some new stuff and have it delivered," he suggested, heading for the lift. Grifting had moved back to a noisy bustle, but fell silent again as they walked through.

"Oooh, new stuff," she hummed, quirking her eyebrows with a grin. "You know, technically, the flat will be half mine after tomorrow. I assume that's how the law works. Not that we're getting _lawfully_ married, but still," she snorted, saving the last bit until they were out of the department.

"How do you mean?" he asked as he called the lift. "Not lawfully?"

"We can't exactly submit our papers in court, can we?" She sighed. "My name certainly isn't in the system, and while yours might be I don't know how we'd get around myself not having any papers. My assumption was that you have to exist to be able to do normal things, like get married."

He laughed. "That's fair, I suppose. But you can get anything on the black market. A marriage certificate wasn't remotely difficult. True, it'll never be formally submitted, but it'll exist."

The lift doors opened, and she was relieved to have an excuse to be silent for a moment, surprised that he'd bothered to go as far as to get them an actual marriage certificate. For some reason she'd imagined that he was only doing this to make her happy, not because he really wanted to himself. Maybe it was her rocky relationship history, but that was how she had felt. "Well, that's something, then. Even if it's not formally submitted, I'm pleased that we'll at least have that."

He shrugged, hitting the button for their floor. "Otherwise what's the point? We'd just be playing dress up." He wrinkled his nose.

She chuckled. "Come on, it's not like wearing a tux is so bad. And it's not as if seeing me in a beautiful dress is a _hardship."_

"I'll grant you that," he agreed. "Oh, by the way. I sicced Jim on Kelly in regards to a tie, so if you're short a second in command tomorrow, my vaguely-sincere apologies." The lift hit their floor and he stepped out, walking over to key into the flat.

"Oh, Jesus, take away the one person who can replace me, why don't you?" She huffed, rolling her eyes slightly. "It will be enough of a burden to the department to have the both of us away for the duration of the wedding, let alone removing him entirely."

"Who knows. Maybe you'll get lucky and Jim will like him," he snorted, pushing the door open and going to start packing.

She tossed her bag on the sofa and followed him, crossing her fingers. "Please, Kelly, don't be an idiot, _please..."_

"Yeah, good luck with that," he snorted as he grabbed a duffle bag and started packing.

"If _I_ haven't killed him for ineptitude, hopefully he can survive five minutes of Jim," she said, on the other side of the room, throwing together her own things. " _Hopefully."_

"Jim has a slightly higher bar than you, no offense." He walked into the bathroom, grabbing their toiletries and his pile of pill bottles.

She chuckled, shrugging a little. "Yeah, true. Still, I'm sure he's run into Jim before."

"Good luck to him, at any rate," Moran chuckled, zipping up his bag. "Ready?"

"Yup," she hummed, putting her bag over her shoulder. "Let's go de-stress."

He nodded, slinging his own bag over his shoulder.

* * *

A/N

Thanks for the review, whoever you are! I personally love in-depth reviews like that and my friend does too! (To be fair to ourselves on the kidnapping, we WERE just writing this for ourselves XD - as for the smut - those are our best read chapters; I can show you the stats. Yes, guys. I see you. I am laughing. (Enjoy yourselves tho))


	141. A Different Kind Of Red Wedding

Playlist: Fall Out Boy - Bishops Knife Trick

Lana del Rey - Young and Beautiful

* * *

He let her drive, for once. He didn't know why- and she gave him an odd look- but he didn't bother explaining. Just sat on the passengers side and watched the dark city go by.

She parked, turned off the car, and got out, already feeling more relaxed, being away from HQ. She was sure she was going to get sick of HQ quickly, the more Sebastian's illness progressed. She wouldn't be able to bring herself to leave the country while he was ill. What if something happened while she was away? She tried to repress those thoughts, putting on a smile for him.

He climbed out as well, grabbing their bags with one hand and reaching out for her hand with the other.

Her chest ached at the simple contact, squeezing his hand with hers. Every touch from him was precious, especially now.

They took the lift up and he keyed in. The place smelled like home more than his flat at headquarters ever did, and he took a moment to just take it in before he closed the door behind them and walked in.

She followed him into the bedroom and put away her clothes, despite the fact they'd only be staying the night. Unless he was springing a surprise honeymoon on her, which she doubted. The timing just wasn't right.

He unpacked as well, taking in the comforting feeling of being in his own space, relaxed, removed. Alone except for Lorna, exactly how he wanted it.

She fell into the bed once she was done, splayed across the covers, and let out a long sigh. "God, this bed is comfortable. Is it just because I know there's not an intercom in here?"

"That and the fact that the mattress cost more than some cars," he said with a laugh. He walked around the bed and reached out to unzip her trousers.

"Jesus," she laughed, lifting her hips up a little to let him pull her trousers off. "Why didn't you splurge for the HQ one? You're there a lot more often."

He shrugged. "It never really occurred to me. The flat was never somewhere I thought of outside of work. It was where I needed to be. It wasn't a home in any sense of the word."

She nodded a little, a little bit surprised, though maybe it was only because she had the opposite way of thinking. Anywhere she settled down for long enough was made into her home, just on the principle that she needed one, and to be away from it caused her homesickness. It had been easy for her to think of his work flat as home, because that was where he was. This flat was a vacation, a break from the norm. "I've always thought of this place as a resort, sort of. Not home, but a fun replacement for it."

He shrugged a little. "I've had this place for a long time. Before Jim, though I fixed it up after I started working for him. All my moving around, with Jim and with the military before that, this has been a constant."

"That makes sense. Though I can't imagine how you afforded the size of this place before you were working with Jim. It's enormous."

"My father was rolling in money," he reminded her. "I had no problem spending it if I could get away with it, especially if he disapproved."

She raised her eyebrows slightly. "He still let you spend his money once you joined the military?"

"It's a wonder what he would let me do when I mentioned my upbringing during election season," he smirked.

She chuckled. "Good to have leverage I suppose. Whatever happened to his estate once I choked the life out of him? Did it go to Sara?"

"It was supposed to," he said with a smirk. "But there was a very strange last-minute change to his will that liquidated his estate and donated the profits to a wounded veterans fund. My sister tried to fight it in court but then the press got wind that she was trying to take money from wounded vets... Things got nasty for her rather quickly and she backed off." He looked very smug.

She whistled, grinning. "Well, well, well, aren't you a sneaky one. That's fucking hilarious, Sebastian."

 _Sebastian_. Again the full name. She'd been doing that a lot lately. He shook off the curiosity as to why, and headed into the bathroom to start filling the jacuzzi. "Go find whatever you want to drink. I feel way too straightlaced if I'm not getting drunk in this thing."

She nodded, got up, and headed out the door to the kitchen, leaving her trousers behind on the bed. She rummaged around in his huge kitchen for a minute or two before remembering where the liquor cabinet was (how she'd ever forgotten, she wasn't quite sure) and came back into the room with a bottle of champagne in each hand. "I know it's not your favorite, but I was feeling celebratory. Celebratory _why,_ I don't know. It's just this place, I guess?"

"Or possibly the fact that we're getting married tomorrow?" he suggested. He glanced up, and raised an eyebrow. "We just drinking straight from the bottle?" he asked with a small smile.

"Oh, shit, right, glasses," she chuckled, then shrugged. "Straight from the bottle is fine with me if it's fine with you."

He shrugged, pulling his shirt over his head. "Like I care. Straight out of the bottle it is." He stepped out of his trousers and pants and climbed into the filling tub.

She set down the champagne bottles on the edge of the tub and stripped down herself, not being shy about admiring him as she did, though a part of her wondered how much longer he would be like this. Invisibly ill. For now, you couldn't tell just looking at him that he had stage two lung cancer. She tried to repress those thoughts, and sank into the tub, immediately moving over into his lap.

He leaned back against the edge of the tub. The water was only to his waist for the moment, but rising. He pulled Lorna back to settle against his chest, brushing her long hair out of his face as he did so. He sighed, pressing his face to the top of her head for a moment, taking in her smell. Still moments. How many more of these did he have? They had always been finite, but now the number could suddenly be so much smaller.

She was content to sit for a few moments, and then she decided she agreed with his earlier statement about getting drunk in the tub, and shifted in his lap to grab one of the bottles, bracing it against her hip and popping the cork with a little bit of difficulty. "You would think I would be better at these by now," she snorted, shaking bubbles off her hand and taking a sip from the bottle. "Considering all the practice."

He laughed, taking the bottle and enjoying his own swig. "One thing you aren't good at. However will you survive?"

"It will be a painful existence," she sighed, waiting for him to hand it back and then taking another sip.

"So," he said, watching her drink, one hand drawing absent patterns in the water. "Anything special you want to do for the wedding, anything you want to be sure you have?"

She set the bottle down on the edge of the tub, and shrugged slightly. "I'm not sure. I wasn't putting too much thought into it. I didn't think it would be for a while."

He gave a crooked smile. "Well, start putting thought into it. You have..." He paused. "About twenty-two hours."

She chuckled. "Great. Well, I'll let you know if I think of anything. Chocolate mousse, maybe?"

"Chocolate mousse at the wedding?" he asked, grinning. "Alright. Weird, but alright."

"I like chocolate mousse, I'm lukewarm on cake," she shrugged, smirking. "We can still get cake if you want, though."

"I wasn't even going to bother with desserts, to be honest," he said, shrugging. "It's just you and me and Jim, and Kelly, maybe. Maybe Keira."

"Yeah, now that I think about it that makes sense," she sighed. "Alright, no desserts. I don't know what to ask for, then, honestly. I have you. That's all I want."

"We'll go out to dinner afterward," he assured her. "I'll find somewhere with devastatingly good mousse."

"Alright, I'm putting my trust in you. You better make it good," she warned, though her smile gave her away.

He snorted. "Have I ever steered you to a bad dessert?" he challenged, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer against him.

She easily nestled into him, and shifted a little to kiss his cheek, chest warm. She loved him so much. "Not that I can remember. It's a pretty safe category to steer in."

"So have a little faith. I will come through on the mousse," he snorted, jabbing her gently in the ribs with his finger.

She wiggled partly out of his lap, her nose wrinkled slightly at the poke. "Alright, alright! No need to go for the ticklish spots!"

He laughed, with a touch of a wheeze. "It isn't _my_ fault you're ticklish everywhere."

"It's amazing my nerves still work, honestly, what with the trauma they've been through," she snorted, rolling her eyes at herself.

"Yeah, what the fuck is up with that?" he agreed lightly. He sighed, and stood up, dripping water. "Alright. Come on. You told me you can recite the Lord of the Rings movies word for word. I want proof. I'll make popcorn."

"Cutting the bath short? Alright, whatever, as long as we bring the champagne, I'll be happy to show off," she chuckled, standing after he'd stepped out of the bath.

"We can reconvene the bath later. I was getting pruney," he called back, wrapping a towel around his waist as he headed for the living room.

She shook her head, smirking, and took her time drying herself off and finding a bathrobe in her things before walking out of the bedroom to find him.

* * *

He didn't sleep much that night, even after she went to bed around three. He stayed awake, listening to his records at a low volume, elbows on his knees, thinking. He was getting married. _They_ were getting married. And he was dying. Life was a fucking bastard, but when had it ever been anything else?

She woke up several times before he eventually went to bed sometime in the early morning, and then she was content to sleep with him nearly until noon, tangled up in his arms and legs like she had for years. She woke up before him, and got up to make breakfast, some part of her disbelieving that she was getting married today. It wasn't ever an aspiration she had had, not even as a child, and it was surreal that after all this time they were actually, finally and truly committing.

He woke to the bed empty, causing a momentary panic which was eased by the smell of sausages cooking. He got up, scratching the back of his neck as he pulled on sleep trousers and walked into the kitchen. "You're cooking?"

"Don't say that so shocked," she protested, turning to look at him with a smirk. "Yes, I'm cooking. I did survive just fine on my own before I met you, you know."

"If I remember correctly, 'surviving fine' meant living off of microwavable pasta, take-out, and booze," he retorted, walking to the freezer and pulling out bread to thaw for toast.

"Just because you never _saw_ me cook doesn't mean I didn't. I mean, admittedly much less than you, and there were a lot of microwave meals and take-out, but I _did_ cook," she said defensively, prodding the sausages with a sizzle of fat.

"Mhm," he chuckled, leaning down to kiss the back of her neck on his way to the toaster.

She let the conversation drop, warmth spreading across her skin from the spot he'd kissed, and focused on making sure she didn't burn the food. He had enough to rib her about already.

He put a few slices in the toaster, before heading to the liquor cabinet and returning with a bottle of white wine, pouring two glasses. He wasn't technically supposed to be drinking, with the slew of medication he was on, but fuck it. It was their wedding day. "Here," he said, handing one over.

"Thanks," she hummed, taking it and raising it a little in his direction before taking a sip. "Aren't we supposed to be saving this for the reception, though?"

"Who says we can't drink all day, precisely?" he asked, grinning and taking his own sip before walking over to ensure the toast wasn't burning.

"I do!" She laughed, leaning against the counter while she waited for the sausages to finish up. "We can't be smashed during our own wedding! I want to _remember_ it, thank you very much."

"Not smashed! Just buzzed," he scoffed. His phone buzzed and he glanced at the text, and sighed. "Jim is sending a car for us. Evidently he's arranged for pre-wedding preparations of some sort."

"Fuck," she muttered, turning off the stove and hurriedly getting out a couple of plates for the two of them. "We'd better eat fast, then. I doubt he'd be happy to wait around for us to leisurely accept his generosity."

He agreed, throwing toast onto the plates and going to the refrigerator to grab margarine. "Probably not, no."

She sank down into one of the chairs at the table and started to shovel food into her mouth. "Any idea wha' he's go' planned?" She said, around a mouthful of sausage, her eyes tracking him as he came back from the refrigerator.

"None whatsoever," he said, tossing down margarine and marmalade and starting to dress his toast. "It's Jim. Who the hell knows."

She was silent for a moment, focusing on eating, then dressing her own toast, and then got around to speaking again. "I'm nervous. Not about the wedding; about Jim."

"What about him?" he asked through a mouthful of toast.

"What if this is some last-minute changing of his mind?" She raised her eyebrows.

He shrugged. "Then I'll fight him about it and marry you anyway," he said calmly, taking a bite of sausage.

She smiled a little and nodded slightly, returning to her food a moment later. How far they'd come. "Alright, I'm less nervous."

He rolled his eyes. "Don' be an' idiot," he said through a mouthful of meat. "Di' you e'er talk to Keira?"

"I sent her a text last night, though looking back I'm not sure how legible it was; I was pretty drunk," she said, quirking her eyebrows a bit and shifting to pull her phone out of her pocket to check. "Yup, it's just barely legible." She turned the screen his way.

 _Weding tmrww. Choclate moose. u in/ Lh_

"Oh, good, I'm sure she's not confused at all," he said sarcastically, pulling out his own phone and dialing Keira's number, tossing it into the middle of the counter on speakerphone. It rang twice.

"Are you sober now?" Keira's voice was dry.

"Yes," Lorna rolled her eyes. "Sorry about the bad text. Forgot to do it earlier when I was sober. Are you coming or what?"

"Oh _Jesus_ , _that_ part wasn't drunken revelry?" Keira asked, sounding somewhere between bewildered and appalled. "You're actually fucking getting married?"

"You knew we were engaged! I told you when one of us had a shotgun in the other's face - I can't remember which one of us had the shotgun at that particular moment - but I definitely told you," she said, shaking her head slightly. "We just moved up the date, that's all."

"Engaged and married are completely different animals. I never thought you would go _through_ with it. Fuck. This is because he's sick, right?"

Moran rolled his eyes. "That had an influence, yes." He took a bite of toast.

"Fuck. Sorry, dad. I didn't know it was on speaker."

"Fuck off, spawn, and show up to the damn wedding," he shot back.

 _Dad?_ Lorna mouthed, eyebrows raised, a little surprised. "You couldn't tell you were on speaker by the quality of the audio? What is this, amateur hour?" She jabbed lightly, smirking. "But yes, listen to your father. Wear something nice."

"Yeah, okay, great. Text me the address and time. Byeee..." She hung up. He rolled his eyes and pocketed the phone again, wolfing down the rest of his food and ignoring the _dad_ comment. He didn't want to think about why she'd made that decision.

She followed his lead and finished up what was on her plate before turning in her chair to assess the pans on the counter. "We're probably going to be coming back here tonight, right?"

"If we don't I'll send someone to clean," he said, uncaring, heading for the bedroom. He needed to get dressed and take medication.

She nodded and followed him a moment later.

* * *

Five minutes later and they were getting into the back of the car Jim had sent for them, their luggage in the trunk.

Moran sat back, watching the world carefully as it passed by, out of habit. It was relaxing. A distraction which prevented him from thinking too deeply about much else.

They pulled into the garage and she got out, straightening her shirt. "Alright, what's he got in store for us this time?"

Kelly was waiting, and smiled. "You're with me, Lorna. Sir, Mr. Moriarty is waiting for you. He nodded to a dark limo parked nearby.

"Christ," he sighed, glancing at Lorna. "I suppose I'll see you later."

"I'm not even _invited?"_ She groaned, reaching out to squeeze his hand before letting him go. "Alright, Kelly. Take me away."

"Of course you aren't invited," Kelly chided as he led her toward the lift. "He can't see you in the dress before the event. What sort of operation do you think I'm running here?"

Moran rolled his eyes and climbed into the car.

"I didn't know there was going to _be_ an event," she snorted, giving one last passing glance towards the limo and following Kelly. "What are we doing? Did Jim change his mind?"

He shrugged. "Who knows? All I know is that I'm supposed to be getting you ready. Come on, I've got everything laid out in grifting."

"Ah, joy, the whole office will know we're getting hitched, I'm sure Sebastian will love that," she shook her head, rolling her eyes slightly.

"Yes, because I'm that incompetent," he snorted. "I cordoned off a back dressing room. The whole office is curious as all hell, but no one's seen the dress. And won't, until you walk out. _Then_ the whole office will know you're getting hitched, and they will weep with jealousy."

She laughed. "I look forward to telling him that the whole network now knows. I'm sure that won't put a strain on the honeymoon at all." Then she sighed a little, dreamily. "But god, he's a catch. I'd like to kill me, in their shoes."

"No offense to Moran, but I think most of them will be envying him more than you," he shot back with a smirk as he called the lift.

"Well that's their mistake, isn't it," she smirked, winking at him, then laughed again, giddily. "I don't know what that was supposed to mean."

He gave her a broad smile. "I think this is the giddiest I have ever seen you."

"I'm going to get married! Kelly, I may actually _happy cry._ I did when we got engaged," she chuckled, huffing out a breath as they stepped into the lift.

"How did that even happen?" he leaned against the wall, watching her.

"I made a joke about it, and we got into a fight over it. When everything was done burning he asked me if I would consider actually doing it. To make a long story extremely short."

He actually snorted in laughter. "Fucking of course." He shook his head. "How else?" The lift opened and they were silent as they walked through the grifting department. Many eyes turned to follow them curiously as they headed toward the locked back room, but Kelly ignored them, grabbing a ring of keys and unlocking the door, stepping inside and letting Lorna in before closing it behind them.

She whistled at the array of makeup, hair brushes, nail polish and more in front of her, putting her hands on her hips. "Jesus, Kelly, he won't recognize me when you're through with me!"

"Nonsense," he snorted. "We're just accenting your features. Sit. Hair first."

She sat, though she looked a little intimidated. "Jesus. I haven't had someone else do my hair in ages."

"I'll be gentle," Kelly said sardonically, picking up a brush and starting to work it through Lorna's dark hair.

"I thought you disliked this stuff, anyway," she said conversationally, settling down comfortably.

He shook his head. "Not really. On myself, sure. Dysphoria's a bitch. But I've always enjoyed doing hair and makeup and things on other people. Once I transitioned though, not much chance for it. Most guys aren't really into painting nails."

"They're missing out, really," she hummed. "I love having scarlet nails. Makes my hands look regal."

He laughed, nodding in agreement. "I'll grant you that. I might start doing my nails again. That never really bothered me."

"If anyone looked at you sideways you have my permission to maim them," she said cheerfully. "Not that I suspect they would. We've got a pretty queer department. Have to be."

"That's certainly the case. Honestly, it's an upside of working grifting. I doubt hits is quite so bent." He set the brush aside and grabbed a comb, starting to divide her hair into sections.

She rolled her eyes. "Having been the head of it, they are _excessively_ straight."

"Not what I've heard about your beau, though," he said with a smirk. "Something about a menage a trois with the big boss?"

She smirked right back into the mirror. "I should _probably_ try to dispel those rumors, but the fact is that it's gotten too widespread to keep a lid on. But yes, Sebastian is very _not_ straight."

He snorted. "Sleeping with the boss... that has to be utterly terrifying." He started plaiting carefully.

She laughed. "Sebastian and I thought he would kill us after it happened the first time. It would have been something hilarious to have seen our faces when he hinted it wasn't the last time."

"Christ almighty, I can't imagine," he snorted. He started pulling more strands into the braid, working it along the back of her head. "Is he good in the sack though, the boss?" he asked conspiratorially.

"Very, especially when you're as twisted as Moran and I. I prefer Seb, of course, but it's always an interesting night when Jim is involved," she chuckled, shrugging a bit. "How many bets are there, involving the three of us, by the way, and are you making any cash off us?"

Kelly scoffed. "Please. The whole network is in. I've made a few hundred. Nothing too pretty." He bound the end of the braid with black ribbon and started pinning it up.

"How did anyone get the confirmation they needed to win?" She asked curiously, eyebrows raising. "Maybe it was no secret that I was fucking Jim while Moran was dead, but no one ever caught the three of us."

"Clean-up crews," Kelly said matter-of-factly. "And security. But I didn't win on the three of you, to be honest. I was betting on the fucking in the lift."

She snickered. "That one's been a long time coming, honestly. I don't know who bet against that, but it was stupid of them."

"Most people bet that Moran wouldn't be enough of an exhibitionist. Amateurs," he snorted, rolling his eyes.

She scoffed. "He doesn't _need_ to be an exhibitionist, he's marrying _me._ That man will fuck me almost anywhere, and I in no way mean that badly. We've got the best love life of anyone I've ever met."

Kelly let out a snort of laughter. "Christ knows you deserve it. Grifting is the sex equivalent of working in an ice cream shop. Everyone thinks your job must be the greatest, but in reality the flavors are all kind of shitty and you're sick of ice cream inside of a fortnight."

"God, the number of times I've had to explain that to the idiots in other departments looking to get a transfer," she rolled her eyes. "That's not even how it works! If everyone could request a transfer whenever they pleased we'd never get anything done because we'd be vetting people all the time."

Kelly shook his head, scoffing. "Crazy bastards."

* * *

In the end it took a little under two hours to get Lorna completely made up. Kelly stood back, then, eyeing her up and down before stepping forward to adjust the lay of her dress slightly. "Perfect," he decided matter-of-factly.

She smoothed down the front of the red gown, even though it wasn't at all needed, swallowing nervously. "You think? 'Cause Jim Moriarty is attending my wedding and I'd hate to look anything less, you know?"

He motioned for her to look in the mirror. "You taught me."

She looked, and was not disappointed by what she saw. Her long, dark hair looked thicker than ever, waving gently down, and the bodice of her dress had just enough firmness to have a just a _slight_ corset-like effect. Her blood red lips matched the hue of the dress and veil, and she could find no flaws in the makeup or the stitching of the dress, which she owed to both her and Kelly's steady hands. Not even Jim Moriarty could find fault in her appearance today. She beamed. "Alright, not unrecognizable after all. Well done, you."

He smirked, giving a playful bow before coming over with a long coat to protect the dress for the ride. "Alright. You should be going. A driver is waiting."

She nodded, smiling, nervous but excited energy buzzing through her. "Right, thanks. See you later, Kelly."

There was a car waiting for her in the garage, and beside it stood Keira, dressed in a crimson dress that matched Lorna's fairly well for color (courtesy of Kelly). Her hair was back to its usual darkness, no longer blonde, and she nodded a little at Lorna as she approached. "Hey."

"Hey," she grinned, one hand in her skirt to keep herself from stepping on it. "Surprised you came. Surprised you came in a _dress._ Figured you for a suit."

She shrugged. "I like dresses just fine," she said calmly. "It's nice to wear something other than tactical gear now and then." She opened the car door and slid into the back, nodding to the chauffeur.

She followed her in, a little more carefully. She didn't want Kelly's hard work to go to waste. "How many of your friends are going to ask you details about this, do you think?"

"All of them," she said matter-of-factly. "I'm going to have bargaining material for months." She looked pleased.

She chuckled, shifting a little as the car started forward out of the garage. "They're going to be disappointed when they finally hear about it. It's not going to be very exciting for anybody except me and maybe Seb."

Keira raised an eyebrow. "I'm shocked. You didn't convince him into extravagance?" she asked sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't want to. Do you really think of me that way?"

She shrugged. "You seem the extravagant type," she retorted, leaning back, head against the glass, watching the city through the tinted windows. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"I... Have no idea. Hey," she leaned forward to tap the chauffeur's shoulder, "Where are we going?"

"I'm under orders not to tell you, ma'am," he said, looking back as they stopped at a red light. "And Moran requested that you wear these." He held out two crimson silk blindfolds.

She looked at him suspiciously. "Moran? Told us to put our guards down?"

"He said you would say that," he said, nodding. "He told me to tell you that he has two cars escorting this one." He pointed to two black SUVs that were on either side of the car. "And, forgive me ma'am, but he wanted to be quoted, 'Enjoy the damned surprise, Harrison.'"

"Yeah, that sounds like him," she muttered, reaching out to take the blindfolds and hand one to Keira, beginning to put hers on herself.

Keira rolled her eyes, but did the same.

* * *

The drive that followed lasted only another twenty minutes or so, stop and go through London traffic. They then stopped again and there was the sound of a door, and the chauffeur walking around. He opened Lorna's door. "We're here, ma'am. You can remove your blindfolds."

She tugged the knot of the blindfold loose, and was very startled by what she found. "Is this.. the _Tower?_ Good god."

"Yes, ma'am. Our employer and your fiancé are waiting inside. If you'll follow me?" Keira made a low noise that was almost impressed, and followed.

"I'd say he's really outdone himself this time, but this is really only the first surprise location specifically for me," she said conversationally, stepping out of the car. Miraculously, she'd managed to keep her hair unscathed in the car ride. Her crimson veil was still placed on the back of her head, and then she realized at some point she'd have to pull it over her face. "You'll let me know when we're coming up on him, yes?"

"There will be a rather large door, I'm told, ma'am," he said, nodding. "You're expected to make an entrance. Kelly has had flowers arranged. For you as well, Keira."

She nodded, and took a deep breath. Wow, this was really happening. "Okay. Let's go. I want to get married."

The man nodded, and guided them through the tower grounds. There were guards standing at attention and walking rounds, but other than them and the ravens, the place was empty. "This way," he said, leading them to the White Tower and up to the second floor, stopping outside the door to St. John's Chapel.

She chuckled, reading the sign. "This is very Seb. I assume this is it?"

He nodded. "They're waiting inside," he said. He knocked on the door, and then nodded to her. "Whenever you're ready."

She nodded, coughing once, nervously, and reaching out for the door before stopping herself and reaching back to pull her veil over her face. She could feel a nervous mix of excitement and trepidation in her chest, and she knew the longer she waited the more it would build, and without further ado reached out and opened the door.

The chauffeur handed her the bouquet as she opened the door, and Keira one as well. The girl regarded it with an odd expression, but then held it, falling into an awkward walk just behind Lorna.

Moran and Jim were at the front of the chapel, watching. They both wore black tuxedos, with dark crimson silk bow ties and accents matching Lorna's dress, and ruby cufflinks. The first note of abnormality was the daggers tucked into their waist sashes, dark enamel the color of blood traced with silver. The second was the capes fastened at their left shoulders by silver crests, dripping like a pool of blood over their shoulders.

Jim looked, for his part, bored with the proceedings. But Moran's eyes were fixed on Lorna, following the fluid path of her entrance. Her dress... He could remember her, bathed in blood over so many kills, and his eyes were dark when they found hers.

Her first impression was: _capes._ Her second impression was: _...capes?_ Her third impression was: _holy shit, do I have a cape fetish?_ She only had eyes for Sebastian, standing there in what she could only assume was traditional Irish garb, shoulders impossibly broad, accented by the cape at his left side. She met his gaze with similar heat, with her fourth impression being that he was _definitely_ going to fuck her in those clothes. Five years, and they still had that fire. It felt silly, walking down the aisle at a normal pace, but even sillier to go slower or faster, and when she finally came up on him she was buzzing with impatience, her short breaths pressing her chest against the stiff bodice of her dress. "Hey," she smiled as she stopped in front of him, only then getting around to looking at Jim and the officiant. "Hey, Jim, hey, Meatloaf."

Jim gave her a small smirk, having picked up on the first, second, third, and fourth thought, and rather pleased with himself for orchestrating their cause. Meatloaf, looking a touch nervous, but for once free of his namesake odor, nodded his greeting.

"Hey," Sebastian murmured, reaching out to take her hand in his. "You look... fuck. Remind me to thank Kelly." He grinned. Keira shifted over to stand on Lorna's side, face for once free of sarcasm. Her father looked thinner than he should, but Moriarty's tailor had done his job, and the tux hid much of it.

She grinned right back, and suddenly found she was startlingly close to tears, squeezing his hand, and then she looked over at the others. "I don't actually know what to do from here. Vows? I've never attended a wedding."

"Christ almighty," Jim muttered. "Just listen and respond when you're told, Harrison, it isn't complicated." Moran chuckled, and gripped her hand a little. Meatloaf cleared his throat, looking down.

"Yes. I have.. ah... vows... here," he said, flipping a few pages and nodding, looking up at Lorna. "Are you ready?"

She chuckled and nodded, reaching out to take Moran's other hand, in substitute for how much she wanted to just be in his arms. "Yes, I'm ready."

Keira took the bouquet to get it out of her way, before slipping back behind her. Meatloaf cleared his throat again. "Do you, Lorna Harrison, take Sebastian Moran to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, in sickness and in health, in... uhm..." He squinted, glanced at Jim, then returned to his paper. "...in blood and chaos, as long as you both shall live?"

She nodded a little, before realizing that wasn't a good enough answer, and opened her mouth to respond. She shut it once, then opened it again, and took a deep breath. "Can I say something, first? That's allowed, I'm pretty sure," she chuckled, then cleared her throat, nervously, looking down between them for a moment before meeting Sebastian's ice blue eyes again.

"I know that big, grand gestures and words aren't really your thing, so I'll try to make this quick. So, um... I never fell in love until you. God knows I can't imagine it with anybody else. After everything we've been through the past four years... I couldn't have done any of it without you. I can't pinpoint the moment we stopped fighting this, but _god,_ I can't picture what my life would look like without that moment. Much less satisfying sex, probably, for the both of us, but..." She shook her head a little. "I don't know if I would have ever been.. happy. An emotion unique to you, it seems. You're the best addiction I've ever had, Sebastian Moran. Alright, that was my piece. Yes, I do."

Sebastian Moran did not cry.

So, he told himself, he was most certainly allergic to something in this dusty fucking chapel. Which explained the bleary blinking. He swallowed once, and the effect went away, hopefully before anyone noticed. He would really hate to kill anyone in this room. Except Meatloaf. He could kill Meatloaf.

Said officiator nodded at Lorna's reaction and turned to Sebastian, repeating the request.

He looked into Lorna's eyes. This was it. The moment he decided if this was really what he wanted his life to be. _Sebastian Moran, married man._

He wasn't one for words, and she knew that. But he took a moment to study her face, and let her study his, find the emotions there. She was beautiful in the warm light of the chapel, and he never wanted to forget the way her face looked as she waited. "I love you," he said finally. "And yeah. I do."

She didn't wait for Meatloaf to get through saying he could kiss the bride before she'd flung her veil over her head and kissed him, hands on either side of his face, thumbs stroking over his cheeks while tears spilled over her own.

"You've missed the rings, Meatloaf," Jim said dryly, watching as Moran wrapped his arms tightly around Lorna, lifting her up into his arms and kissing her back hungrily. "Not that they seem to mind."

Meatloaf gave a small smile, obviously nervous at being in such close proximity to the three most powerful people he knew. "Knowing them, sir, I figured it was for the best to let them get to that bit when they've got the part they really want out of the way." The pair were still kissing passionately, and Keira was standing to the side looking a little exasperated.

"I'll concede the point," Jim admitted, reaching up to adjust his cape absently. "They've got to come up for air at some point."

Eventually it was Moran who pulled back, eyes glinting, smile broader than he thought he had ever worn it in public, at least when he wasn't threatening someone. Air had been the deciding factor- his lungs weren't what they used to be, and he did his best not to wheeze as he caught his breath. But he was still beaming. Jim rolled his eyes, passing forward a small box, and he took it, offering it to Lorna. "If you don't like them we can exchange."

She opened the box, unsure what to expect, and was stunned by what she found. Bands of silver, inlaid with a Celtic pattern of twin entwined serpents in gold. The craftsmanship was stunning. "God, no, I love them. When did you have the time to get these _made?"_

"We've been engaged for a while," he returned with a smirk and a shrug. "I figured I'd get it done early so I had them when I needed them. We aren't exactly the sort to give ourselves notice." He reached out and took the smaller of the rings, offering it out with a raised eyebrow.

She lifted her hand for him, feeling her cheeks become red. She wasn't a person used to feeling _bashful._

His smirk only widened at that, meeting her gaze with a wink as he slid the ring into place, next to their engagement ring. That damned thing that had somehow stayed with her through the labyrinth... He shook his head, lifting her hand to kiss it playfully before letting it drop.

She plucked the other ring out of the box and did the same for him, and then rose up to kiss him again, to much eyerolling from Keira.

He leaned down then, kissing the corner of her jaw and whispering "The knife is sharp..." He nipped her ear, pulling back and winking as his hand touched the dagger almost as an after-thought. He looked down at his hand, then, at the ring sitting there, somehow glaringly conspicuous, though in reality it wasn't all that large. He shook his head a little, and looked back up at her, grinning lopsidedly. "Well, shall we?" he asked, offering her his arm.

"Please," she nodded, taking it. This all felt like a dream; one of the ones that she never wanted to wake up from.

* * *

Playlist: Fall Out Boy - Heaven's Gate

A/N

Shoutout to Meatloaf, the throw-away character I made years ago who finally served a purpose. Also shoutout to the continuity error I made in the first "draft" that referenced Kelly as a "she" thus, creating in my mind a trans character when I read through it a second time. Sorry for the slow updates! Hope everyone is enjoying :) Comments, anyone?


	142. Brief Announcement 2

Aight yall, so I'm pretty sure I got all the dates, plus I've edited most of the story for smoother reading, so now there shouldn't be the occasional repeated paragraph or distracting typo. Now, a question - we're writing pretty slow rn because one of us is very mentally ill and the other is extremely busy with their job, so would you guys rather I release shorter chapters when they become available or would you rather I keep them longer, at longer intervals? Sorry the chapters are coming so slow right now! If it makes you feel any better, we also have a small amount of a new rp we've been doing - Victorian AU with VAMPIRES! If that's your jam, let us know in the comments, and also please answer which you'd rather have from the answers above! Thanks guys! As always if you want to talk you can reach Lorna's writer at wulfydragon at gmail .


	143. The Only One

He grinned, heading for the door. Keira and Jim both resisted the urge to make gagging noises, with varying levels of success, and followed out, Meatloaf shuffling his papers awkwardly, uncertain of whether to follow and eventually deciding on waiting until they were well clear.

"So," she said as they cleared the chapel, still glowing with happiness, "What did you and Jim get up to while Kelly was whipping me into shape?"

"Don't ask," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "Come on. There's booze upstairs, as promised. Good shit, too."

"Can I ask how in the hell you got the fucking _Tower?"_ She asked incredulously, glancing back at Jim with raised eyebrows, sure that he had something (if not a lot) to do with it.

Moran glanced back at Jim, too, who raised an eyebrow. "I'm hurt, Harrison. You doubt my abilities?"

"I'm still shocked. Would you prefer I wasn't in awe?" She asked, laughing.

"No," he retorted, smirking. "Be awed. Just slightly less incredulous." They headed upstairs, and opened the door to a small hall. There was an exhibit about torture in the tower, and set up on a beheading block was a small bar. Champagne, wine, scotch, vodka, mixers of all sorts. A bartender that Moran recognized from hits was waiting, as was a chef from the kitchens, standing attendant, apparently ready to take orders. "Food from anywhere in the city, or made here," Jim said, smiling. "We've got the world open to us."

"Careful, sir, I might think you're happy for us," she winked, then leaned up to kiss Sebastian's cheek again, practically glowing. "What sounds good to you, husband of mine?"

 _Husband_. The word felt anachronistic, yet somehow it settled well on his shoulders. "Sushi. Boss, that place-"

Moriarty smirked. "I had some delivered already. Michael, if you would?" The chef bowed and left. "Everyone else? We'll place an order," Jim said, sounding quite at ease.

"Sushi sounds great," she hummed, looking around. She would have been happy with simple mac and cheese, at the moment. The chef came back a few moments later, a large platter of sushi in his hands.

Jim rolled his eyes, walking over to speak to the bartender, while Keira's eyes found a table of hor'dourves and she made a beeline. Moran caught Lorna's hand and headed for some comfortable looking couches which had been arranged, glad that he hadn't been the one moving them up gods-knew-what stairway.

She sat after a second of adjusting her dress, and wasn't shy about leaning against his side, very much looking the part of the happy bride. "How many people do you think we're displacing today?"

He shrugged, leaning forward as the chef set down sushi on the low table and then returned to Jim, who was rambling off a long order. "Who the hell knows. For all the world knows, the place is closed for emergency maintenance. Let them think what they will."

"Did you plan this place specifically, or was that Jim?" She asked, smirking slightly as the chef dutifully wrote the order at a breakneck pace, and leaning forward herself to grab a pair of chopsticks, making a beeline for salmon sashimi.

He snorts. "It was a joint effort, but mostly Jim. My knowledge of buildings extends primarily to where I can shoot from them."

She snorted around a roll in a very dignified fashion. "Where's the most high-profile place you've sniped from?"

"The Taj Mahal," he said, the flicker of s fond smile on his face at the memory. "That place was a dream. So many nooks to tuck myself into."

She laughed. "Yeah, I can imagine. Must have had to slather on the sunscreen though. Or do you not worry about it during missions?"

"Oh, I worry about it," he snorted. "Sun poisoning is not something I want to have to deal with, thank you." He reached out to pick up a small plate from a stack the chef had left, starting to load sushi up. The glint of the ring on his finger caught his attention, and he stared at it for a moment, before returning to the food acquisition.

"Sun... Poisoning? Not burn?" She asked, raising her eyebrows. "What is that? Too much vitamin D?"

"Just really, really shitty sunburn," he said, through a bite of tuna roll. "Saw it plenty in Iraq. Makes you sick as hell- nausea, headache, fever, the whole shebang."

"Jeez," she said, finally tearing her gaze away from him long enough to follow his lead and gather herself a plate of her favorite sushi rolls. "Sounds like withdrawal, but maybe worse."

He shook his head. "Not worse. More like a stomach bug than anything. It goes away after a day or so. But in the field that's life or death."

She nodded a little, thoughtfully. "Interesting, anyway. Good reason to put on sunscreen, at the very least."

He rolled his eyes. "You are in that dress and we are discussing sun stroke. That seems like a horrid waste of time."

She cracked a smile, shrugging slightly. "I'm just enjoying talking to my _husband._ I'm very studiously ignoring your clothes, to be honest, so I can eat sushi without just jumping you."

He gave a lopsided grin, canine flashing. "What do you like better, the dagger or the cape?"

"I'm honestly having trouble deciding, really," she laughed, leaning back on the couch, bringing her plate into her lap with little regard for her dress. It was red - not likely to show too many stains - and the most important part of the day had passed already. "I love the _implication_ of the dagger, and it's actually quite pretty, looking at it up close, but, Christ, a _cape?_ God, I thought I at _least_ had vanilla preferences in clothes."

"I win," Jim smirked as he sat down across from them. Moran shot him mild glare. "I'll make your appointment," the irishman drawled pleasantly.

Lorna's eyebrows shot up, and she looked between them questioningly. "What? What appointment? What bet did I unknowingly walk into?"

"I'll be getting a tattoo, no larger than ten centimeters in any direction, of his choosing," Seb said with a tired sigh.

She sputtered, eyes wide. "I.." She turned to Jim. "What are you making him get?"

"What, and ruin the surprise? I think not," Jim said gleefully. Moran rolled his eyes. "I'll remind you that anything which hurts my reputation hurts you, as well," he said dryly.

Jim smirked. "Who said it was going to be somewhere visible? It's possible that only your dear _wife_ and I would ever see it?"

" _Jim."_

Moran shrugged. "Let him do what he wants," Moran said with a smirk. "Any amount of pleading is just going to goad him on."

"Wise man," Jim said, leaning forward to pick up a piece of sashimi.

She made an exasperated noise but let it go, shaking her head. "Fine. Either way, I appreciate the outfit's more unique points."

Jim scoffed. "As if I'd let him get married in anything _normal_. Please."

She grinned. "Pride, Jim, or just your own fashionable sensibilities?"

"Why not both?" he asked, raising his glass of champagne in an idle toast.

Keira wandered over before she could say anything else, a plate of food in her hand. "So when are you guys gonna dance, anyway?"

Moran raised an eyebrow, glancing at her with an annoyed expression. "What do you mean?"

"The wedding dance. Every wedding has a dance, at the reception. It's tradition," she rolled her eyes, ignoring his annoyance.

"This wedding is anything but traditional," Moran retorted, taking a glass of scotch the chef offered him with a nod of thanks. "And I'd like it to stay that way."

"You're just saying that because you can't dance," she shot back, smirking. Lorna also took a glass of scotch from the chef, sipping it to hide her own growing smirk.

"What gives you the impression that I can't dance, precisely?" he asked, eyeing her over his glass, expression unreadable.

"What about this _doesn't_ give me the impression you can't dance?" She grinned, openly baiting him now.

"You've seen me fight hand-to-hand. All that strength and coordination translates. Trust me." He sipped his drink dismissively.

"It certainly translates to other things," Lorna commented, wiggling her eyebrows before popping a roll into her mouth. Keira made an exasperated noise.

"You know I'll never believe you unless you prove it, right?"

"A fact which renders me heartbroken, I assure you," Moran returned, tone drier than sand.

"So you're _not_ going to dance with your newly wedded wife?" Lorna smirked, resting her elbow on the back of the sofa and leaning against it. "For shame, Sebastian. Why else did let Jim dress you up? Simply for me to tear it off later, with nary a picture taken?"

The sniper leveled a glare at her. "Since when do you take her side?" he asked, attempting not to sound resigned and failing.

She grinned, shrugging slightly. "I'm impartial. Plus, I can't have her thinking I'm against her no matter what, right?"

"It wouldn't be the worst thing I can imagine," he said sarcastically, though he stood.

She smirked and stood, though it was partially because Keira gave a delighted smile and turned to the sound system in the corner someone had thought to include (probably Jim, the clairvoyant bastard), plugging her phone in and taking a minute to select a good song for them to dance to. "Hell, I'm just amazed I'm finally getting an answer on the dancing mystery."

Sebastian stood, staying very still for a beat as his vision momentarily darkened and sparked. It returned a second later and he turned- steady- to Lorna. "Shall we?"

She smirked, stepping in closer to him. "Please."

He reached out, taking her hand and heading toward a more open space.

Jim watched them. They were poetic- the fullness of lust and life next to the haggard spectre of death, joining for a dance. It amused him, and stirred something deeper.

Keira finally got the music working and hurried back over to sit on the sofa, far, far away from Jim, as the wedded pair stepped into a slow ballroom dance which might have been awkward had the two of them not had such a strong presence.

As it happened, Moran could dance. Not spectacularly- he wouldn't draw any admiring glances on a dance floor for his footwork, but he wouldn't draw any condescending glances either. He led with quiet efficiency that seemed rather to miss the art of the process, but he was well timed and graceful. A military man to the core.

His wife, however, could dance spectacularly; she moved light on her feet, and always in a way that left her skirt swaying just right, taking what he offered and spinning it to her own advantage. In short, she did what she always did best; she made herself look _good,_ and by proxy, her partner.

He focused on her more than anything, foregoing the music for her rhythm, trusting her instinct more than his ear. He matched her with reflexes honed by years of hand-to-hand combat. Eventually he lost the boxy set of his stance for something a little more fluid, forgetting their small audience in favor of the woman in front of him.

 _I don't want to die._

Sudden, sharp, painful, the stray thought ripped through his mind like a bullet. Up to this point it hadn't really mattered. Death was a reality that had stalked him for a long time. But here, with her in his arms, his _wife_...

He didn't want to die.

She felt more than saw him falter, and the music was winding down anyway; she took the opportunity to come to a slow stop, leaning up and kissing him softly. She could feel Jim watching them, and she wondered what he was thinking. He'd allowed them this, this moment that was just for the two of them. This day that was in celebration of their weakness for each other. He was bound to have some sort of feeling about it, one way or another. She shook the thought from her head and just enjoyed her husband's presence. While she could.

He took a moment to meet her gaze, but there was too much there and he looked away, seeking a distraction. He found it in Keira. "There. We danced. Happy?"

She smirked, putting her phone away. "Very. I promise the video isn't going anywhere."

"Good," he said, meeting her gaze calmly. "It would be a hell of a shame if I had to cut off your toes and feed them to you."

"Yup," she said cheerfully, leaning back and looking smug. Jim rolled his eyes.

"This is why you're still not allowed to birth another one."

"Like we would want to, Jim," Moran shot back, rolling his eyes and reaching up to straighten the cape slightly.

Lorna made an undignified gagging sound. "Jesus. Can you imagine _me,_ pregnant? Ugh," she muttered, though she squeezed Sebastian's hand once, where it was hidden in her skirts. Jim looked unamused.

"Yes, quite. Everyone looks their best a balloon," he said dryly.

"It isn't happening, Jim. As much as you might want another Moran to train up. That one's all you get." He jutted his chin toward Keira.

Keira stuck her tongue out, and Jim reached out and I'm just grabbed it, to her extreme consternation. "Jim," Lorna sighed.

He eyed her, still holding Keira's tongue. "Are you still here? I would have thought the two of you would be fucking in a corner by now."

She smirked, squeezing Sebastian's hand again. "Well, if we're going to keep doing things that are _expected_ of us..."

Jim flicked something their way, and Moran caught it deftly. A credit card. "A car is waiting to take you to Heathrow. My plane is there. Go wherever you like, buy whatever you want. No limit. I'll find you when I need you."

She made a surprised noise, eyebrows shooting up, but she nodded, doing her best to take it in stride. "Thank you. Promise we won't destroy your coffers."

"Unless you plan on purchasing a mid-sized country, you would be hard-pressed," he said, waving a hand dismissively and finally releasing Keira's tongue. She retracted it quickly and moved away.

"I think somehow we'll avoid that," she smirked, then tugged at Sebastian's hand. "Alright, where are we going?"

He shook his head, heading for the door with a grateful glance at Jim. "I don't care. Anywhere."

She hummed thoughtfully as they crossed the threshold, letting him take care of remembering the way back out. "Is it too much to go back to Switzerland?"

He laughed. "If that's where you want to be, then Switzerland it is," he agreed. "Hell. Maybe we'll buy the place on Jim's dime." His eyes twinkled.

She laughed too, shrugging lightly as they walked through the stone hall. "That would be hilarious. What a wedding gift! God, do you think he'd be angry? I honestly can't tell."

"I think he enjoyed that place as much as we did," he said with a small smirk, guiding her down through the tower, his cape billowing slightly with their movement.

"True. Then he could go whenever he liked. I'm sure your security upgrades would be stellar," she chuckled, glancing back at his cape with a slight tinge of amusement.

"Switzerland, then," he agreed, dropping the conversation as they hit the street, wary of eavesdroppers. A car was waiting, just as Jim had said, and they climbed inside.

She was surprised to find a bottle of champagne in the car waiting for them, and she chuckled, picking up the bottle and pouring herself a serving into the provided plastic glass. "The man really knows how to pull out all the stops. Why do you think he's being so... accommodating?"

He shrugged, though he resisted the urge to pour his own glass. Alcohol didn't mix well with most of the medication he was on. "Who the hell knows. I can predict him _some_ of the time, but nowhere near all." He knew exactly why. Jim knew his odds as well as he did. Probably better. He was giving an old friend a good last few months, if that was what it was.

She took that with a mild quirk of her eyebrows a slight shrug, deciding it was what it was. "Whatever, then. I won't do too much looking in that particular horse's mouth. I'm too damn pleased with everything and I'm loathe to bother that feeling. Are we going back to HQ to pack or has he managed to pack us clothes, as well?"

"I very much doubt he's done anything but. If not, hell, we'll buy new ones." He leaned back as the car pulled out into traffic.

"Might as well, if Jim's footing the bill," she hummed, then shook her head. "It's funny how, when Jim very rarely offers to pay for things, or when you paid for my scar removal, I act as if I'm not loaded with enough money to buy more than a few large islands. I don't know why I hoard my money like I do. My upbringing, maybe?"

He chuckled. "I'm your husband, not your shrink. Don't ask me why you hoard."

She took a second to just enjoy him calling himself her husband, basking in the sensation, and smirked. "I don't know why I'm asking you. Just wondering out loud."

He rolled his eyes, and fell silent, then, watching out the window as London passed by. Eventually he pulled out his phone, and, when Lorna was looking elsewhere, shot Keira a text.

 _Feed Shinyfucker. Cans of food under the sink. I'll tell security you're to be let in once at the beginning and end of your shift._

* * *

The ride to Heathrow passed uneventfully, as did the boarding of the plane, and she found that waiting for them was a change of clothes, which she looked at Sebastian over, raising her eyebrows. "They're in our size, of course."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "...this surprises you... why? Exactly?" He reached out to take his clothes- a crimson tee shirt and black jeans which looked as though they had been tailored to him- and walked toward the spacious W.C. to change.

"I did say 'of course,' she smirked, grabbing her teal button up and seemingly matching dark jeans and following him. "You're keeping the clothes, right? We're fucking with that cape at least once."

"I'll keep the clothes," he agreed, rolling his eyes, though he was certainly interested in trying the edge of his dagger. He started working on delayering, setting the cape and belt on the counter.

She managed to unzip herself without any help, and then carefully slipped out of her dress, her lingerie revealing themselves to be the same color as the dress, and she changed into the new clothes, mind preoccupied with Switzerland. God, she loved it there.

He paused in his own undressing to admire her underthings. Eventually she covered up again and he refocused, getting dressed quickly. When she left, he opened the cabinet and found exactly what he'd been hoping- Jim had stocked it with his medications. He grabbed for the one that would ease the growing tightness in his chest, swallowing one of the small pills with a little water from the sink. He rinsed his mouth out, spitting out the pink water, and then straightened. He neatened his hair- the ugly blond had grown out, and there were streaks of pale silver at his temples. He looked old.

But he looked happy, too. He felt happy. He put the pills back and shut the cabinet, following Lorna into the main cabin.

She spent the flight lounging half on Sebastian's lap, reading emails on her phone, occasionally humming to herself a song that she had stuck in her head. Married. They were married now. And however bad the coming months might be, she had right now to enjoy.

* * *

Our vampire AU is out now, if you're interested! As always, if you want to talk you can reach Lorna's writer at wulfydragon at gmail!

The Black Keys - The Only One

The playlist links are on my profile!


	144. An Unpleasant Prospect-Lingering Trauma

A/N

Again a short chapter, but one of us is just soooo busy! Sorry guys!  
Also, as of August 6th, 2018 it will be and my Sebastian's writer's "anniversary" of beginning to write this story!

* * *

They did buy the lodge in the end. They weren't going to, but two days in Moran got particularly annoyed with a member of the wait staff and bought the place just to have the petty pleasure of firing him.

The whole endeavor became more bittersweet the closer they came to the end of the week, and Lorna spent a few showers having small crying sessions, but it was mostly a happy affair, with a lot of sex and casual affection. It didn't contain as much laughter as the first time they'd visited, but that was more normal with them anyway. It was on the seventh morning that she got a text from Jim, and she sighed, sitting on the bed and steeling herself before opening it. It was what she expected; calling them back so she could go on a mission. Without Sebastian. Thank god for that, at least.

Moran was furious, but at no one in particular. Jim was making the right call in benching him, and Lorna's mission was necessary. Their first blatant reaction to this Euros character. Still, it put her in the line of fire without him between her and the bullet, and he hated it. They spent the flight back mostly in silence, though she sat pressed up against him, as if she hadn't already spent a week attached to him at the hip, basking in his presence while she still could.

Back at HQ, she unpacked and then kissed Sebastian on the cheek. "I'm going to go report to Jim. See you later?"

He felt completely useless, but nodded tersely. "Enjoy."

She took that for what it was and nodded, then turned and left. Within a couple minutes she was outside Jim's office, and knocked, straightening her shirt as she did so. She hadn't reported to Jim by herself since Sebastian had been fake dead. It felt odd to do it again.

"Come in." Jim was sitting at his desk, flicking through notes on a tablet, eyeing new intelligence coming from his contacts in the government.

She walked in and took the place of Sebastian on the other side of the table, falling into parade rest. "Good day, sir. What's the job?"

He smirked at her stiff posture, one which Moran made look far more natural. "Do relax, Harrison. The military looks poorly on you."

She gave him a dirty look, settling down with her a hand on her hip and her weight on her good leg. "That better?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong, kitten? You seem to be in a shit mood."

She was surprised, but she smiled a little. "Call it jet lag, sir. Sorry. I know I'm a poor replacement for Moran."

"You aren't his replacement. You represent an entirely different branch of my operation," he said, waving her off in a way that was somehow simultaneously reassuring and insulting. "Now sit. We have a lot to discuss."

She took a few steps forward and sank into the closest chair, and then waited for him to get started.

"I assume Moran told you about Euros?" he began, eyeing her expression to judge for himself how much she knew.

She nodded. "A while ago. He was bloody smashed, but yes, he told me," she replied, noting the way he was looking at her and deciding that she wasn't going to make it easy to read her, keeping her expression perfectly neutral.

He nodded primly. "I've contacted Mycroft Holmes. We've reached a truce, of sorts. You're to be placed on assignment with his people in Euros' prison."

She took a deep breath, working her lips for a second before she nodded and let the breath out. "Yeah, sure. That sounds like something that would happen in this whole crazy situation. Any people of his that I know?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Rather unfortunately, Mycroft does not trust me to keep Euros in her cage. So he's sending along a watchdog." He sneered the last word. "John Watson."

Lorna squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and then opened them, eyebrows raising, blinking hard. "Good God in heaven has quite the fucking humor. It's been a spell since we last laid eyes on him, isn't it?"

Jim laughed. "Yes. I desperately hope he remembers you, though he was so high on drugs at the time that he may not."

"Your wishes are the exact opposite of mine, unsurprisingly, on this topic," she said wearily, though she wore a dry smile. "I heard his wife bit the dust. Was that us? I can't remember."

He shrugged. "Not directly, though we were involved in the situation leading up to it. It doesn't matter. He's moved on. I'd go as far as to say he's settled for Sherly, though he doesn't seem to have realized it yet."

She nodded a little. "What's the mission, then? Scouting? I assume you want us to avoid making contact with Euros."

He nods. "At least at first. She is an incredibly skilled manipulator. I don't want to risk exposure immediately."

 _Uh oh._ "Do you anticipate this mission being long, sir?"

"Not overly so." Jim shook his head. "Long enough to get yourself integrated, get the read on the facility and her influence. A few weeks, perhaps a month."

She bit the inside of her cheek, but otherwise didn't react to the time. A month, spent away from Sebastian, when every moment was precious. "Understood, sir. Any other details I need to know about?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm still working things out with Holmes. I'll send you the details to review tonight. Your plane leaves tomorrow morning."

She nodded again, moving to stand. "Will that be all, sir?"

"That will be all." He didn't bother waving her out, just returned to his work.

She stood and exited, closing the door behind her softly and then sighing, eyes falling shut for a moment. Then she straightened herself and walked to the elevator. Time to give Moran the news.

* * *

He wasn't in the flat. Instead there was a note on the coffee table.

 _Down at the shooting range._

Magpie was there, lounging across the couch, and she gave Lorna a lazy glance. She had grown significantly in the past months, lengthening out, though she was still skinny.

She sighed, but understood, and sat down on the couch for a moment, leaning down to kiss Magpie. "Hi, sweetie. You're getting big. I'll come try to hang out before I have to leave again, okay?"

Magpie gave a small chirp, seemingly just glad to have some attention, and she gave the cat another pet before she stood again and headed for the door.

A few minutes later she stepped into the mostly-empty shooting range. At the far end was Sebastian, and she walked towards him, staying in his peripheral vision so she didn't surprise him.

He emptied his clip and set the gun down, turning to nod at her. He had been practicing relentlessly with his right hand, trying to get his game back after the loss of his finger.

She gave a slight smile, and then let out a breath. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning. A mission to scout out Euros' location. With John Watson. For perhaps a month."

His face- already sallow with illness- lost another shade to anger, but that was his only obvious reaction. He picked up the gun and began to meticulously reload it.

She sighed, turning away a little. That was about the reaction she had expected. She couldn't soothe him this time. What was there to say?

He finished loading the gun, raised it, fired. Emptied the gun again, set it aside again, stared at the target with a spread of eight holes barely the size of a two-pound coin. It infuriated him further. At this range he should be able to leave a single hole.

He took a slow breath.

"What security will you have?"

She bit the inside of her lip, looking away slightly. "Non-existent. If it makes you feel better, John is an army man."

"I know precisely what John Watson is capable of." He had laid the man apart, piece by piece. Had fractured his psyche. "That is a good portion of my concern."

She grimaced and nodded. "I won't let my guard down. I'll be as vigilant as I know how. Believe me, I don't want to be caught there."

He turned to look at her fully, then. "She's a Holmes. I find it difficult to believe they're taking our side over hers, here."

"Is it?" She said doubtfully, one side of her mouth turning up skeptically. "She tried to destroy her brother's life, didn't she? Creatively? With Jim as her instrument? Isn't she locked up to protect the rest of the fucking world?"

He shrugged. "The Holmes' are loyal. They aren't going to trust us near Euros, I see no reason we should give them the courtesy."

She sighed, raising a hand to rub her eyes, her wedding ring glinting in the fluorescent light. "Yeah, you're right. I don't want you to be because it means I'm going to have a very tense month."

"If you didn't think it was going to be a tense month in the first place, you're an idiot." He reloaded his gun and tucked it into his shoulder holster, adjusting his jacket.

She rolled her eyes. "I mean even tenser, obviously. It was going to be rough no matter what. But I like working with a partner I can trust, at the very least."

He shrugged, heading for the door. His right hand ached, arm throbbing slightly in sympathy. "So make it so that you can."

She followed, scratching an itch on her neck. "Are you asking me to seduce John Watson? Because that's what it sounds like you're asking."

He shrugged. "It is what you do. If it keeps you safer, do it." It ate at him to consider, but it was necessary and he was pragmatic.

She nodded. "Yeah, alright," she sighed, rubbing a thumb over the ruby on her finger. "Better to come back feeling gross than not come back at all."

He nodded slightly, glancing at her fidgeting. At the snake-entwined ring on her finger. "That about sums it up."

She fell silent as they reached the elevator, not sure what else to say at the looming presence of her upcoming mission. How much would he deteriorate while she was gone?

He called the lift, and leaned against the wall, casual. His shoulder felt bony pressed against the plaster. She wasn't speaking, and he saw no reason to, either. Not really. "When do you leave?" He felt like she had told him, but he'd been too angry to mark what she'd said.

"Tomorrow morning," she said quietly, biting the inside of her cheek.

He just nodded a little. There was nothing he could do. This was her job. It wasn't like before, when Jim had been risking her life on fruitless missions. This was necessary. She was the best they had.

The doors opened onto their floor and she stepped out, looking around once with a sort of resigned feeling in her chest. The last time she had returned from a trip she had been thrilled to see the place again. Now it was just a reminder of the end of their bittersweet honeymoon. She headed for the door, scanning it open and stepping inside.

Moran entered behind her, and went to sit on the couch, grabbing his laptop from the end table and trying not to look as exhausted as he felt. He was nauseous, and shooting had taken more out of him than he was willing to admit.

She passed behind the sofa on her way to pick up a lounging Magpie, tucking her up against her chest, under her neck, her eyes on what she could see of Sebastian's face. The invisibility of his illness was beginning to fade, she thought. He was tired more of the time, now, and perhaps slightly thinner, even though it was hard to tell, considering how much time she spent with him - the decline wasn't noticeable. She turned and put down Magpie, and walked into the bedroom, beginning the process of packing for a mission like this.

Shinyfuck wandered over to gnaw at the toe of his boot, and he nudged her off, logging into his laptop and beginning the blessedly mind-numbing process of wading through a week's worth of missed emails.

She finished packing and then sat on the bed, putting her head between her hands and trying to make the upcoming mission gel correctly in her mind. Working with John Watson to fight a Holmes. Jesus.

Eventually he noticed that Lorna hadn't come back, and so he set his laptop aside and stood. Instead of heading for the bedroom, however, he headed for the kitchen, and began assembling an invitation to emerge in the guise of surf-and-turf stir-fry.

Eventually the smell of cooking food wafted through the door, and her thoughts were interrupted by her stomach gurgling. She stood and walked out into the living room, following her nose. It wasn't exactly a surprise to find him cooking when she reached the kitchen, but she was surprised to see surf in the surf'n'turf. She raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were a turf guy?"

He shrugged, stirring the shrimp into the vegetables. "Not sure where you got that impression. How often have we gotten sushi?"

"You hate literally said to me you'd rather have turf over surf any day," she chuckled, walking further into the kitchen to lean against the counter by the stove, out of his way but close to him.

"You seem to like both," he pointed out with a shrug, tossing in some soy sauce and chopped garlic. "Unless you're objecting."

"No, just commenting on your past assertions," she shrugged, and tried to stuff down another encroaching wave of existential dread about the mission.

He didn't respond, just shrugged and stirred the food before turning to grab plates and silverware.

She stifled a sigh and moved to get herself a cup of water. She understood why he wasn't really up for conversation at the moment, but it was hard pretending that everything was okay with nothing but silence.

He filled two plates. "What is your itinerary looking like?"

"I leave for the plane tomorrow morning. I glanced at the game plan and it looks like I'll be meeting up with Watson at the airport, and then we'll be given more information. The less places it is, the better, I suppose."

He made a small noisee of acquiescence, though internal annoyance sparked. He hadn't been consulted on this. Jim had kept him completely in the dark. He should have reviewed these plans. "Good." He set the plates on the table a bit roughly and tossed forks beside them.

She sighed silently, sitting at the table a little stiffly, tension in her chest. She knew, realistically, that Sebastian didn't turn on her when he was like this anymore, that he was long past the point of harming her (unless she made a point of asking him to), but the learned wariness was still there, and she kept her eyes on her food as she started eating.

* * *

Playlist:

Hey Violet - Like Lovers Do


	145. Well This Is Awkward

Playlist: Barcelona - Please Don't Go

If you're looking for the link to the playlist it's on my profile!

* * *

He was halfway through eating, barely tasting his food, lost in thought about the conversation he was going to have with Jim, by the time he realized how stiff she was. "What are you doing?"

She looked up at him, startled. "What? I'm eating."

"You're as stiff as a corpse," he muttered, bemused.

"Force of habit, sorry," she sighed, forcibly making herself relax, rolling some of the tension out of her shoulders.

He sighed. "I'm not angry at you. I'm furious at Jim."

She sighed. "I know. But it... Didn't really used to matter who you were angry at, I don't think."

He shook his head a little. "That's fair, I suppose. But you leave in the morning. I don't want to spend tonight fighting with you."

She nodded, and reached across the table to offer her hand to him, returning to eating with the other. That was good enough for her. Thank god for how far they'd come.

He took it, returning to his own food, though his stomach gave up on him halfway through and he stopped eating to avoid losing it all to the toilet. He sat back, then, just watching her. Memorizing her expression, her movements. A month... and that was if all went well. If Euros didn't kill her. If the Holmes brothers stayed true to Jim's expectations.

She finished her food even though her heart wasn't in it, just so one of them could stay healthy, and then she stood, releasing his hand to take her plate to the sink, and coming back for his to wrap it up and put it in the fridge. "What do you want to do tonight? Considering it will be our last together for a little while."

He wanted to do a lot of things. He wanted to go kill someone in the street, laugh and fuck over their body. He wanted to stay here and get drunk and pin her to a wall, and break plaster and windows and furniture as he left marks that would last for days. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and hold her and then go kill Jim and take over the network and end this idiotic assignment...

But he was exhausted and increasingly nauseous, and he could feel the combined weariness of their honeymoon and his shooting sitting like a boulder between his shoulders.

"Let's just... watch a nature documentary or something, yeah?"

"Okay," she smiled gently, offering him her hand again. She knew he was unhappy, that he felt constricted and oppressed by his illness, and she knew that there was little she could do for him besides be at his side and try to take some of the burden off his chest. "Maybe there's one about birds. I swear, I'll get you interested someday."

"I very much doubt that," he muttered, rolling his eyes and heading for the living room to collapse on the couch.

She let her hand fall back to her side and followed him, telling herself that he just hadn't seen it, and sank down next to him on the couch, grabbing the remote from the floor where Magpie had knocked it and turning on the television.

He got comfortable- he was achy today- and reached out to pull her against his side, closing his eyes and paying very little attention to whatever she was putting on.

Eventually his still warmth put her into a doze, her head resting on his shoulder, legs curled up and half in his lap. She twitched slightly occasionally, during half dreams, but otherwise was mostly dead to the world.

He fell asleep almost before she did, lounged out on the couch, exhausted.

* * *

She woke up when her phone alarm went off, and she jolted awake, already trying to remember if she was ready for the trip. After a moment, she realized still needed to pack a few extra things, and she got up, heading into the bedroom, running a hand through her mussed hair.

It was a testament to his illness that he slept through both the alarm and her movement, still sound asleep, unmoving, when she returned.

Her heart clenched a little as she set down her bag, just taking a moment and looking down at him. He looked... almost defenseless, asleep like this. She'd never known him to stay asleep once she'd gotten up and started moving around, not unless he was drugged, or recovering from starvation. And there was nothing she could do about it. She stepped over and put a hand on his shoulder, leaning down a little to kiss him on the forehead and murmur, "I'm leaving to go meet Watson at the airport now. Wish me luck?"

He started awake, hands flying up and stopping just short of her neck. He relaxed slowly, and took a breath as he processed what she had said. He took hold of the back of her neck- much gentler than he almost had a moment ago- and brought her down for a kiss. "Good luck." His voice was hoarse.

She was generally used to his coming-out-of-sleep jerks, so she just smiled a little and turned to leave, picking up her luggage and heading for the door, a sadness beginning to sit in her stomach.

He followed her with his eyes as she left, debating how best to deal with the annoying ache developing in his chest. His body decided for him, and he was asleep again before he had a choice in the matter.

* * *

The walk to the car in the garage was uneventful, and so was the ride to the airport, where she sat in silence in the back, planning on her strategy for dealing with John Watson while the chauffeur got to do his job for once.

They arrived and she got out, heading for the public meeting place in one of the lobbies before security, where she discovered she was the first one there. Her suspicions weren't arisen, though; there were far too many people here for it to be an obvious trap. Now she had to wait.

It was twenty minutes later that a familiar blond approached her. John offered his hand, eyes careful but not uncivil. "Mrs. Moran, I'm told," he said quietly. "A pleasure to see you again."

She gave him a slightly embarrassed, slightly tight smile, and shook his offered hand sheepishly. "Apologies for the past. And it's actually just Harrison, thank you. Do you have the information Mycroft promised or am flying in blind?"

"Here," he confirmed, nodding to the briefcase in his hand. "We can discuss it once we're in the air. The plane's waiting."

She sighed slightly through her nose - Moran would hate this, might even refuse to follow John - but nodded back and leaned down to pick up her bag. "I didn't pack any weapons. I'm assuming that you have some waiting for me once we land?" She asked, raising her eyebrows slightly, though she motioned to the side, a cue that they could get moving.

"They'll be provided to us as part of our uniforms." He began walking toward the private air strips.

Uniforms. Okay. So they were going in pretending to be staff. And, of course, she was being sent with a _non-_ grifter. Sherlock, she could see - he was a decent liar, and certainly quick on his feet - but _Watson?_ He wasn't an idiot, but he wasn't exactly a clandestine operative. He was an army doctor, for crying out loud. They made it to the light security they needed to pass through, and she took a breath and looked over at him, eyes bordering on intense. "Why you, Watson? Why not Sherlock? Why not fucking Mycroft, even? Hell, why not one of Mycroft's _men?_ Did you volunteer for this suicidal nonsense?"

He shrugged. "I needed a change of pace. Sherlock was otherwise occupied. I volunteered, yes."

She sighed, audibly, and gave him a sweeping glance. He was... almost relaxed. It was an odd reaction for someone on their way into a life-threatening situation. "Why?"

He smiled. "The same reason I ever worked with Sherlock." He left it with that and nodded to the security guard, setting his bag down on the conveyor belt.

She followed suit, accepting that that was all the answer she was going to get out of him until he warmed up a little. She still wasn't sure what game she wanted to play here, if any. It felt wrong to cuddle up to one of the men of her greatest enemy, especially now that Sebastian... She bit the inside of her cheek and walked through the rest of the airport on autopilot, simply following John and thinking. Did she let her contempt show through, take control of the situation that way? No, she couldn't - at least not yet. He would be too resistant - anybody who worked with Sherlock had to have a least the slightest bit of spine. But seducing him would be a challenge in and of itself. The man had recently lost his wife. Having experienced the same thing, at least without the official title, she couldn't imagine moving on so quickly, not with a stranger. Even Jim had hurt.

She didn't speak again until they were on the plane, and then she put her bag down and crossed her arms over her chest, looking at him expectantly. "Well? What's Mycroft's clever cover story for us? Or is that my job, besides being cannon fodder for the slug?"

She had no qualms about showing her contempt for the elder Holmes brother, however.

"We've been hired on as security," John said as he chose his own seat, across the plane from her. "Mycroft is in charge of the vetting for new staff, so it was no issue. We need to find the rat. Simple."

"Assuming there's only one," she muttered, sitting down heavily. "We need to get our story straight. Well, _you_ need to get your story straight. Who are you, what's your name, are you married, do you have a goldfish, so on and so forth. I'm under the impression you've never been undercover before, am I right?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Not long term, no. I've pulled a few stunts with Sherlock, but nothing more than a few hours. I understand this will be different."

"Alright," she said, though she was internally cringing. Working on a gig this big with an absolute amateur? This couldn't end well. "So. We're acquaintances. Met for the first time during our interviews and we've trained together to get ready for this assignment. We don't know each other particularly well but we get along and as we'll be in a new place, will stick to each other like flies on flypaper. Make up whatever backstory you want, but stick to it. What names has Mycroft given us?"

He nodded at her explanation. "You're Kate Bowen. I'll be Kyle Winslow." He opened his bag and handed her folders. "I have a background already, actually. Been memorizing and preparing for weeks now. Siblings, education, worst Christmas present. We did meet in training. The details of how we met and my background are in there. Mycroft figured you would want to fill out Bowen's history yourself."

"He would be correct," she replied, opening up the first folder and leaning back to start scanning. "You know that I am an only child and from a bad family, and that my favorite drink is a martini in any shape or form. The rest, you don't need to know unless it comes up."

He nodded, murmuring those details a few times before pulling another folder out and starting to go over it.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye for a minute, just trying to get to grips with the fact she was working with him, and then settled in for the rest of the flight.

He glanced up after a few minutes. "Let me know when you've finished with that, and I'll give you the security plans. We're to be conducting a review of their security."

"Oh Christ, if I've ever heard a grifting job Moran would like," she muttered, flipping through the last folder, then handing it across the aisle to him.

"I'm honestly surprised he wasn't the one assigned," he said, taking the envelope and trading her the red security briefing. "I'm aware of your grifting abilities, but he seems the more suited choice for security, and as I've experienced, he can tell a reasonable story."

"Well you so helpfully volunteered," she snorted, taking the briefing. She was quiet a moment. "Sebastian has Stage 2 lung cancer. I'm surprised Mycroft didn't tell you. Maybe it was so I had to say it myself. Ass."

John was hit first with surprise, and then with an odd mix of emotions.

On the one hand, he hated these people. They had destroyed him. It had taken him months to trust reality after they had taken him, and even longer to drag himself away from the weight of his PTSD and get control of his life again. He had limped for weeks. There was a distinct and highly warranted pleasure to the idea of Sebastian Moran dying a slow, unpleasant death.

On the other hand, however... He was- would always _be_ \- a doctor. Above all else. He had sworn to care for everyone, even his worst enemy, without discrimination or restraint. And _that_ side of him suddenly understood the reasons behind a sudden wedding, and the tired, distracted eyes of his traveling companion.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually, quietly. "That must be difficult."

She looked away, out the airplane window, swallowing hard. Nobody around her gave words of sympathy for this. Hell, no one knew. It stung in an unexpected way, one she hadn't felt in a long time. She'd forgotten that empathy was frequent in people who weren't the Holmes' brothers or criminals. "Thank you. It is."

He sat back slowly, turning to look out his own window, watching land fall away to sea. He didn't say anything else. He wasn't sure he could make it sincere.

She got herself under control and returned to reading what she was supposed to, absorbing the dry security briefing to the best of her considerable abilities and then setting it aside to wait out the rest of the short flight.

* * *

When she judged that the plane was beginning to descend, she looked over at Watson again. "We should change."

He nodded. "Uniforms are in the back, hanging across from the W.C. They'll provide our weaponry."

She stood, already pulling off her shirt in a form of aggressive warfare, and headed back to find and start donning the uniform, not bothering to change in the W.C.

John glanced after her, ears going a bit pink, turning away and coughing just slightly.

She adjusted the uniform once she'd finished and gathered up her clothes, returning to put them in her bag. "Your turn, Watson."

He nodded again, standing and heading back, closing himself into the small restroom to change. By the time he returned, they were midway through their descent, and he sat, belting in.

She found herself growing a little tenser, looking out the window through the fog at the approaching island. How was this going to go?

She muttered something akin to a prayer under her breath to a god she'd never believed in, and steeled herself.

The landing was as smooth as could be expected, given the limited runway and the buffeting wind that rollicked over the island. No sooner had they disembarked- and their luggage and a supply crate were unloaded- than the small craft was airborne again, heading back toward the mainland. They were met by a small security detail who greeted them with curt nods, and guided them inward.

"Well, isn't this a lovely little island," she said dryly, mostly to herself, managing with some difficulty to tie her hair back in the wind as they walked to the waiting jeep and climbed in the back. She leaned forward as the car started, placing a hand on the back of one of the seats to brace herself, and asked the driver, "How often do planes come and go? Do you pick up visitors often?"

"Sorry, ma'am," the older of the four said, looking back. "We need to confirm your identity formally. Then you'll be permitted to perform your inquest."

She sighed a little, but nodded, sitting back again. "Understood. I assume they're waiting at the base to do that?"

He nodded. "First thing, standard procedure. Then we'll get you both oriented." John shrugged and settled back, watching the island roll by.

They parked in a hanger of sorts, walking through into what appeared to be a processing area. One of the women from their detail touched Lorna's arm, and nodded toward a plain black door. "This way." One of the men did the same for John, guiding him to the next door down.

That wasn't slightly nerve-wracking or anything. Or annoying. "Is this a strip-search, or are we all going to leave with our dignities preserved today?" She asked, sighing and stepping through the black door.

"Strip, I'm afraid," the woman said, not unsympathetically. "And cavities. Any time you reenter the island."

"God," she sighed again, closing her eyes in resignation for a moment before she started. Now that she'd become more accustomed to the scar on her chest, she had mostly returned to her former comfort level of being viewed nude. She did take pleasure in the fact that a much less comfortable Watson was in the room next door, much less accustomed to these things.

The woman had the decency to make things brief, and only eyed the scar a second or two longer than necessary. Once Lorna was dressed, she nodded to a table. "Fingerprint and ocular scan, and you're done."

She complied without hesitation, though she was desperately hoping that Mycroft hadn't forgotten to add them into the system. "Do we do the fingerprints and ocular scans each time, too?"

She nodded. "They'll be your access codes. Key cards are too risky. I'll explain the full system once your identity is confirmed."

"Good, that's what I like to hear. I like an easy security review, if you know what I mean," she snorted, adjusting her collar, which was digging slightly into her neck. She wondered if Mycroft had tailored it to be annoying. Ass. "How long does confirming my identity take?"

"Only a few a few moments. Put your hands here... okay, great. Now lean in and put your eyes against the rests..." She clicked through a few things. "Look left... right... up... down... good. Great. Done with that. Now we just need a cheek swab for DNA records, and we're done."

 _Jesus,_ she thought to herself, though dutifully opened her mouth and let the woman take her swab. "Is this your whole job? Vetting arrivals? That must be... tedious."

She shook her head. "Just today. We cycle through on a regular but randomized schedule. It limits the predictability of our security."

"Good," she said again. "Should I expect to end up here, eventually?"

"No ma'am," the woman said with a small smile. "This is below your pay grade."

"Fantastic," she huffed, relieved, pulling at her collar again. Jesus, she hoped there was a quartermaster on site who could help fix the stupid thing. "The results back, yet?"

She shook her head, but just as she was opening her mouth to respond, the computer pinged. "Ah. There it is, all clear. Excellent. Welcome aboard, ma'am. Here's your badge. It doesn't open anything, but it ID's you, and you're required to wear it at all times on base, on or off duty, unless you're in your quarters."

She took the badge, nodding, and pinned it to her shirt. "Alright, thank you. Are we done here, then?"

"Yes," the woman said with a nod, motioning to the door. "I'll take you through now."

She opened it and exited it, finding John and his minder waiting outside. "Have as much fun as I did, Winslow?" she teased, smirking.

"I dunno, did they have you bend over and cough?" he asked with a smirk. "Very friendly welcome."

"Of course, this wasn't amateur hour, kudos to-" she checked the woman's badge for her name, and internally chuckled -"Mary here. Alright, shall we collect our things and move on? I'd like to put away my stuff and then get started evaluating."

The man with John- Kurt, by his badge- nodded. "Commander Malik has set up a meeting with the two of you as soon as you're settled, to discuss your work and access."

"Smashing. Let's go," she said, clapping her hands together once and picking up the bag she'd left by the door.


	146. Another Body

They were guided to an elevator. Mary scanned her eye and middle finger, and the elevator headed down. "Don't scan your thumb," she warned them as they descended. "We use that as a silent alert. If someone scans their thumb, it indicates they're opening the door against their will."

"Good to know," she said, standing straight and (somewhat) tall, trying to portray a character more similar to Sebastian's than her own.

The door opened on a barracks floor, and they were lead down a neat hallway to a door marked [604- BOWEN, WINSLOW]. "This will be the two of you, then. Tight space so even officers share quarters, but you have your own rooms. Each of you has access on the pad. Try it now, make sure it works for you both. You can leave your bags here, and we'll escort you to the commander."

She nodded, scanning the door with her middle finger as previously instructed and stepping back as the door clicked open for John to try. She was pleased they were forced to share quarters; it would make keeping an eye on him much easier, and if anybody tried to take out one of them, the other was there to help put a stop to it.

John's scan cleared as well, and they entered, setting rucksacks and bags on the floor of the sparse-but-comfortable shared living area. Mary nodded. "Excellent. Follow me." She headed back for the hall and elevator.

They followed dutifully, Lorna scanning the hallway, taking note of some of the names on the walls, wondering who among them was a rat. It was certainly someone, and likely someone high up. She doubted someone like Mary would have direct access to all the information that Euros had gathered over the years. And it had been a _lot_ of information.

It took them another five minutes to make their way to the commander's office- a centralized, glass-enclosed structure with a 360 view. Commander Malik- a man of middling height and middle-eastern descent met them at the door. "Officer Wilkins. Officer Bowen. Good to have you both."

"Thank you. Nice to meet you too. I'm sure you know why we're here; hell, you may have been the one who requested us. Should we get right down to business?"

He nodded. "I'm not the one who put in the request, that came from higher up, but we're at your disposal. You have full access. I only request you keep a guide with you until you understand our safety protocols."

"Of course, that sounds perfectly reasonable," she agreed easily. She was a master manipulator; a little tagalong for a while didn't bother her. "I have some immediate questions about the comings and goings of the island; I'd like to see reports of all planes entering and leaving, along with any watercraft, and a log of outside communications. We'll work from there. Outside-in, you might say," she smiled.

* * *

It wasn't until well past seven that night before they were allowed to return to their rooms for the night. Dinner had been simple, but decent, which John took as a good sign. Miserable food would have made this assignment considerably less bearable.

Lorna immediately stripped off her jacket, leaving her in the plain black, tight cotton shirt underneath, hanging up the jacket by the door and then walking over to sit on the couch. There a tv, at least. It remained to be seen whether or not they had cable. Somehow, she doubted it. Then she sighed, and stood. She'd realized she needed to start checking for bugs.

John picked up his rucksack, glancing over at Lorna's search, and nodded, indicating one of the bedrooms. He walked in, set his bag down, and started his own search.

The search took her about twenty minutes more than it would have taken Sebastian, but she was alright with that, as long as she was certain she was thorough. She found no bugs, which wasn't entirely surprising, considering Mycroft had set up this mission, and they were trying to stay under the radar from Euros. When she was done she let out a sigh of relief, and got a glass of water from the small kitchenette. "Alright, we're clear."

John nodded. "Good. That makes life less complicated. We could explain removing bugs as part of our security checks, but..." He shrugs. "Undo suspicion from whoever planted them."

"Certainly less annoying this way. Thanks, Mycroft, for once in your useless life," she muttered into her glass of water, downing it in a few gulps. "By the way, looks like we're sharing a bathroom. Try not to make it filthy. I mean, not that I _expect_ you to, but I have been unpleasantly surprised in the past."

"I tend toward the neat side of things. Sherlock was always more of a mess than I really had a taste for."

"I guess you were in the army. I forget, sometimes. Been years since I last thought about you, really. You should be flattered, considering how often I think about your friends," she snorted, setting down her glass and putting her hands on the counter, just sort of leaning over the sink, closing her eyes. This was so strange. Working with these people, here and now, of all times. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be with Sebastian, wanted to take care of him, make sure he was taking care of _himself,_ make sure Jim wasn't doing anything foolish to get in the way of that... She rubbed a hand over her face.

"Yes, I've always been the forgettable one. Comes in handy, really." He walked over to sit on the couch, flipping on the tele and starting to shift through channels. "Surprising amount of options. Guess there isn't much else to do out here."

"Good," she said, and pushed off the counter, moving to sit on the other side of the couch. She looked, and felt, exhausted. Had it really only been the day before that she'd come back from her honeymoon? It didn't seem real.

"Here." He handed her the remote. "I don't care what."

She switched it to a nature documentary, of course, with a grateful nod, and then put down the remote and tried to convince her body to relax.

"So..." he said eventually, during a commercial for toothpaste. "What have you been up to?"

She glanced at him, trying to figure out his game. "Do you want story time? Because this sounds like a perfect time to tell you _all_ about what Mycroft has done to us since the last time we met."

"I mean, to be fair, you're not exactly law-abiding citizens," he retorted.

Her lips curled into something close to a sneer. "No, we're not. I've killed a damn lot of people, Watson. But, you know what? I think Mycroft has killed _more."_ She stood, then, a sudden movement, pulling off her cotton shirt without hesitation, revealing the heart surgery scar that ran down half of her chest. "You know what _this_ was? He _bio-engineered_ a parasite to kill me and Jim after a certain amount of time without a signal from him. Oh, and I forgot," she laughed, eyes fierce. "He only got the access to put that damn capsule in me because he kept me and Jim in a godforsaken labyrinth for a _YEAR._ I fought oversized _weasels,_ was forcibly hooked on heroin, went under the knife so many _fucking_ times, for a _YEAR,_ Watson. I didn't see the sky for a year, I didn't eat anything but MREs for a year, I didn't sleep in a bed, I didn't shower, I didn't watch the telly or have sex or pet a damn cat for a year." She shook her head, turning and pulling her shirt back on, back half to him. She knew that this next part may actually affect him, might really make him examine Mycroft's priorities, but it sucked to talk about.

"He had me raped, Watson. Multiple times. Used the worst person I'd ever met for it, and then I had to abort his fucking hellspawn." She looked back at him. Her voice was quieter now. "I'm a bad person, Watson. I enjoy death. But don't for a second think that you're with the good guys either."

John was quiet, staring at her, his face grey. He didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, he took a breath. "You're right. I apologize."

"Thanks, I guess," she muttered, then turned and walked into her room, only pausing to take her bag with her, and shut the door behind her.

He stood after a moment, picking up his own bag and heading into his room. "Really brilliant first day," he muttered.

She unpacked quickly and efficiently, mind blank, avoiding reliving her traumas as much as possible.

* * *

The next few days, John avoided speaking to Lorna whenever possible. She seemed to be fine with the arrangement. When they were working, it was different. They were different people, with different personalities and history. The apartment they shared was a silent warzone.

Lorna was honestly pleasantly surprised by Watson's lying capabilities. The shift he made in their quarters proved that he wasn't an absolute worthless imbecile like she was sure Sebastian suspected. It was on the fourth day that she went about making dinner, simple steak and potatoes, and when she was done she knocked on his door. "Hey. I made dinner."

He looked at the door uncertainly, and then stood, walking over and opening it. "I smelled it... it smells good."

She gave him a slight smile, heading back into the kitchen to plate the food. "Won't be as good as my husband's, but I'm not as bad of a cook as he makes me out to be."

He followed, uncertain, but hungry. "Moran cooks? That surprises me."

She chuckled. "He's an amazing cook. Learned it after... Well, troubles, I suppose."

He took the plate she offered him. "Thank you." He walked over to the small table, standing until she took her seat. "What about you, then? What are your hobbies?"

She smirked a little, eating a forkful of potatoes before answering. "I like birds, and drawing. I used to like parties. The rest of it would probably offend you."

"Probably," he agreed, taking a few bites. She was right. It was nothing special, but it was good. "Why did you _used_ to like parties?"

She shrugged. "I changed, I guess. First time I got cut off from the alcohol, had a stroke. Changed me, I think. Plus the times I got kidnapped or attacked at parties."

"A stroke..." He murmured, shaking his head slightly, surprised. "Jesus. Glad you're alright." He was surprised to find that he meant it.

She was surprised. "Thanks," she said, after a second. It was another minute before she spoke again, eating in silence. "What about you? What do you do when you're not detecting or doctoring?"

"I look..." He hesitated. He had been about to say 'look after my daughter', but had remembered suddenly that this was the woman who had kidnapped and tortured him only a few years ago. He had no reason to trust her, especially with information about his family. "I don't have time for much else."

She sensed the change in tone, but simply smiled a little. "John, I know what's been happening in your life, vaguely. I have to keep up on our enemies, as much as you mind your own business. Congratulations on your child."

He stiffened, feeling distinctly like she'd read his mind, and uncomfortable with it. He knew to expect it from the readers, but this woman was different. Still, he should have expected that she would know. "No offense, but your congratulations come off as more threatening than I hope you intend."

She grimaced slightly. "I didn't mean it that way, but I can see why you would think that," she admitted.

He nodded just slightly. "Good. Because if any of you ever try to interfere with my daughter, there is not a place in this world or the next where you would be safe." He spoke factually, not trying to sound tough, his expression calm.

She wasn't at all scared, but nodded. "Understood, Watson."

He nodded, too, satisfied and returning to his food. He didn't intend for her to be scared. It wasn't a threat, it was a fact. He started eating quietly.

She ate for a while in silence. "You sound like me."

"Hm?" He glanced up from his food, expression curious as he chewed and swallowed. "How so?"

"I've threatened people like that, about Moran. Well. One person in particular."

He leaned back, his plate empty, not quite full but content enough. "Who?" He could guess.

"My ex," she smirked.

He raised an eyebrow. "That seems like a dangerous title to have when it comes to you."

"We parted fairly easily. He still loves me. I had to make it clear when we met again he would suffer if he harmed Sebastian."

"Ah," he said, nodding slightly and adjusting his jacket. "And did he listen?"

"It was... Hm. It worked for a bit, I suppose. Then he chopped off his finger," she snorted. "I'm relieved it healed well."

"I hadn't heard that," John said, surprised. "What happened?"

"I was sick, from Mycroft's pod, and I... Out. Coma, maybe, though that maybe came later. Can't remember, it was a confusing time for me," she shrugged, eating a bite more. "They fought over staying rights, pretty much. My ex got crippled."

"Jesus," he said again. "Has it ever occurred to you to retire? Buy a nice house in the country. Hide out with your husband and be happy."

"Yes," she laughed, leaning back in her chair a little and running a hand through her hair. "Yes it has. But he could never."

He studied her, and there was solidarity between them for a moment. "Yes... I suppose I understand that."

Her smile faded naturally, over time. She supposed that Sherlock was probably somewhat the same, as strange as that was.

John stood once she finished, taking both plates to the sink and starting to wash up. "It's odd," he said finally. "This. Working together."

"I know, believe me," she chuckled, giving him a nod of gratitude for taking the plates. "It was crazy, finding out about Euros in the first place. I got called back from my honeymoon and found out I was working with you. I..." She paused. "I know this won't mean much to you. But I'm sorry about the first time we met. I never thought you deserved it." In truth, she didn't care. But she needed John believing she did.

He shrugged, scrubbing the plates off a bit more vigorously, "Doesn't change the fact that you did it."

"You're right. And I can't undo it. But I'm sorry nonetheless. Though, after what's happened to _me,_ I certainly wouldn't accept an apology from my enemy. So I won't expect you too, either," she shrugged.

He sighed, setting the dishes aside to dry and turning to face her. "Given that we have to work together... perhaps it's best to start fresh."

She appraised him for a second, and then nodded. "Alright, that sounds like a good idea to me. As long as I can still badmouth Mycroft."

"Please," he smirked. "I badmouth him constantly. It's one of my primary forms of entertainment."

She chuckled darkly. "Yeah, well, it's probably for different reasons. Still. Glad I can do it without anybody in earshot being sensitive to it."

He sighed, leaning back. "Speaking of which... perhaps I'm just oblivious, but no one is standing out to me as being particularly... shady."

She nodded, shrugging a little. "I doubt they would last here long if they were, as strict as security is here. I'm sure the loyal ones would weed them out quickly. That is, if anybody _is_ actually loyal. Keep in mind we also have only met... mm, 25% of the staff? If that?"

He nodded. "But our focus has been on people with the most access. For someone to give Euros that sort of access, they would need to have good access to the system."

She sighed a little. "That's true. Although... If she had spread out and taken multiple people with different levels of access..."

He walked back over to the table, sitting down, considering that. "Seems unlikely. How would she convince that many people? And why bother, when she could target someone at a higher level and get all the access with so much less work?"

"She's had years, John. That's a long time for manipulation. She manipulated Ines into taking over the network in a way that Ines didn't even know what the driving source was. I'm not going to underestimate her." She said simply.

He nodded slowly. "Is it true," he asked after a moment. "About her ribs?"

"Elaborate," she asked.

"That there were things... carved into them?" he asks, quiet, trepidatious.

"Yes," she nodded. "'Did you miss me - E' specifically. I don't like that she was capable of that. I don't like that there were things aimed at me in the things leading up to it. I don't like that it's conceivable that Jim only started.. _harassing_ Sherlock in the first place because of Euros' influence."

He sighed. "Bloody geniuses," he muttered, the word like a curse. "All playing their life-or-death games."

She chuckled. "I don't particularly care for it either. If I could live my life mostly simply, I would. Hell, at this point, if I could retire and live off what I've made, I would."

"Why don't you?" he asked seriously, gaze curious.

"Many reasons. One, I can't. Jim would kill me. I know too much. Two, Sebastian could never retire, also for many reasons, and I couldn't be without him. What would be the point? Three... In some ways, it's safer to be in the network. Enemies need to get through more people to get to me. Getting things done is easier. Other little things," she shrugged.

He nodded slightly. "Do you ever regret it? The life of crime?" His tone wasn't accusatory, just conversational, his stature relaxed.

"I've never known anything else. I don't know what it is to not live a life of crime," she replied simply, eyes on the table, staring into space somewhat. "My parents had me at home, no officials involved, to keep me out of the system. My biological father was a hitman, my stepfather was a small time drug lord. I started smuggling at sixteen. Before then, I still tried to protect my brother. He ended up working for Magnussen. And dead, once he tried to shoot Sebastian."

John's expression was surprisingly gentle. "I'm sorry. That had to be difficult." He felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for this woman. Would he have been any different under those circumstances? He wasn't certain.

She shrugged again, getting up from the table and walking over to the fridge to get out a beer for herself, then leaned against the counter with it. "Growing up wasn't as difficult as what came after, if I'm going to be honest with you. It was hard, sure, but nothing truly awful ever happened to me until... well, alright, I suppose I was... sixteen. Yeesh."

He smiled with a touch of irony. "Not the usual age most people find their lives entangled with drug runners." He rubbed his leg absently. "But given your circumstances, you've done well for yourself, it would seem."

"Better than most," she admitted, opening the top and taking a swig of beer. "I make more money than most of them ever will. Certainly have more respect than most of them ever will... Do you want a beer?"

"Yes," he sighed, levering himself up with a slight grunt and heading for the fridge to get his own. "So if you can't retire, and you seem to work constantly, what's the point of that salary?"

"Clothes?" she laughed, shaking her head a little. "But, more sincerely, we are planning on taking more vacations. Jim can survive without us for a few weeks, and eventually I need to get the scar on my chest taken care of. We'll go extravagant then."

He nodded slightly, returning to sit in his chair, his leg feeling a bit stiff. It had been a long time since that had happened. "How was your wedding? Mycroft said you had it in the Tower of London? That's a bold stroke."

She snorted into her beer and had to wipe a little off her face before she could talk, still chuckling. "I don't know how they pulled that off, don't ask me. It was fantastic. Just us, Jim, Sebastian's daughter. All we needed."

"His daughter," John said with a small smile. "You know, I think that caught even Mycroft off-guard? He claimed to have always known about her, but he's too defensive when she comes up."

"Oh, good, I'm glad the man has more than one flaw," she laughed, taking another swig of beer and finding it was almost empty already. Jeez. "That son of a bitch. I hope there's a _lot_ he doesn't know."

John shook his head, matching her sip for sip. "Unfortunately there isn't much that escapes him. Trust me, I live for the days he falls off his high-bloody-horse."

She tossed back the rest of her drink and pushed off the counter and went into the fridge for another. "I think we have that one in common, John."

He laughed. "First time I met him was in a bloody car park. He'd lured me there to discuss Sherlock. Prick."

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Sounds like some dramatics the fucking idiots would get up to. Don't tell Jim I said that, though."

"Secret's safe with me," he laughed, draining his own beer and standing for another. It was easing the pain in his leg. He pulled a can out of the fridge and leaned against the door. "What is it with all of them and their flairs for the spectacle?"

" _God,_ who fucking knows," she scoffed. "Did you know Jim has a nickname for both me and Sebastian? He calls me _kitten._ Usually only adjacent to sex, but," she shrugged causally.

He almost snorted his beer, coughing roughly and managing to swallow it a moment later. " _Kitten_..." he chuckled, then nodded. "No, that seems like him, from what I've seen. Very... showy."

She took another long pull of beer, still smirking, but wondering where this night was going to go. Would she be able to hook him, with him knowing she was married, and happily? "He calls Seb 'tiger' but that one he doesn't seem to feel the need to use post-coitus. Neither of us have any idea where he picked that one up. Mine? Obvious. Make me happy, I practically purr, plus it's a derivative of tiger, and... " She looked down at her beer. "How fucking strong is this stuff?"

He laughed, glancing at the can, and then made a chuffing sound. "Almost twelve percent. Christ. You wouldn't know it. I'm surprised they bother to get good beer out here. You'd think they'd be happy drinking just about anything."

"Maybe you have to keep the masses happy somehow. Bet they have a damn heaping supply of condoms, despite what might have been rules to the contrary," she snorted.

He nodded contemplatively. "Probably. Trapped on this damned island for as long as they are, I wouldn't be surprised. I'm starting to feel trapped and we've only been here a week."

She chuckled. "Takes longer than that to rile me up, or different circumstances at least. Anything I can do to make you feel less tense, soldier? I certainly don't want you wound up when I'm sharing tight quarters with you."

He blinked at the offer, surprised and more than certain he wasn't following her meaning correctly. He shook his head slightly and sipped his beer for a pause. "Ah, not that I can think of, no."

"Alright," she chuckled, mostly because he looked so uncomfortable, and put back another healthy swallow of booze. "Well, I'm right next door if you ever get lonely. Otherwise, well, I guess there's the TV."

He shifted uncertainly, going for another sip of his beer only to find it empty again. He turned the can in his hands. "I'm fairly certain I'm misinterpreting your meaning, Lorna."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, though in a friendly way. "And what are you taking my meaning to be?"

"Ah." He held her gaze for a moment, seeming to steel himself. "It seemed like you were coming on to me. But that's more than likely the beer talking."

She shrugged, relaxed. "I sleep with who I want, John. Sebastian does too. Hardly ever comes up, for either of us, but that's the way it is," she hummed, finishing off her second drink. It felt wrong to lie about that. She wanted to be honest; that now that she had Sebastian, touching anyone else seemed like a chore, besides Jim's occasional interludes; that she and Seb had decided not to sleep around a long time ago now. But this was a job. She needed John to think twice if he had to choose between her and his friends.

He looked surprised at that. "You were- of course you were, yes, right," he muttered. He turned his can in his hands again, then seemed to become conscious of it and set it aside. "I see."

"Feel free to pretend you never heard it if you like, but there it is," she said, and turned to take up her two cans and toss them in the recycling bin.

He watched her for a long moment, then walked forward as she turned around. Before he could think himself out of it, he kissed her.

She dropped the cans in the bin with a loud clatter and then was surprised to be suddenly snogging, though as usual she adapted quickly, hands coming up to fist in his shirt, keeping him from backing out.

He did try, a few seconds in, but her grip kept him close and he relaxed again. He kissed her with a sense of urgency, though his pace was oddly relaxed, touch firm but not harsh as his hands found her waist.

She kissed him harder after a few seconds, needing the pressure, trying to burn thoughts of Sebastian out of her mind, her hands letting go of his shirt to slide underneath it.

He let out a soft gasp at the feel of her hands against his skin, his tongue probing her lips, soft and cool.

She easily adjusted to Frenching, scraping her nails gently across his skin. It was strange, kissing someone so close to her height for once.

He pulled back for air a few moments later, his hands sliding under her shirt, up her back, along her spine.

She shivered, pushing up his shirt more, giving him a second to breathe before she dived back in and nipped his lip, and started walking him back towards the bedrooms a little.

He let her walk him, distracted by her lips and hands. He paused when they neared his bedroom, however, feet planting to still her advance. "You're sure..."

She laughed a little, nodding, still pressed against him. "Believe me, I need this."

That was the last protest he had. He kicked his door further open, letting her push him in and against the wall, his hands moving back down to the belt of her trousers, pulling her more firmly against him.

She moaned softly against his lips, then pulled away for a second to pull off his shirt and then her own before pressing back in, rolling her hips into his.

Her skin was warm against his, and he made a pleased sound, practiced hands tracing over her back, tracing the subtle music of her anatomy.

He wasn't nearly as well built as Moran, but that was no surprise, and he was by no means unattractive, and she could work with that. She could tell that he was by no means inexperienced either, and that she could definitely work with. She shivered again at his hands, and ran hers down his chest.

He slid his hand under the sports bra she was wearing, pushing it upward and sliding his hands forward and cupping her breasts, his hips rolling forward against hers slightly.

She stopped for a second to peel the troublesome thing off before returning to him, unbuckling his belt quickly and then sliding her hand into his trousers to cup him through his pants, squeezing gently.

He huffed through his nose, and bent to close his lips around one of her nipples, teeth grazing lightly.

She arched into him, stroking him through his pants a little harder, a soft moan leaving her lips, and with her free hand started pushing down his trousers so she had easier access.

He worshipped her breast, his free hand cupping around her hip, thumb tracing down under her trousers to trace the line of her thigh as it met her groin.

She twitched a little under his touch, breath coming a little harder, shifting impatiently. Some part of her felt guilty, enjoying any part of this when Sebastian was home, sick and maybe dying, but it was what he would want her to do, so she could return home to him.

He moved to undo her belt, pushing her trousers down around her thighs and sliding a hand between her legs.

She groaned, shifting only to kick out of her trousers so she wouldn't fall over and then pulling him towards the bed.

He followed her insistent tugging, toppling onto the bed and pulling her on top of him, kissing her skin wherever he could reach it.

She returned most of her attention to the bulge in his pants, unsurprised to find him about as hard as a rock (she had that effect on people, after all) and positioning her hips over his to grind down on him, sighing in relief at the friction it afforded her.

He ground up against her rhythmically, smiling at her breathlessly, his dirty-blond hair tousled. "Is that all you've got?"

"I assure you, all I've got is too much for you, Watson," she smirked, sinking her nails into his hips for a second, though after a moment she lifted her hips enough to reach down and pull him out of his pants, stroking him skin-on-skin.

He laughed, gasping at her touch. "I think you might be surprised at what I can take."

"Not everyone likes to _bleed,_ I know," she snorted, shifting off of him and letting go of him for a moment to finish disrobing, her pants thrown towards the door, and then she straddled him again to roll her hips down on his, her head falling back a little as she let out a pleased sigh.

"Like, no. But I can handle it," he says, in a slightly shaky voice, smiling as she rolls against him. He lays still under her, content to enjoy her heat against him for a moment. His hands slide up her sides, tracing over her ribcage.

"I'm not going to leave scars on you this day, at the very least," she chuckled, hands flat on his abdomen, keeping up a good rhythm, her breath unsteady. But she was getting impatient. "Do you happen to have a condom in here? I'm clean, and not going to get pregnant, but..."

"Yes, in my bag," he said with a laugh. "You don't to defend a condom to a doctor." He pushed her off to the side, standing and heading for his bag, pushing off his trousers the rest of the way as he did so.

She laughed back. "You're right, I don't," she agreed, settling on her side, head supported by her hand, her other on her hip, curves on full display for him.

He returned a moment, settling the condom into place and pausing to admire her. "I can suddenly understand part of why you are so dangerous."

She grinned, a shark grin, sly and a little dangerous. "Nobody's ever risked calling me ugly, I'll tell you that."

"Has anyone ever had the need?" he asked genuinely, climbing onto the bed beside her and leaning down to kiss her again.

She didn't bother responding, a hand sliding into his hair as she kissed him back, her other hand going to his hip, tugging him down further.

He rolled onto his back, then, pulling her with him, his tongue chasing the curve of her breast as he pulled her far enough up his body that she was straddling his waist, his cock rubbing against her heat.

She wasted no more time, shifting on top of him and lining him up to sink down onto him, groaning as she did, her hips already rolling of their own accord in impatience.

He moved with her, his breath catching in his chest as she rode him. She was skilled, that he could tell already. She made sex an art.

She did herself a favor and ground on him on the downstrokes, her fingers flexing on his abdomen, biting her lip, breathing heavily.

He shifted to grab her ass, moving with her as best he could. He had a comfortable figure, but he had muscles, and he used them to match her pace, rocking up against her.

This was, without a doubt, the tamest, most vanilla sex she had had in probably three years, and it was a boring revelation. Still, she didn't falter or pause, abject want still on her face, and started moving quicker, seeing if maybe she could still get herself off, despite being half-there mind-wise.

He kept his eyes on her face, enjoying her expressions as they moved together. He sat up slightly, one hand moving back to brace himself, the other shifting between them to give her friction against her clit.

She jumped a little, moaning again and digging her nails into his skin a little.

She was beautiful, and it had been a long time since he'd been with anyone. He was a man who prided himself in his stamina, but he wasn't going to last long tonight.

She could tremble slightly, and she knew that if she didn't want to be terribly disappointed, she was going to need to double her efforts, so bore down and shifted her hand to touch herself, and came a few seconds later with a groan.

He fought to hold out, knowing she wasn't done, but when she came, he followed shortly after, arching slightly under her and muttering swears under his breath.

She took a second to catch her breath before pulling off him and flopping to the bed next to him, huffing once. "Well that was a worthy distraction. Thanks, John."

He glanced over at her blearily, and smiles. "Are you satisfied? If not I have other bits of me that can help to that end."

She waved him off, secretly not that into the idea of extending this particular encounter any further. It still stung. "I made it there without much trouble, I'm good for the night, though thank you."

He nodded slightly, resting back and sighing quietly. "Thank you."

She glanced at him a little, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Been running on dry for a while?"

He glanced at her and winced slightly. "That obvious? I do apologize."

She laughed. "No, it wasn't, just your reaction afterwards."

He smiled ruefully. "It's been a while, even before this rock."

She chuckled again. "We haven't really been here that long, so it _must_ have been a while. Either way, it's over now. Congrats!" She patted his chest, winking once.

He laughed, putting a hand over hers briefly. "Much thanks to you for that. Let me know if you ever feel like a repeat."

She smirked. "Oh, I'm sure I will. For now, though, I think I'll shower and go to bed. I'm sure tomorrow will continue the pattern, and be a long day."

He nodded, sitting up as she climbed out of his bed and watching her, eyes contemplative. He wasn't sure how he felt about sleeping with her.

She turned away and stretched, arms over her head, back arched just slightly, giving him one last look before gathered up her clothes and she headed out the door, smiling a little over her shoulder and waving once before she closed the door behind her and sidled right into her own room, sagging a little as the door shut behind her. Jesus.

* * *

Over the next weeks, they fell into a pattern. During the day they performed interviews and poured over databases. And more and more frequently, one of them ended up in the other's bed.

John knew better. Of course he did. _She's the enemy, working for James Moriarty- his bloody third in command. And married, by the way, to his second in command!_

But he couldn't quite find the willpower to turn her down when she was at his door, or to stay away from hers.

Lorna knew, by the third week, that they were in deep shit. She was seeing the cracks in the system. Little things, like data that shouldn't have been there. Things about the outside world that had no place being tucked into the corners of the network that had been established on the base. Why did they need to know these things? Why did they need to know drug movements, or the PM's secretary, or the address of a forger? What else was the purpose if not to feed them directly down the funnel to Euros? She mulled through it in the earlier weeks, during breakfast and dinner and even through the aggressively _fine_ sex with Watson. She could no longer find another explanation for it.

John was of much the same mind, his focus on the casual, solid camaraderie between the staff members. Over the weeks it felt less and less like good workmates, and more and more like a cultish barrier against outsiders, full of cold gazes and constant surveillance.

The second to last day of the third week, she put her fork down from eating dinner and looked up at Watson. "John, I think we need to bail. ASAP. If I can see what's happening in this place, so can you. I was right. There's more than one of them. It might even be _everyone."_ She stopped for a second and rubbed her eyes. "If I dig deep enough in their system, will I find information blatantly about me? Will it have my name? My aliases, like when Ines took over the network? Fucking hell, how much control did she have over Ines, and _HOW?_ Is Sebastian being alive instead of buried in a prison graveyard like we thought he was a blip? Did Euros plan that, or was that Ines? I don't-" She stood, ignoring his surprised face, and turned, raking her hand through her hair. "I don't know what's real anymore, Watson. I don't know how close death has been this whole time."

John stood, walking over to put his hands on her shoulders. "Lorna. Stop. Take a breath. I agree. We need to get out of here. But they don't know everything."

She looked over his face, pained. "You never saw it, John. Jim had four walls of papers with all the information on me anyone has ever needed. Things so far in my past that they shouldn't matter anymore. All code names, or mission titles, all from Ines' movements. They _know._ We're lucky they don't seem to know we're _here."_

He looked a bit queasy at that. "How... No. It doesn't matter." He shook his head. "We're getting out."

"Contact Mycroft. I want us out by tomorrow morning, if possible. If not, the next morning. I won't let them catch me." She rubbed her eyes again. "I _can't_ let them."

"I will. You seem... have you slept?" He looked at her, concerned, trying to gauge her features.

She looked at him, eyes softening slightly. _Good, he's worried about me._ "I'm managing. I can sleep almost anywhere, any time. Wouldn't have gotten through all that captivity without it."

He flinched just slightly at the mention of the captivity, and nodded, dropping his hand. "Of course. I apologize."

She shook her head, frowning slightly, her hand catching his gently. "I didn't mean it in any way that would need you to apologize for, John, it's alright."

He sighed. "I... don't like the idea of what they did to you. But neither do you. So here we are."

She snorted softly, dropping his hand. "Here we are indeed. Shows us what working with geniuses earns us, right?"

He was quiet for a moment, and looked to be debating saying something. Then he looked up. "If you're worried about nightmares, and you think it might help, you're welcome to sleep with me."

She felt something twist in her stomach, and she felt her face grow hot. "How do you know about those?"

He laughed darkly. "You're asking an army doctor with PTSD how he guessed you might be having nightmares?"

She snorted, turning away a little and nodding, running a hand through her hair once again. "Yeah, just... Always found them embarrassing, I guess."

"Me too," he agreed, smiling slightly. "I hate them. So take it from someone who understands- I'm offering to be there and not judge, and not smother you."

She nodded, turning back a little. "... Thank you. If it happens, I... Might take you up on it. But nothing has happened yet. Not this time. Hopefully it will stay that way."

He nodded just a little. "If you'll excuse me, then, I'll go contact Mycroft."

She nodded. "Please, yes. Thank you."

He nodded again, turning away and walking toward his room, closing the door behind him and walking over to his bag to remove the transmitter.

Lorna retreated to her own room after cleaning up dinner, wondering about Sebastian. Three weeks, a little more, without having seen him now. How far had his illness progressed? Was Jim taking care of him? _Someone_ needed to, and it couldn't be her, not at the moment.

John watched the _transmission acknowledged_ light blink on. It was a simple system, just an array of corresponding lights. The thing transmitted nothing more than a string of code to turn a light on or off. The messages themselves were prearranged to correspond with various light patterns. It was a limited system, only a few phrases possible, but it has the advantage of being indecipherable to outsiders.

She turned off the lights in the communal living area in case John didn't come back out and retired to her room, a bone-deep weariness in her limbs and head. She brushed her teeth, undressed, and redressed in tomorrow's uniform before climbing into bed, on top of the sheets, and closed her eyes.

* * *

John was waiting with coffee the next morning, and handed it to Lorna as she came out. "1400 today, we need to be out on the helipad," he said quietly. He knew they weren't bugged, but still, it felt like too much to say it out loud.

She nodded thanks for the coffee and continued heading for the kitchenette to get herself breakfast. "Good. Has the transfer been announced to the higher-ups or are we sneaking out? I'd _vastly_ prefer the first and I suspect Mycroft doesn't want us to blow our cover."

"They received notice this morning of an emergency transfer. We're to pack and prepare closing statements for our research."

She let out a huff of relief, nodding again and taking a sip of coffee as she perused the contents of the fridge. "Fucking fantastic. Christ but am I looking forward to getting out of here."

He nodded, sipping his own coffee, watching her carefully. "This means you get to go home, right?"

"Unless something very, very annoying comes up, yes, I get to go home," she sighed, and paused to rub the circles under her eyes. She hadn't slept very deeply last night. "I get to let the illness.. become reality again. I love Sebastian, I do, but this..." She shook her head, though it was hard to lie through her teeth this hard. "I don't know if I can watch this."

He frowned, leaning against the counter. "It's hard," he agreed. "I've watched so many people go through this, and I think it's as bad for the partner as it is for the person who's sick."

"Yeah, maybe," she said quietly, then bent down to pull a bag of bagels out of the fridge, finally. "I've got a hell of a taste in men, huh?" She added, and gave him a slight smirk.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "I could say the same about my taste in women."

She laughed a little louder, grinning. "First Mary, then me? Some people would probably say first the military - I hear she's a proud mistress," she snorted, pulling a bagel out of the bag and beginning to eat it plain.

He laughed, though his heart twinges at the mention of Mary. "That she is. Brutal, but proud."

"No, wait, you're confused - that's me," she corrected teasingly, winking at him over her coffee before turning back towards her room. "I should pack while I stuff this down. I know we're not leaving for a while, but I want to be ready."

He nodded slightly in understanding. "I'll start working on our summary report."

"That's a good idea, thanks. Means I don't have to do it," she snorted, and took a huge bite out of her bagel. "Awight, packing now," she said around the mouthful, and headed into her room.

* * *

They packed and wrote most of the morning. Both of them were uneasy. John kept waiting for something to go wrong, for the jaws of the trap to shut.

She was also waiting for the flip of the switch, the crashing of the door being blown open, and the fact that they made it to the helipad at the designated time and climbed onto the helicopter without anybody trying to stop them felt like nothing short of a miracle. And then she saw who was in the back, waiting for them. "Holmes," she said through gritted teeth, her heart skipping in her chest.

"Ms. Harrison," he said, nodding congenially. "John. Good to see you both safe. Do have a seat and buckle in. There's terrible turbulence today." John did as he was told, pulling the heavy canvas five-point harness into place and clicking it shut.

If she didn't worry for her safety, she would have completely ignored him, but as it was she sat back with a stony expression on her face and strapped herself in. "Well, Holmes, I'm afraid your experiment to keep your crazed sister away from the world failed miserably. See, this is why you need to just kill people sometimes. Oh, wait, that's not a problem for you, sorry. Just not strong enough to put down your own rabid dog, I guess," she snorted, looking out the window as the helicopter started to lift off.

As she did, a woman with dark hair and a pale face walked out onto the helipad, unescorted, and blew her a kiss.

Holmes ignored Lorna's tirade. "You will of course provide a full summary once we reach London. For now..." He passed over a metal briefcase to each of them. "Please place all weapons and electronics in the container. They were inspected upon your entry and are the most likely to contain bugs.

She held out a hand, pushing away the briefcase, eyes glued to the woman outside. "Who is that. Mycroft, _who is that."_

Mycroft turned and looked, and sighed. "Oh, now she's just showing off," he muttered, sitting back.

John looked down as well, and then back at Mycroft. "That's her, is it? That's Euros. Mycroft! Is that Euros?"

"Of course it is, John. Do try not to be dull."

Lorna's hands went to her gun and her straps simultaneously. The gun went fine - she pulled it out - and lurched, finding that the latch for the straps would not come undone. " _FUCK!"_ She snarled, trying again, and then pushing her gun towards John. "Take the shot, John. TAKE THE SHOT!"

"Don't, John," Mycroft sighed. "There are elements to this you don't understand. Please don't meddle with what you don't comprehend. People get hurt." John had been reaching for the gun, but the words made him falter, the image of Mary, pale, bleeding on the floor...

And then they were too high for any reliable handgun, and she rammed her head back into the seat, swearing up a storm, and then her furious glare fell on Mycroft. "What's wrong with the straps, Holmes? What are you about to say to me?"

* * *

Hey guys! It's been... so long since anybody said anything about the fic

Please say something? ;-;

Florence + The Machine - Hunger

Panic! At The Disco - I Have Friends In Holy Spaces


	147. Hey, Remember That?

"Hand over your weapon, please, Ms. Harrison," Mycroft said, sounding bored. "My men have orders to kill you if you refuse to cooperate."

She made sure the safety was on and then carelessly dropped the weapon on the metal floor, her eyes glued to Mycroft. "Tell me what you're going to tell me, Mycroft. I'm not a patient woman normally, and even less so with you."

"You're under arrest," he said simply. "Effective immediately. You will begin working for the government, for special operations. You will be overseen by me."

Her stomach twisted unpleasantly. "And how do you expect to keep me from running off during an op? Are you going to implant another time bomb in me? A shock collar, maybe? Oh, maybe a handler who will assault me while we're in the safehouse?" she rattled off, voice dryly irritated.

"Hardly, Ms. Harrison. I'm going to offer you a reward." He leaned back toying with his ever-present umbrella. "In exchange for your undying loyalty, I will offer you- One liver."

She was silent for almost half a minute, staring at him blankly. "Excuse me?"

"Well, to be precise, the location of one specific liver, currently residing in one specific individual," Mycroft idled, clearly enjoying her confusion. "You've been out of the loop for a few weeks, Ms. Harrison- Excuse me. Mrs. Moran. You see, your husband isn't doing very well at all."

She went ghost white, the color draining from her cheeks. "Jesus," she whispered, looking off into space for a second. "I assume you have some sort of proof for me?"

"Video evidence, among other things." He pulled a tablet out of his briefcase and turned it on, handing it to her. "Everything you need to know is there." There were several medical reports, and a grainy video. The thumbnail showed a buttoncam view of Moran, looking wan and jaundiced, lying in a hospital bed. Jim was beside him, and they looked to be talking.

She felt her stomach plummet a few thousand feet looking at the proof. "Alright," she whispered, handing him the file and the small tablet back. "I don't have a choice either way, it seems." She was quiet a second, then looked at Holmes again. "If I die on one of these stupid missions, you still have to give him the liver. Where... where did you even find it?"

"Not if you commit suicide," he countered. John sat there looking aghast.

"Mycroft, you can't just-"

Mycroft continued as though he hadn't spoken. "As for the liver, Mr. Moran has an unusual set of qualifying factors that exclude him from matching with most donors. Mr. Moriarty has been very... motivated in his search for a match. But I have something he doesn't- Mr. Moran's mother."

Lorna just nodded along as Mycroft stipulated that she not kill herself, and then somehow managed to look even more shell shocked than she had before. "His _mother?_ Christ. Well, that would help, wouldn't it. Also, John - see what I mean?"

"I..." John trailed off, bewildered.

Mycroft nodded. "If you try to escape, you never find his mother alive. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes," she replied simply, though her voice betrayed her fear, her swiftly crumbling spirit. She looked away from them, hands curled into fists where they rested on top of her thighs. Would she ever be able to escape, once Sebastian had what he needed?

"Good. In that case, welcome to the team," Mycroft said with a smug smile.

John grit his teeth. "Mycroft, she came to help us on _good faith_. You can't just-"

"Yes, I can," Mycroft smiled, and leaned back in his seat. "I don't need your consent, John, as much as you might feel differently. My brother agrees."

"Your _brother_ is going to hear about it from me when I get _home_ , and so are you, right _now."_ John shot back, uncowed. "This is _wrong_ , Mycroft. I've seen you do some shady things over the years, but this?!"

Mycroft fixed him with a dry gaze. "Just because you've had sex with the woman doesn't make her an innocent civilian. She's an internationally sought after criminal. If other countries knew her identity, she'd have dozens of arrest warrants after her. She'd be a target for dozens of hit squads. She gave up her rights a long time ago, John."

John flushed red, but his expression didn't falter. "Don't take the high ground with _me_ , Mycroft. I can think of a couple of international ethics violations on your end, as well. Or are we forgetting the time that you sold your brother's soul to Moriarty for information? Or the labyrinth you stuck him and Mrs. Moran in? I'm sure the United Nations would have a _field day_. She's a human being who came here on the grounds of a bargain for mutual gain. Truce. Neutral ground. You respect that, or I don't respect you."

Mycroft's smile didn't change or falter. "I think you'll find that that doesn't mean very much to me, John."

"One of the many ways you're less intelligent than your brother," John said with a smirk.

The smile twitched but didn't fall. "I have to say, I expected better of you, John. Falling so easily for a criminal. Again? I suppose we always knew you were an adrenaline addict."

He shrugged. "I don't see how that's an issue. Now, never loving _anyone..."_

Mycroft laughed. "Not an issue? John, I believe you are forgetting that this woman was the very same who helped set you back a year on your health. Are you telling me you _care_ about her?"

Lorna watched him in silence, not sure what to make of the conversation anymore.

"She's a human being, Mycroft. You've probably done more to my health than she has, and I still care about _you_." John shook his head.

Well there was the admission, she supposed. Wow, that had been _so_ much easier than Sebastian caring about her, or hell, even being _friendly_ with Jim. It squicked her out a little, how easy it was for everyone else. It felt... weak, almost. How could you let down your barriers so quickly, so easily?

Mycroft's smile grew condescending. "You've never complained about repurposing a criminal until now, John. Please, do stop being so silly."

"Do the words 'good faith' mean anything to you, Mycroft? Not in the dictionary sense." John's tone was biting.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Like arguing with an illogical brick wall," he sighed. "Do you honestly believe they would do the same for us, John?"

"No," John says, unflinching. "But I believe- or I did- that we were better than that. That we didn't stoop to the same levels as a world-wide crime network."

Lorna snorted. "Stooping? There's no difference between the government and a world-wide crime network."

"I'm beginning to agree with you," John said dryly. Mycroft ignored them, apparently done with the conversation.

She gave a slightly weary smile and didn't respond, the expression sliding off her face after a moment as she looked through the window at the slowly retreating island, hiding in the waves.

It was a longer flight, this time, if only because of the tension in the chopper. John kept glancing between Mycroft and Lorna, uncertain.

They eventually landed, and the tense atmosphere shifted into a different sort of tension. The door slid open and three men immediately were in her face with assault rifles, which she looked at very dryly. "Like that's necessary with the sword you have hanging over me," she snorted.

"No, but no harm in being over prepared," Mycroft said, pressing a button in his seat. Her buckle released. "Go on. They'll escort you. And please don't think we're above killing you if you try to run."

She gave him a derisive look. "As if I think you're above _anything?_ For such a genius, Holmes, you're a god-awful fool," she scoffed, and stood, managing to look poised half-hunched in the short space, and let herself be guided off the helicopter with the insistent escort of the guns beside her.

"Charming woman," Mycroft said once she was gone, standing. "I have a car waiting to bring you home, John. Your daughter has been asking for you. I believe my dear brother is teaching her dissection."

John let out a violent kind of sigh, and tromped out of the helicopter without anything to say to Mycroft for the moment. But once he was on the pavement, and Mycroft had climbed down beside him, he turned. "What are you planning to do with her? Lorna?"

"We have a few jobs to which she will apply her talents and knowledge, as well as her status in the criminal world. If she succeeds, she'll be returned to her people. If not... Well, we'll see how things play out."

John stared at him for a long moment. "This may be a counterproductive thing to say, considering what I said earlier, but you're just going to let her go? What's the catch, Mycroft?"

"Nothing so dull as a catch," the elder Holmes chortled. "Once she has earned her husband's health, we lose leverage. At that point, we have two options, one of which is releasing her. The other option would be a waste of a valuable potential asset. If she returns to her cohorts, there may be something which allows us to regain leverage."

John didn't reply, just shook his head in disgust and headed off, looking stormy.

Lorna was shown, rather roughly, to what turned out to be what looked like a hotel room, if a hotel room had a steel door and a very sturdy looking lock. The door closed behind the goons and the lock clicked, and she sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. The full weight of her situation, and Sebastian's, was coming down hard on her, a weight pinning her down. _Sebastian._ She didn't know exactly where she was, but she was in England as far as she could assume, and Sebastian was only a few hours away at most. Dying in a hospital bed, with only Jim there to support him. Soon, they would know that she was not returning, and she didn't know how much information they would have about it. Would they think her dead? Captured? Or a traitor? Her shoulders hunched and a sob forced its way out of her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth and broke down as silently as she could manage.

* * *

It was three days before she truly had human contact again; they fed her through a slot in the door, and the rest of her needs were taken care of by the limited furnishings in the room. Someone had thought to leave a book she'd never heard of (or maybe it was an accident, but she was grateful for it anyway) and she burned through it in the first two days. The third, the door opened unexpectedly in the early morning, and she jolted up from her sleep, heart jumping from past traumas. It was a group of three men, one unarmed in the front and flanked by two goons. The one in front obviously was more important than the rest of the people who she had glimpsed. His eyes were stern on her.

"Get dressed. You have a meeting with Mr. Holmes to attend. We'll wait outside. Knock when you are ready. Try anything, and you'll be shot in the gut. Unpleasant way to die, I hear. Understand?" He said, in a voice she would have described as being owned by a man who knew he was in charge. She didn't say anything, but nodded, and that seemed to be enough for him, because he turned and led the goons out of the room again, and she was left to get out of bed and do as she was told. The clothes they had provided for her were simple and a little scratchy, but they fit fine (something she couldn't always accomplish with unfamiliar shirts, for reasons most bustier women would understand immediately), and she knocked on the door when she was done dressing, as ordered. The door opened swiftly, a gun the immediate thing in her vision, but then it was determined she was not a threat and it lowered. The leading man only looked at her for a second and then simply said, "Come," and led the way down the sterile-feeling hall.

The stern man only showed her as far as the door, but the goons followed her in and took their places on either side of it, and she entered with a grim sort of resignation.

Mycroft was waiting in a briefing room. It was a sterile white room, not ideal for his purpose, but entirely ideal for setting Harrison on edge.

His bid to destabilize her partially worked - bad memories crawled at the edges of her mind, and she had to work to keep them out of the forefront. "Oh, so you're not just keeping me to work with, you're also trying to psychologically torture me again. Wonderful," she said dryly, walking forward to sit in the chair opposite him, her face ever-so-slightly sardonic. "Well, get on with it, then. Tell me what impossible mission you've drummed up for me."

He feigned ignorance as to her accusations.

"I think you'll actually agree with this particular assignment," he assured her, turning on the screen on the wall. "You'll be helping us undermine a child porn ring."

She flinched slightly, a pained face coming on as she glanced toward the screen. "You're not showing me the proof, right? Just the target information, right?"

"Proof is not your area of concern, Ms. Harrison," he responded, unconcerned and somehow a touch insulting as he put an image up on the screen. A handsome man in his late forties eyed them from the picture. His hair was prematurely grey, but aside from that he seemed to have maintained a good portion of his youth. "There's our target, the man running the operation. His first name is unknown, but he goes by Luciano in the industry. I'm told you have a connection."

Her stomach dropped about five hundred feet into the Earth's crust and her voice went with it for a hard, brief moment. "His first name is Antony," she replied expressionlessly, attempting to focus on deep breathing for a moment, as invisibly as possible. No way it was hidden from someone like Mycroft, unfortunately. "I've said it once and I'll say it again, you're a sick fucking bastard, Mycroft," she said dryly. "I assume you want him dead. How do you want it done?"

"If I wanted him dead, he would be dead by now," Mycroft responded, thoroughly amused by Harrison's reaction, but externally as expressionless as a bowl of congealed oatmeal. "If he dies, we lose the locations of hundreds of children, who would be liquidated into other networks or sold quickly while Luciano's people recover and adjust their hierarchy. While I don't find this to be an unreasonable cost to hamstring the lot of them, the British government as a whole is somewhat more... soft-hearted. As a result, you will be retrieving the information that we need regarding the children under his... care... before dispatching him and any of his associates you can get your hands on."

"So you do want him dead, just not right away," she amended, eyes on the screen. "Fine. Am I going alone? Where is he? What are you giving me? I don't feel like the dramatic, drawn-out debriefing is going to be fun for either of us if you take too long," she tacked on at the end, glancing at him with sharp eyes. He'd put a leash and collar on her like no one else had before, but damn if she was going to play the submissive little captive.

"You'll be going in alone. You decide what story will work best for you and we will fabricate it. He is currently in Naples, where his base of operations has been for the last three years."

"Of course he's in Italy. Why wouldn't he be? Just the place I am most likely to be recognized for a spy, that's all," she said bitterly to herself, rubbing her eyes. "Fine, alright. Time to go classic. I'm a client, but one he wouldn't need to see personally, at least not right away. I want to put off him seeing my face until the very last second. I..." She paused, her face thoughtful. "You've done analysis on him, I'm sure. What are the odds that he'll refrain from shooting me immediately if I tell him my real name and that I'm there to give him Armetti?"

He raised an eyebrow, looking slightly alive for the first time since they had begun speaking. "Now there is an interesting question... yes. Yes I believe he might."

"I'm fucking crazy," she muttered to herself with a glance up at the ceiling, then looked back to Mycroft. "Better start laying a trail for me, then. If you can't hide that I was with Moriarty all this time and not with Armetti, make it so I was more involved with him. If you can squash the rumors that me and Sebastian got married, do it - better that he thinks I just broke up with Vince. I need a reason to be away from the network like this..." she drummed her fingers on her thigh for a second, looking into empty space, then nodded to herself. "I need to look like I'm on the run from the Network. Ask Luciano to hide me in exchange for Armetti's head."

"Mmm... You do perform that particular act quite convincingly," he said dryly. His hand ached today, and he was running out of patience. "I'll send someone to discuss the particulars."

She smirked at his mention of her and Sebastian's brief stint as fake escapees from Jim's network, and stood without further prompting - she was never disappointed to exit Mycroft's presence, and leaving the sterile white room was a bonus. "You do that. I have a blank wall to go stare at until you do. Riveting fucking stuff," she said, and then turned and left, regardless of whether or not Mycroft had anything else to say.

The goons were waiting for her, as was the stern man, and he simply gave her a once-over before turning and leading the way back down the hall, to her room, where a meal was thankfully waiting for her.

* * *

It was a few hours later that they sent in the brown-haired woman who looked at her like she was some particularly smelly garbage, but went over the mission details succinctly and efficiently, and left her with a thick folder to peruse that night, as she was to leave the next morning. Fine with her. She wanted it to be fast - she needed to get back to Sebastian.

* * *

 _The table was cold against his skin, the leather straps warm and damp with perspiration. The world tilted and shrank, focusing in on a single drop of water, suspended mid air, circling it slowly, the room spinning by behind. He knew it was falling, knew in the next moment it would hit his skin. For_ this _moment, though, it seemed his prayer was answered, and time had stopped. Stopped the water, given him just a moment's reprieve..._

 _But as he studied the droplet- a perfect sphere, light shining- he realized that perhaps the moment was lasting too long. His heart had stilled with that drop. His lungs had stilled with that drop. Each part of him, stilled, but time was not stilled, he had been wrong, only space, and now he was needing blood, needing air, if only he could make his lungs MOVE-_

"Moran... _Moran_..."

 _He took one painfully slow breath, fighting for every molecule. Oxygen hissed into his nose like a trickle of water on an inferno-_

"Tiger, please..."

That, more than anything else, dragged him back to consciousness. Back to the rhythmic concerto of monitors, to the insistent hiss of the cannula. Not the impatient demand, but the exhausted, quiet request. He dragged his eyes open and focused on Jim.

Jim was tired. Had been, in fact, for several weeks now.

Sebastian had taken such a sharp dive that it felt wrong to be away from him - what if Moran died, while he was off taking care of some stupid shit that wouldn't matter in three days? If Moran was going to go, he needed to be there. Another quick scare, but it was over, for the moment.

"I have news," he said quietly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and to clasp his hands together. "You're not going to like most of it."

Seb nodded, and looked around, before reaching out to grab onto the handrail with a hand he vaguely recognized as his own- just thinner and oddly bruised. He hauled himself up to a sitting position, muscles trembling slightly in a way he resolutely ignored.

"What is it?" Asked the voice of a seventy-year-old pack-a-day smoker.

Jim knew that he could not keep Sebastian in a lying down position permanently, and this was one of the times he would allow this dissent. He took a deep breath. He didn't want to give part of this news. He even considered just not doing it. But he did.

"Mycroft is refusing to send Lorna back. He's keeping her captive under a deal that you receive a compatible liver when she's done what he wants her to do. The donor..." He lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "Is your mother. He has her - she's impossible to get to. We have to wait this out. As much as I don't fucking want to."

Sebastian sat still for far longer than he would have in any other circumstance. He eyed the door, mentally measured the distance to it. Considered the distance beyond it. The nurses and doctors, the security. If he took Jim hostage he could make it through most of them, but in this shape he was uncertain of his ability to walk, much less control someone bodily.

Suppose he could get out, what then? He could take a car, but driving would be a whole new complication. He could force someone to drive him, but then what?

Then what, and then what, and then what.

He turned to Jim, ignoring the second half of the information. "What are we waiting for?"

He could see the fight behind Sebastian's eyes, could see the realization that his body could not back up that fight, and saw the logical conclusion; Moran wanted a plan.

"For Lorna to do it. To complete what she has to. I don't doubt that Mycroft will fulfill the deal; when he considers it filled is another matter. She is, for the moment, safe from him. He needs her for something. You're the matter of concern; for both of us, I would imagine." He fell silent for a minute, looking down at his clasped hands, somber. "She'll be fine, Sebastian. She always is."

"Don't lie to a man on his deathbed," Sebastian spat. "You are conveniently ignoring a _slew_ of..." he paused as his voice gave out, caught his breath, and continued, repeating the process every few words, much to his increasing frustration. "...facts. One, we have no guarantee that Holmes knows where my mother is... He's lied to us before... Such as a month ago about not double-crossing... us about Harrison... _Two_ , who says my mother will be a match? ...We have no guarantees that she... even has a compatible blood type...Three- no, Harrison is _not_ always alright... She has almost... Died... Fuck, _you_ almost... Died, Jim... If I hadn't... Gotten you out... Of that _fucking maze..._ " He trailed off, point made, breath short and face sweaty. He concentrated on staying upright, bracing himself with the rail.

Jim let him talk himself out, watching him impassively, waiting. Then he spoke again. "I'm not lying, Moran. This is not the maze. She has autonomy now, as far as my limited sources have been able to tell me. She could come back, if she worked hard enough at escaping - she's capable. But whatever evidence Holmes has must be enough for her. The fact that he _knows_ we need a donor in the first place... Every time I look around it seems we have sprung a new leak. We'll deal with that later. As it is..." He sighed. "Neither of us are willing to give up a chance. She _will_ be fine. If things go south, if I have to send people in for her, I will. But if Mycroft truly has your mother, I have no doubt that he would kill her and ruin our chances should we interfere. So we will wait."

"Jim..." he murmured, but couldn't think of an argument. He finally slumped back into the bed, looking down at his hand on the railing, at the skin that was slowly yellowing like a timer counting down. Then he looked up at his boss. "When was the last time you slept?"

"A week. I'm due for it," he conceded without a fight. He felt bone-weary. He looked down at his hands again for a second, rubbing one thumb against the other absently. "You're losing the bet, by the way."

* * *

Sia, Diplo, & Labrinth - Angel In Your Eyes

-Author's note

My friends, it's been since May 2018 since we've gotten a single comment! I miss yall!


	148. High Stakes And A Forgotten Friend

"Which bet is that?" he asked, turning his gaze to the drop ceiling over him. He had memorized the tiles over his stay.

"The one where caring for someone is..." He paused. "Advantageous."

He opened his eyes again, making the effort to turn his head to look at Jim again. He was tired. Sitting up had exhausted him. He tried not to be disgusted with himself, and largely failed.

"Remind me of the particulars?'

Jim gave him a dry smirk. "You bet me, and I quote, that Lorna could, within one year, convince me of the positive and rewarding nature of taking care of someone else. And here I am. Caring for you." His face lost its amused expression. "Nothing about this feels positive or rewarding. You're losing."

Moran smirked just slightly. "Then stop," he retorted quietly.

He raised his eyebrows slightly, expectantly. "Stop what?"

"Stop taking care of me," he rasped. "If there is no redeeming... Whatever... Then stop."

"And then who would keep you alive for your darling's return?" He retorted evenly, leaning back in his seat. "I don't have a choice, any which way you look at it. But it's not what I'd call _fun."_

"One of the highly trained professionals you've hired..." he offered. "You should be out running the network..."

"It's being watched by guiding hands, Moran. I didn't leave it rudderless. But you're going to get sick of me being here to snap you back to reality, and that's just how is going to be. I'll dog your last breath if I have to. If you force me."

Moran closed his eyes, still smirking, the exhaustion tugging at him. "I'm winning..."

"I didn't say I didn't care, Moran. I said I hate it," he snorted.

"Would you like it better if you didn't?" he asked drowsily.

"Couldn't tell you, Tiger. Never had it another way."

Sebastian didn't respond, already fading back into sleep, his breathing slow and labored.

* * *

Two days had passed since Lorna had been given the mission to go after Luciano, and now she was sitting in her car at the wrought-iron gates that blocked her entrance to the long gravel driveway that meandered up the hill, leading to the villa at the top. Italy, once again. She took a deep breath, rolled down the window of the gorgeous car she'd been given for the occasion, and leaned out to press the button to request entrance. No doubt they already knew someone was here - she could see a security camera on a pole by the light post. But no one except Luciano would know her face. Yet. Hopefully.

The click of the intercom coming to life drew her eyes to the little chrome speaker, despite the fact that there was nothing to see with her eyes. "Name?" Came the request in Italian, and she cleared her throat, leaning back out towards it.

"Lorna Harrison. I'm looking for Antony Luciano. I know how to get him Vincent Armetti. Please relay that to him directly," she said back, also in Italian, and there was another click and then a couple of minutes of silence, where she tapped a finger soundlessly against the steering wheel and tried not to imagine a sniper up the hill in the shadows, lining up the shot to pick her off. Finally, the intercom clicked again.

"Drive up to the villa, get out of the car and put your hands on the roof. No sudden movements."

It clicked again.

The gates began to let out of the creaks and groans of old metal as the mechanism holding them shut began to open to allow her through, and she put the car back into drive and drove up the hill, jaw clenched, stomach roiling. The tiny drive took even less time than she thought it would. She turned off the car and opened the door, swinging out to stand, shut the door, and place her hands on the black roof, neck prickling as she heard the large double doors open behind her.

There was silence, then the slow click of heels on stone as someone walked down the front steps toward her. Whoever it was stopped a pace behind her, and was silent for a moment. Then the voice of Luciano is in her ear. "It's her. Search her- _everywhere-_ and lock her up."

Her jaw tensed, and she resisted the urge to turn and look behind her. That was him, alright. This was the bastard who had killed Vince's sister, Valerie. She'd liked that girl. And he'd killed her. And then _she'd_ failed to kill _him._ It was perhaps her greatest failing, now that she thought about it more. "What, don't want to have a chat about my dear old ex Vincent before you lock me away for good? I dressed up and everything, hoping for that good Bond villain chat. Just _look_ at my ass in these slacks."

Luciano didn't respond, and a moment later sturdy hands were pulling her arms down behind her back, locking them into handcuffs. She was yanked around, and there he was, once-dark hair a distinguished silver, but otherwise largely unchanged.

"Well, still handsome, huh? I was kinda wondering if you'd do that thing that happened to Silva in that Bond movie? Who am I kidding, I know the name of the movie. Skyfall. That one. Is your face melty like that or..." She smirked.

" _English_ ," he scoffed. "With your dreams of grandeur. You're a minor inconvenience in an otherwise interesting day. Lock her up. I'm running late." And he walked past her to a waiting car.

She scowled, ignoring the men who stepped out of the shadows towards her. "Nothing else to say to a woman who tried to assassinate you? Vincent isn't going to be in the same place for long, you know. He never is."

He slowed, hand on the handle of the car. His shoulders rose and fell slowly. Then he turned. "You had better make this _very_ worth my while," he retorted.

The men about to grab her by the arms stopped a few inches away, though she could feel them at her back by the goosebumps on the back of her neck. "Nine years ago. Vincent Armetti kicked your holdings out of New York. You stole his sister. She died in your care. He sent me to kill you. I left you in your office with a needle full of cyanide in your leg. I know where Vincent is, and I thought you'd like to know that too. I'm sick of him, and I know you have the reach to get rid of him. After that, let me work for you. You can look at the record I left while working with Armetti, I'm _worth it,_ trust me."

He walked over to her slowly, eyes narrowed as he studied her. Then, in rapid italian, he said "Take her to my office. Keep her chained. And get some leg irons. I don't want her walking away."

Lorna didn't say anything else, just gave a shrug of resignation and a slight sigh, and then the men who had been hovering at her back closed their hands around her shoulders and upper arms and forced her to walk up the stairs and into the villa. She was glad she'd had the forethought to stop at a gas station and take a piss a mile back, or she might have been in for an uncomfortable evening. She was also glad she'd chosen the dark, slate grey slacks that had been provided for her, and not the little black dress; you never knew how they were going to tie you up, after all.

* * *

It was two hours later that Luciano entered his office. He didn't dismiss the guards standing over Lorna, just walked over to his desk and sat down. "We are not here to discuss old times," he began, looking at her. "We had a wonderful time, I'm sure, but for the moment my focus is on business. To that end, you will speak only of business, and we will confirm that you know what you say you know."

She shrugged in neutral agreement, ignoring that her ass was beginning to hurt. "Sure thing. What do you want to know?"

"Where is Armetti?" he said, getting straight to the point. "How do I take him out?"

"New York. I think I have the address memorized, but at the very least a rough area you could search. And taking him out? Use me."

"Yes, I'm very on-board with the idea of sending you into Armetti's arms all alone. Would you like me to give you my pistol as well, just on trust?" he asked sardonically.

She shook her head. "Not what I meant. Use me as bait. Make him come to you."

Luciano considered her for a moment. "An interesting proposal. Though given our history, if I informed him I was alive, that might be enough by itself."

She gave him a slightly skeptical shrug. "Maybe. You did have a direct hand in his sister's death. But that was a long time ago. He holds grudges, but are you willing to risk that he's moved on enough to just send his people and not himself? He's no longer physically sound enough to fight you himself; he sustained an injury from Moriarty's second that's given him a limp. He won't endanger himself for revenge. For me, though? Crying on camera, _pleading_ for his help? He will come running."

The crime lord eyed her for a moment, then smirked. "You always were connivingly persuasive. So be it."

Her lips spread into a smooth smile. "Excellent. When do you want to work out the details of my employment?"

"I'll send someone to take care of it," he said, waving his hand dismissively. The guards reached down to unlock her from the chair, though they left her cuffed. "Bring her to the suite."

She had a quick, dry thought of _I desperately hope the suite is actually a suite and NOT a toilet-less cell,_ and then she was whisked out of the room to places unknown.

* * *

The suite was, surprisingly, rather luxurious. If not for the grates over the windows and the steel door, it might have been a high-end hotel. There was a kitchenette, a seating area, and a door leading to a bedroom and adjoining bathroom with a large bed, and an almost larger tub.

They uncuffed her without any dilly-dallying and left, and she was left by herself in the quiet, where the reality of the situation landed on her like a 500-ton anvil. She was a captive again, this time for a man she had tried to kill. A man who killed children without blinking. She sat on the couch and ran a hand through her hair, and not for the first time wondered about Sebastian.

* * *

A few hours later the door of the room opened, and a tall man with dark hair and several eyebrow piercings entered, holding a gun in one hand and a tray of food in the other. He faltered just slightly when he saw Lorna, but then his step smoothed out and he walked over to the table to put the tray down, gun still trained on Lorna. "Stay where you are, Harrison."

She didn't react at all besides looking at him, but her heart soared. _Anton._ She hadn't seen him since she'd brought Sebastian to DeWitt's door. She didn't resent him for standing by on that issue. How could she? Standing up to Ryan had been an enormous risk. But he had helped her escape DeWitt the very first time she'd ever had to escape from anywhere, and he was honorable. "Sure thing," she rolled her eyes. Better not to give away that she knew him.

"Save the sarcasm," he snorted, and nodded to the food, before backing out of the room and shutting the door.

She stood once he was gone and walked over to sit back down at the food, and paused with the fork halfway to her mouth when she considered poison. She looked down at her food for a long moment, weighing the pros and cons of having her poisoned. Then she shrugged, and forked the food in.

She didn't die.

* * *

She was left alone for the night, but in the morning Anton was back with a breakfast tray. This time, there was a scrap of paper inside of her napkin.

She found the scrap of paper without any surprise, and made sure she was out of range of the only camera in the place (one watching the door and the radius around it) before opening it to read it.

The paper was folded around a scrap of pencil lead. In a tight hand, Anton had written _Luciano plans to dispose of you after Armetti's arrival is assured. Why are you here?_

She had to hand it to him, that was some promisingly good ingenuity from Anton. He hadn't changed. She pinched the lead carefully in between her forefinger and thumb and delicately wrote out the response: _Saving Moran. Indirectly. Need info on loc. for kids. Job 4 you w/ M if I make it._ Then she folded up the paper and tucked it back into the napkin, and crumpled it up on her plate to wait for Anton to come take it back.

* * *

A/N

How we all doin? Thoughts? Haven't heard from yall for like a SOLID year I miss you!


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